Fully
Why I fully embrace Jesus, if not all of Christianity.
By Anni Ponder
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”
If we ever met up again after that first conversation where I told you why I identify as barely Christian, you might ask me about the “fully” part. After all, it seems a little odd to say you are both scarcely and totally anything. “How can that be?” you might wonder.
It’s a good question, and I’d be so glad you asked.
“First,” I would tell you, “I didn’t come up with the ‘fully’ part. That was given to me as a gift, and as I examined it, my heart felt so much joy that I decided to keep it.”
Next, I’d explain what I mean by it. I’d tell you that it makes sense to wonder why I would want to pitch my tent in the Christian camp, what with all the trouble there’s been here. In fact, I’ve wondered many times if I wouldn’t feel more at home in the New Age camp, or the Sikh or Buddhist or spiritual-but-not-religious camp, because I often find so much symmetry with folks from those worldviews.
Then I might tell you we probably need a better metaphor than these camps, because aren’t we all on the same land, anyway? I would rub my temples and sigh, wishing we could all just be friends, already.
“OK,” you might say, “so you’ve decided Jesus is your guy in spite of His followers. Why?”
I’d ask you if you had time for a story. If you said yes, here’s what I would tell you:
“I started following Jesus when I was three years old.”
I started following Jesus when I was three years old. I know not everyone has the sort of experience I did, and sometimes when I tell this story, people get a little envious and wonder why they haven’t had a direct conversation with Jesus. I don’t know what to say about that, except that I’ve learned to trust that He’s pure love and will reveal Himself to us when and how we can accept it.
Here’s what happened: My parents had a really awful marriage. They used to have the most horrific screaming matches, usually from behind their closed bedroom door, but I could hear every word. They were the sorts of fights where concerned neighbors would call the police. Needless to say, that was terrifying to me.
Usually I would park myself outside their door where I would cry, scream, and pound, trying to get them to stop. I felt so small, so incapable of doing anything to help. The two people I loved most in all the world were tearing each other to shreds, and nothing I could do would make it better.
So one day, when they were at it again, I decided to do something about it. I turned up my tantrum to full-scale, screaming and banging on the door, hollering and kicking and melting down. With all my three-year-old might, I raged and shrieked and thrashed until they finally opened the door.
They tried to console me. Tried to tell me to calm down. But nothing was helping. I was beyond furious. I was terrified of what they would do to one another, and had crossed the line into hysteria. I could not be soothed.
Unable to quiet me, they sent me to my room to cool off. As I was a very gregarious only child, this was my most hated punishment. But I finally went, stomping and hiccuping and sobbing all the way down the hall. I think I slammed my door.
Then my parents did something unexpected and beautiful. They stopped fighting, joined hands, and knelt down beside their big waterbed. They prayed for me, asking God to comfort me and bring me back to my right mind. Instead of holding onto their rage against one another, they took hold of each other and loved me with their prayer.
And Jesus answered. He came into my room, knelt down, and stretched out His arms toward me. He said, “Come to me, Anni. Come to me.”
I did.
Then I opened my door and walked softly back to their room. They were astonished. Just a moment before, I had been in a frenzied panic. Now, I looked utterly peaceful. I told them Jesus had hugged me. They didn’t know what to say.
I wish I could say this solved their marital woes, and we lived happily together after that. But unfortunately, not even a visit from the Lord Jesus Himself was enough to make them be nice to each other. They eventually found their way into divorce court and a vicious custody battle ensued, and the fighting raged on for years. It’s taken me a long time, many good books, several amazing teachers, and thousands of dollars of therapy to unpack and heal from the damage this did to my heart. But the good news is that Jesus took hold of me that day--or rather, I took hold of Him--and I have never been alone.
So that’s how I got started as a Christian. I knew Jesus was real because I had seen Him--had felt Him--and I never worried about being alone. All through the many chapters of my life, He has accompanied me and guided me. He’s offered me comfort, wisdom, and peace. When I have doubts, He listens. When I have fears, He reminds me nothing can truly be lost in Him. Sometimes He even tells me jokes.
“Hmm,” you might say. “OK, but that still doesn’t explain why you can say you’re fully Christian. You’ve already said you don’t agree with a lot of the doctrine. What do you mean?”
“My experience with Jesus has a lot more to do with our friendship than a list of however many things I hold as absolute truth.”
“Ah, yes. The brass tacks.” I’d tell you that of course, when people talk about faith or religion, the discussion often comes around to a list of beliefs we affirm or reject. I think this is odd because my experience with Jesus has a lot more to do with our friendship than a list of however many things I hold as absolute truth. However, for clarity’s sake, I’ll share what I believe—since you asked.
I truly believe Jesus is a real person, both present and historical, who incarnated as God’s Son to show us how to live, forgive, die, and live again. And I believe God is always good, and that when things don’t make sense, there is more to the story—that God is better than we think She is.
That’s pretty much it. That’s the extent of my dogma.
I know it’s a short list, but I am convinced it’s all I need in order to call myself fully Christian. Because really, what else is there?
Some might point out I didn’t mention how I need Jesus’ death to forgive my sins, or that the Bible is the infallible Word-a-God (thanks, Brian McLaren), or that there’s heaven and hell and all the rest. To that, I would say I don’t really know about all the mysteries of the universe. Lots of things get preached as absolute Christian truth, but once you look at them through the lens of history, culture, and language, what seemed crystal clear in our English Bibles looks a little more nuanced and storied than before.
So I’ve learned to hold many things lightly.
But Jesus? I’m holding onto Him with all my might. And it feels just like Home.
“So, you’re barely Christian in the sense that you don’t agree with a lot of it, but fully in the sense that all you really need is Jesus?”
“Yep,” I would say. “I’ve thrown out the stale, dirty bathwater, but I’m keeping the Baby Jesus. Turns out, He’s better than my wildest imagination.”
