Why Are You A Christian?

Robert M. Franklin, September 29, 2002

A Sermon delivered at the First Presbyterian Church, Atlanta

Acts 26: 24 – 29 And Agrippa said to Paul, “In a short time you think to make me a Christian!” And Paul said, “Whether short or long, I would to God that not only you but also all who hear me this day might become such as I am, except for these chains.”

Assuming that you are a Christian or are strongly inclined toward Christian faith, I would like to ask respectfully, why?

Thirty years ago I was a student here in Atlanta at Morehouse College. After nearly three years as a political science/pre-law major, I experienced a life transforming encounter with Christ, a real conversion, and became a student of theology. I spent my junior year as an overseas student at Durham University in northern England. This afforded me the opportunity to travel to several countries and to observe people from other cultures and religious traditions.

For the first time in my life, I realized that I had been born into a family and a culture that was primarily Christian in form and habit. Recall the theologian Paul Tillich’s wonderful observation that culture is the form of religion and religion is the substance of culture. As I traveled, I realized that had I been born in New Delhi or Bangkok, Istanbul or Jerusalem it is likely that I would have been reared and shaped into a Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim or Jew.

I wondered, is my Christian identity a result simply of an accident of history? Was my birth in a nation that provided safe and easy exposure to the message of Jesus the consequence of a cosmic lottery? Why was I born here rather than there, to Christian family rather than some other? This chain of reasoning was unsatisfying to me. Why was I a Christian, really? And, why are you a Christian, really?

During this period of adolescent restlessness and philosophical inquiry I noticed that the seasoned students of theology at Morehouse were engaged in a very interesting exercise. I characterize them as seasoned to draw distinction between those students who had managed to design for themselves a comfortable faith that offered simple answers to life’s complex questions. These young gentlemen were often seen around campus practicing the delivery of sermons in a voice that resembled that of Dr. King. I cynically referred to this practice or syndrome as ‘imitatio Martinus’.

But I was intrigued by the three or four students that were engaged in the study of comparative religion. After dinner, these guys would spend the entire evening in the library poring over the sacred texts of the major world religions. It was beautiful. Each student occupied an entire table covered with a dozen books, rulers, markers, and notebooks. When the library closed at midnight, they were there every night to flip the light switch off. I was fascinated by their concentration and erudition. Soon, I managed to join this select group. Although they regarded me with a mixture of contempt (after all, I had just wasted three years studying politics and law and had a lot of catching up to do), and with the animated curiosity of genuine mentors (I think they were taking credit for my intellectual conversion).

After some time with them, I noticed that they enjoyed endless discussions and arguments about the most esoteric discoveries in their research. As a person given to action, I could stand only so much of that. One day after reading Mahatma Gandhi’s biography detailing his ‘experiments with truth’, I had a revelation. What if I was to live one day of each week as if I was a devotee of a different faith tradition?

I organized this experiment with truth more or less chronologically and limited myself to weekdays. Surely, I would need the weekend to recover from this intense immersion in pluralistic holiness.

Looking back on this episode, it is now clear that I was driven by the overconfidence and naivete typical of adolescence. I was guilty of selective, self-serving interpretations of other traditions that I could only know in a superficial way. And as I share this now, I mean no disrespect to these noble wisdom traditions.

On Monday, I was Hindu. Hinduism appeared to be the most ancient and most inclusive of the major traditions. But, this meant I would be vegetarian all day. Secretly I hoped that they weren’t serving the monthly steak we all relished. I reflected on the prayer of Shankara (the Thomas Aquinas of Hinduism) who addressed God as ‘He before whom all words recoil.’ Prayer might proceed better by listening and silently humming a primordial sound instead of uttering lots of words.

I began by reading selections from the Atharva Veda and Upanishads where I was reminded that Brahman was the source of all creation and is the essence of everything that is. But, Brahman did not create the universe, rather it emanated from Brahman. Hence, all of life is a seamless web. I thought, that means I am connected even to the cow, the very cow that would provide the steak I was looking forward to. A sobering idea.

I took comfort in knowing that my good and evil deeds determined my eternal future and well-being. According to karma, the moral law of cause and effect, I would return with another chance to improve my eternal lot. Ethics mattered because if I misbehaved and treat people badly, in the next life cycle I might return as a rodent or snake. But, if I consistently did the right thing, in the next life I might return as a prince or a Presbyterian minister. As I went through the day, my life as a Hindu instilled greater patience with the immediate, daily nonsense and nastiness of some people.

Hinduism also offered many paths to enlightenment or harmony with Brahman. These are called yoga. Depending on your personality type, a different path is recommended. Some people are reflective, some emotional, some activists, and some experimental. I was the reflective type so I engaged in meditation that would help peal away the behavior and desires that prevent my search for truth. During these extended periods of meditation I learned much about silence and being open to God.

On Tuesday, I awakened as a Buddhist. Recall that just as the Protestant Reformation was a reaction to abuses in the Catholic church, Buddhism was a reaction to the abuses in Hinduism. Whereas Hinduism was the result of a long, slow process of bringing together various religious beliefs and rituals throughout South Asia, Buddhism came into the world fully formed in the life of its founder. I found the life of the Buddha attractive as he, Siddhartha Gautama, was a child of privilege who reached his twenties and felt discontent with his life. He began to experiment with many paths towards enlightenment until he finally ‘awakened’ or experienced enlightenment while sitting under a bodhi tree after withstanding many temptations and trials.

He spoke of Four Noble Truths and I readily embraced the first, namely, life is filled with suffering and that desire or obsessive ambition lies at the root of most suffering. The cure for this illness is found in the “eight fold path” that includes right knowledge, right aspirations, right speech, right behavior, right occupation or livelihood, right effort and right mindfulness.

As I sought escape from the seductions of our materialistic culture, I began to view Western culture through a new and troubling lens. I was appalled by how television, magazines, newspapers and marketing seemed to shower us with images of a good life through acquiring more stuff. I imagined the purity and simplicity of a truly simple life with almost no possessions.

On Tuesdays, I disengaged from the traffic of campus life by walking to the park where I could appreciate the beauty of nature. I experienced a greater sense of my connection to creation and sought to practice nonviolence towards all living things. I sought Nirvana, the highest destiny of the human spirit. Like the character in the movie Amelie, I went about doing good deeds without anyone noticing. I avoided arguments and conflict with others and in the spirit of Zen Buddhism, offered mystifying answers to anyone who asked what I was up to.

On Wednesday, I was Jewish. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the collective consciousness of those who are considered to be ‘chosen people’ but who have experienced the disjunctions of slavery, genocide, and oppression throughout history. I read the Torah with a renewed sense of awe that divine revelation might be recorded in a book. By now I was keenly aware of how much religions seemed to meddle with a believer’s daily diet. I observed laws of kosher which meant that I could not enjoy lobster in the school cafeteria…as if. I marveled at the idea of God as a person who speaks to humans. I marveled even more at the idea that we are made in the image of God.

I took special interest in, and identified with, the prophets who called an errant, comfortable people back to righteousness and pure worship. But, the prophets also spoke truth to power. Hence, Wednesday was my day to challenge whatever seemed to be out of order on campus.

Thursday was my Christian day. Recall G.K. Chesterton’s observation that the Christian faith hasn’t been tried and found wanting, it has been found difficult and left untried. I tried to focus on the life and teachings of Jesus alone. Recently, George Wirth preached a provocative and insightful sermon on Jefferson’s Bible noting that Thomas Jefferson created his own Bible by copying only the sayings and deeds of Jesus while eliminating the miraculous material. My feeble efforts to practice the radical love ethic of Jesus often made people uncomfortable. Peers in my senior class scolded me for spending time counseling freshmen. Campus staff stared in amazement when I helped to clean tables and collect trays in the cafeteria. Although I could finally eat anything I could pray over, it seemed that practicing Christianity was more counter cultural than I had before realized.

I marveled anew at the incomprehensible idea that God assumed the form of a mortal man in an effort to demonstrate God’s love for humanity. And, I was intrigued by the idea that the Holy Spirit is ever present seeking to draw humans closer to God and to equip believers to love as Jesus did. Most amazing was the idea that I could gain access to the gift of eternal life by my simple and sincere faith in Christ as savior. Did I mention you could eat anything you wanted?

Finally, on Friday, I submitted to Allah the merciful and beneficent. Friday was particularly appropriate to assume the posture of a Muslim as it is the designated day of prayer in the Muslim world. At the center of this tradition is a book, the Holy Qur’an which is the revelation God delivered through the prophet Muhammad. I read with the awareness that my ignorance of Arabic made it impossible for me to fully appreciate the beauty and power of this sacred book.

I was attracted by the five pillars of Islam which include prayer fives times a day facing the holy city of Mecca, charitable giving to the poor, fasting during the month of Ramadan, and making the pilgrimage to Mecca. Of course, I avoided Ramadan’s sacrifice as my experiment with truth was now causing me to lose weight, something I could afford to do now, but not then.

My understanding of Islam was influenced by the memory and spirit of El Hajj Malik el Shabazz, formerly known as Malcolm X. I was inspired to expose and confront the evil of racism wherever I found it. Also, I began to leave campus and find opportunities to teach and serve people who lived in the nearby public housing project.

Such was my brief college experiment with sampling truth. The flaws in my experiment were manifold. I was a lone individual seeking to practice faiths that require communal sharing. And, I experienced a tiny distillation of these great traditions through the thought-world of a cultural Christian. Despite this, I learned much from these other paths. And today, my spirituality is profoundly shaped by what William James might have called the ‘variety of religious sentiments’.

But, why am I a Christian? And, why are you, if you are?

In a lecture, the eminent theologian Paul Tillich once said that he studied the truth claims of the world’s major religious traditions. He tried to live inside their thought worlds. But, when he came back to Christianity, the God of Jesus Christ grasped him, and would not let him go. He felt accepted unconditionally.

I had a similar experience when I re-discovered a significant moment in the gospels. I had read a thousand times the crucifixion narrative, but for the first time I realized that while Jesus hung from the cross, he was engaged in a dialogue with God.

In that awful moment when Jesus cried to his father, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ I felt Jesus in all of his humanness. Jesus had a momentary quarrel with God. Jesus loved God and God loved Jesus, but at that moment of suffering and alienation and loneliness, Jesus felt abandoned. And, he didn’t hold his peace as he had with Pilate and his accusers. He spoke up. It was prayer as a lover’s quarrel.

The great theologian and religious scholar Schleiermacher declared that religion is the feeling of absolute dependence. Ultimately, we must and will decide to trust in that deity upon whom we can depend upon absolutely.

I am a Christian because I was open and available to be grasped by a love so great that it embraced me in all of my sin and doubt. I can trust a God that permits me to cry out in moments of honest despair and weariness.

That is what happened to the apostle Paul. His faith in God was redirected by the grasping love of Jesus Christ. Paul’s life mission thereafter became sharing his experience with others. When we encounter him in the book of Acts 26, he is again sharing his story with people who did not share his faith. And, as one of his listeners, King Agrippa declares, ‘in a short time you think to make me a Christian’. Luke presents Paul’s response as ‘I would to God that not only you but also all who hear me this day might become such as I am – except for these chains.’ His response betrays the both the courage and the humility of the authentic Christian. He was courageous in sharing his faith with others. But, he recognized that he should not and could not coerce or manipulate them into sharing his faith. Hence, his call was to be a witness to others.

In our world, there is too much needless friction and mistrust among those who claim to cherish the same God. Perhaps all of us, should pause to learn more about the faith of others. That effort to understanding need not detract from or diminish our living faith in Christ. Indeed, it might enhance our faith.

In the words of the little song I learned in Sunday School, before I made a decision to trust the God who can handle my complaints and weakness, ‘this little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.’