"How Can You Call Yourself a Christian?"

The relief of leaving behind judgment and choosing curiosity

My hardest lesson recently in therapy? Feelings aren’t good or bad, they just are. 

No. Wait. That can’t be right.

Some feelings are not okay, my brain yelled during the session. It’s not okay to be sad or anxious or angry. That means something’s bad, something’s wrong. Fix it now.

We went over it, me and my therapist, and later I watched the (slightly corny) video she sent as follow-up homework. And while I gained some insight about my emotions, what really stood out to me is how much of a white-knuckle grip I have on criticism in general. A tight-fisted determination of right and wrong. 

I think about all the judgment I’ve held for others and myself–for years. Like it was always up to me to discern between good and bad. 

I held such rigid, black and white boundaries on gray areas, and it became exhausting trying to reinforce those walls while also hiding behind them. 

These boundaries looked suspiciously like church culture: attending each service and event, following strict moral codes, walking an expected series of life choices, turning down opportunities that didn’t seem to glorify God enough, trying to please other people, doing things with a checklist mentality rather than a free and willing heart. And holding others to these standards as well. 

No wonder I felt like I hadn’t slept in ages when I walked through the door to Sunday service. 

No wonder I panicked once during a sermon, thinking everyone in the room was looking at me. 

This topic is complicated. On the surface, criticism sounds like pure pride, and I agree that it’s a factor in my case. I was arrogant. I thought I had it all figured out. 

But underneath, there was so much fear packed up in all that baggage.

A fear that I would break my already-precarious relationship with the Ruler who had almost-but-not-yet run out of second chances for me, someone who always seemed to be messing up. A fear for the people in my life who might also somehow break that contract with God. 

I had to be right and I had to hold it all together for everyone. The pressure was on me to make sure I and others were saved. It was like a test I had to pass.

I could tell you about my anxiety around ministry meetings, the sheer terror of being put on the spot and wondering if I had done enough. Often I dodged conversations I feared would leave me open to scrutiny. I received and likely gave advice to others that was more reflective of church culture rather than deeply held, biblically-based beliefs that were in view of God’s mercy and offered out of love rather than fear.

Let me say this: church culture can be for better or worse. As members of the church, there was a general assumption that we would be in each other’s lives, open with each other, and challenge and encourage one another in our faith, Acts 2:42-47 style.

It’s fair to have expectations of a community. God does for his Church. But because we’re people, there’s room for human error. I don’t mean calculated harm or abuse–that’s a different issue.

No, I mean the gray-area misjudgments like majoring in the minors, protecting people or the status quo, and people-pleasing (a big one for me). Making up my own mind about what was generally right or wrong or best or worst. I was affected by and passed on this culture, thinking it was the right thing to do.

Like I said, it’s complicated. 

One of the TV shows that has provided so much value and comfort for me within the past few years is Ted Lasso. I still feel uncomfortable even admitting that. 

It’s one of those shows I would have judged someone for watching years ago. Too many F-bombs. Too much innuendo. How can you call yourself a Christian and watch that? “Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial.” You get the drill. 

(Side note: There’s a question that’s not really curious at all: “How can you call yourself a Christian and…?”

Someone asked me this on social media the other day. This is a mic drop question. There’s no curiosity there, no intent to learn more, no room for follow-up. It’s judgment disguised as a question, and it’s not one Jesus asks us.) 

But I couldn’t stop watching it. Immediately I wrote off all the characters: a whole lineup of people I wouldn’t want to be in the same room with, much less meet in real life. All except for Ted, the guy you root for, the unflappable guy that always seemed to bring sunshine and did no wrong. 

And then the characters evolved. Masks were taken off; humanity revealed; relationships restored. Even indefatigable Ted had his own demons. The show had an incredible way of showing the transformation of these characters and I found myself cheering for each one by the end. 

In one episode, Ted casually challenges his boss Rebecca’s malicious ex-husband Rupert in a game of darts. In the beginning, he appears to be an amateur, but the game remains neck and neck. In the final round, on his final turn, Ted makes this speech: 

Guys have underestimated me my entire life and for years I never understood why – it used to really bother me. Then one day I was driving my little boy to school, and I saw a quote by Walt Whitman, it was painted on the wall there and it said, ‘Be curious, not judgmental.’ I like that.” (Ted throws a dart. Everyone cheers.)

“So, I get back in my car and I’m driving to work and all of a sudden it hits me – all them fellas that used to belittle me, not a single one of them was curious. You know, they thought they had everything all figured out, so they judged everything, and they judged everyone. And I realized that their underestimating me – who I was had nothing to do with it. Because if they were curious, they would’ve asked questions. Questions like, ‘Have you played a lot of darts, Ted?’” (Ted throws another dart. Everyone cheers.) 

“To which I would have answered, ‘Yes sir. Every Sunday afternoon at a sports bar with my father from age ten until I was 16 when he passed away.’ Barbecue sauce.” (Ted throws a double bullseye to win the game.)

I wonder how circumstances would have been different, had I opted for curiosity over judgment. 

I wonder how much relief and confidence I would have felt and passed on to others, had I not felt the need to have all the right answers or to rescue everyone. 

I wonder how much insecurity and anxiety I could have avoided by releasing criticism, as well as fear. 

Here’s the thing: God invites us to be curious. So many times in scripture, he engages with people’s questions, and even doubts. (I’m thinking of Abraham, Moses, Gideon, Mary the mother of Jesus, and Nicodemus, to name a few.) 

And then there is Jesus, God in the flesh, God with us. Often when Jesus is approached by others who demand a direct response, he does a maddening thing, for those of us who just want the black-and-white answer: he replies with a question. Sometimes that question is, essentially, “well, what do you think?” 

As the God who is above all time and space, with all the facts and truth and wisdom in the universe, he opts to give us the space to work it out ourselves. Why? Why not just tell us what to do or think? 

Maybe it’s because he wants us to wander, sight unseen, into the expanse that lies just past what we think we know for sure. Faith bridges the gap to where he waits on the other side. Faith is what we need to initially set foot into new territory, and it only grows as we take more steps toward him. 

Curiosity leads to a lesson you take to heart, rather than a snap judgment or quick answer that has you passing the test but teaches you nothing. 

In a recent article, Oliver Darcy talks about his turnaround from an immediate dismissal of Taylor Swift’s The Tortured Poets Department The Anthology, to an immense appreciation for the album after a week of listening. Part of his initial dislike came on the heels of quick, cursory, disparaging reviews from critics who attempted to judge the album overnight (for deadlines, of course). 

He goes further with this thought: “The information environment demands — and rewards — instant takes. Opinions must immediately be generated, posted on social media, and discussed in group chains. There is no waiting. Stopping to smell the flowers means that you are left behind.” Conversely, he describes the album as a feast to be savored slowly.

This world demands we pick a side, arriving at a set and finalized judgment; and not only that, but to state your opinion loudly, whatever information we have or we lack, whatever preconceptions we come in with. 

Being curious instead of judgmental is counter-cultural. 

Making your mind up slowly, asking questions, maybe not ever arriving at a full opinion or complete thought, giving faith an opportunity to do its work in us–maybe this is the real goal. 

What if all of our loose ends are bonding us even more tightly in faith to a God who gives us space to work things out for ourselves? 

What if we were never intended to play the judge when it comes to eternal matters?

Well, what do you think? 

Photo by Scott Taylor on Unsplash