A friend posted a wonderful article this week on what she calls the 1% media spin on Christians. If we are to believe what we hear on TV (or in the blogsphere), Christians are essentially an angry, self-righteous, narrow, finger-wagging mob that seems oddly concerned with amassing money for themselves while withholding it from the poor and the suffering. Or strangely obsessed with saving week-old embryos while clamoring for the heads of adult criminals. Those are the soundbites anyway. And boy do we eat them up.
I’m as guilty of buying into the negative press as anyone because somehow, deep down, I think I’ve always suspected that my church home, and the many larger circles of faith I’ve been drawn into over the past 17 years, are aberrations. They’d have to be. If the media is right— if what I hear on TV about what Christians really believe and how they behave is true— then my experiences are so far out of the norm as to be irrelevant; to date, I could count on half a hand the actual flesh-and-blood people I’ve encountered who fit the stereotype.
A few months back, I feared that was all going to change. I had committed to beginning my MA in Theology in what I would consider a very unlikely place: Concordia University in Irvine. In Orange County. Yes, THAT Orange County. In a red-state/blue-state world, it was seemingly as red as they came. Being an L.A. girl, with a Venice cultural bent, I was scared to death to cross over the “Orange Curtain” to learn more deeply about God. Surely there I would come finally come face to face with the ugly reality of those pinched and howling mobs. I prayed that the experience wouldn’t undermine my faith entirely, that “those people” — you know, the ones on TV who want to tell everyone what to think and how to live — wouldn’t ruin everything.
Instead I came face to face with real reality. With professors who were also pastors, who held PhDs in Philosophy and stated emphatically on Day 1 of our Ethics class, “If you believe that because of your Christian faith there is only one political party to belong to you’re mistaken.” I looked around the room, heard the voices of the students logging in online, as night after night we tackled lines of philosophical thought— Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Kant, Mill, Engelhardt— and always the question that was asked was this, “Can you support your position without any reference to scripture or even an assumption of a worldview that includes God.”
Over the past few months I have had the good fortune to learn from fellow students who amaze me by their very presence: an Ethiopian lay pastor who longed to study the teachings of Martin Luther and who shares with us abundantly from his experiences dealing with global poverty and corrupt government systems; a young Chinese woman who records every lecture so she can relisten at home, slowly decoding the words in the language that is still so new to her, her insights like perfect drops of rain; a local father of four with a PhD in mechanical engineering who’s committed his life to groundbreaking research in fuel cell technology and alternative energy sources; when our class is over, he and others stay on into the night to study Greek. And so many good and wise men whose hearts have called them to a life of service who hunger to find words permeable enough to bring love to everyone in a world that few would deny is more than a little bit broken.
The discussions are never narrow. There is a sincere desire on the part of almost every person in the class to grow beyond their own understanding. When someone does express what appears to be a limited view— a soundbite view— they are quickly and gently guided towards a broader one.
The fact that this surprises me is proof that I have been as guilty as the non-believing world in buying into what the media— and a sliver of followers— wants us to see as the face of Christianity. Proof that I have forgotten about the truth of The Silent Majority. We are just people, lots and lots of stunningly different types of people, who have in common the simple fact that we’ve been touched by the love of God who became real to us in some ineffable way through the life of Jesus Christ. Now we try to use His life and teachings to make sense of the world. Most of that work is done without fanfare. Much of it involves quiet acts of service— taking time to listen to a neighbor, giving your all to a project even when no one’s looking, being a voice of peace in a chaotic environment. Trying to bring a bit more grace to the world with whatever gifts God’s given us.
Quiet stuff.
Let’s try to remember that the next time we are presented with a tinny, soundbite version of what Christianity looks like in America in the year 2011.
Heather Choate Davis 