An Open Letter to Rob Bell:
Thank you.
Thank you for helping me not walk away. The last year has been a hard one; a doubt defeating desire one. And I’ve often thought about whether or not following Jesus is worth the cost. (My whole life. My whole everything. Can I do that? Can I give that much?) I’ve sat with my fears and my questions and I’ve wondered if I’m alone. I’ve wondered if I’m the only Christian who gets mad about original sin. Wait, why is original sin my fault? I’ve wondered if maybe all of this is a fairytale to make me feel good about myself. And what about the things I don’t like? What about the part of the Bible where the innocent die? The terrible, scary truth is that sometimes my heart feels more like team Christopher Hitchens then it does team John Piper.
There are heavy questions in my heart and I would be foolish to ignore them. Questions about miracles that never happened and disappointment with deep roots. Questions about being tired and feeling like God is further than the Moon.
And it’s not just about you, Rob. It’s about all the courageous voices that humbly acknowledge their not having everything figured out. It’s about the ones who want to know Jesus but recognize His too bigness to wrap up in a book about theology. Bullet points aren’t sufficient for the Father, they just aren’t. It’s time to reclaim the mystery. There is a mystery so deep and so complex that only in our arrogance would we declare a definition to it.
“Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty?” Not quite.
There are things we know- things we have come to believe- things of truth and holiness and love that must be obeyed for any of this to make sense, for any kingdom better than ourselves to be made. But at the end of the day we’ve got to be honest enough to say that sometimes, some mornings, some late nights, we have more questions about who God is and how he wants us to live then we have answers.
You encourage me when you say things like: “The moment God is figured out with nice neat lines and definitions, we are no longer dealing with God.”
I’ve never really been one to have nice neat lines.
Thanks for letting me step away from the canvas and come back to it with new eyes. Thanks for not making me feel like a failure because of the questions I have about everything. You remind us that the Gospel is a Gospel for misfits and failures, traitors and fakes; it’s a Gospel for the ones who don’t know much but are desperately trying to find their way.
And I resonate when you say truth like this: “Our tendency in the midst of suffering is to turn on God. To get angry and bitter and shake our fist at the sky and say, “God, you don’t know what it’s like! You don’t understand! You have no idea what I’m going through. You don’t have a clue how much this hurts. The cross is God’s way of taking away all of our accusations, excuses, and arguments. The cross is God taking on flesh and blood and saying, “Me too.”
The reality is, is that I’m scared. I’m scared for a Church that claims to have it all figured out. That claims to know God so perfectly. That claims to understand everything. Everything. Really? Complete doctrine. I missed the memo that told me everything about the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit… everything about the Universe.
And so here I am, admitting that I don’t have it all figured out, declaring that nobody has it all figured out. And the beauty in all of my questioning is that I stand affirmed in the trueness of who Jesus is. There is unparallel strength in a God who lets you ask and get angry and completely walk away if you choose to. It’s a strength and a freedom so compelling it feels impossible to put the plow down.
