A New Kind of Christianity - Brian McLaren [120]
As Gamaliel said, if our “plan or undertaking is of human origin, it will fail.” But if our plan or undertaking is from God…
21
Living the Questions in Community
Our quest will probably be a lot easier for people who engage it in ten years’ time, easier because some of us have pioneered the early paths and taken the brunt of the first rounds of unfriendly fire from people who, like Gamaliel’s colleagues, want to “keep it from spreading further among the people” (Acts 4:17). Fifty or seventy years from now, this episode of the quest may have run its course, and this surge of struggle and creativity will be largely fulfilled (with new ones, no doubt, taking its place). By then, more and more followers of Christ will be spiritually formed within the new framing stories or paradigms that are now being born through us. By then, some of the paradigms that currently dominate will be studied in theological history books and preserved only in small defensive enclaves. They will no longer be normative, and some of the ideas that we now pay a price to hold will be the new normal.
But for now we need to acknowledge that among the many forms of spiritual suffering, there is a kind of intellectual and theological suffering, a painful death of old ways of being Christians and a joyful resurrection into new ways that some of us are called to undergo. Martyrdom might not be too strong a word for this agonizing process. If you are one of those called on this quest, blazing rough trails now so that others can more easily follow in the future, then, please, be a friend to yourself. Understand how hard this process is, and provide yourself the kind of care you would want for a friend so engaged.1
When I started talking openly about my quest for a new kind of Christianity, I quickly learned that some people weren’t safe to talk with. Much could be said about their reactions, but what mattered more was my response to their reactions. Sometimes I felt hurt: “Why don’t others see how beautiful and good this quest is?” Other times I felt angry: “These people are so closed-minded and narrow!” Sometimes I got nasty: “Call me a heretic, will you? Well, I’m not the heretic. You are!” Sometimes I was tempted to withdraw: “I guess I’m just not wanted around here. I’ve had it with their organized religion.” But eventually I’d get over these initial reactions, and instead of getting bitter and cranky I prayed and struggled to get better and creative.
Through this process, I learned to hold in tension two indispensable elements of our quest. First, without what my friend Mabiala Kenzo calls the “courage to differ,” I insecurely felt I had to pretend to agree with the yellow-, green-, or blue-zone versions of faith, even when I didn’t.2 Second, without a sufficient dose of the “grace to differ graciously,” I felt I had to convert everyone to see things my way before I could confidently live out my new perspectives. As a result, I too often embroiled myself in fruitless contention instead of generative conversation. In so doing, I harmed others, myself, and the quest to which I had become committed. As I learned to combine the courage to differ with the grace to differ graciously (which I’m still learning and in pursuit of which I have no doubt stumbled at times in these pages), I gradually learned to simply share with those who either “got it” or wanted to get it and not to bother—or look down upon—those who didn’t. As a result, now I’m far less disappointed in the number of people who are disinterested in or opposed to this quest than I am amazed by the number of people who are dying to join in the journey.
How do you know which people might be interested in “getting