Truth is Not a Crutch

I walked away from church in 1982. I was 16. I didn’t make an announcement or drive a proverbial stake in the ground. I simply stopped going. I had been involved in church for as long as I could remember. I just decided I couldn’t do it anymore. I wasn’t mad, offended, abused, or overlooked. I was bored.

It wasn’t the activities, energy levels, friendships, music, or teaching that bored me. It was a single question. But my inability to answer or overlook that one question left me skeptical and doubting the relevance of church along with everything else related to Christianity and religion in general. I was pragmatic to a fault. At school, when I perceived a class added value to my life, I was all in. When I could not make the connection between a class and my future, my enthusiasm flat-lined. Without a solid answer to my question, church lost its purpose and appeal.

I shared my question with three men – my coach, my Sunday School teacher, and my dad. Each gave my question less than two minutes. My coach and my Sunday School teacher gave me polar opposite answers. My dad landed smack dab in the middle, suggesting that perhaps each person might answer my question differently for him/herself. Since that answer tilted toward my coach’s answer, it appeared 2 to 1, that all that life spent in years of church events was meaningless for a healthy young man with no need for a crutch.

My question was “Did God create man, or did man create god?” To me, this question was paramount. I found myself seeking to empathize with those who might create a god when they had nowhere else to turn or no one on whom they could lean. I even imagined it easier to enforce rules and laws if those in authority could point to an omnipotent law maker and judge. In either case, “God” was a manmade crutch for the weak and/or those seeking control.

I certainly didn’t think all these people in churches were intentionally perpetuating a lie. The only way a manmade god would effectively serve as a crutch was if there were plenty of sheep, those willing to follow without giving much thought to my question. Perhaps that might be called “faith,” which sure seemed to be encouraged by those in charge.

I had a driver’s license, and figured turning eighteen would provide whatever deliverance I needed. I wasn’t looking for authority or control, and I was certainly less than eager to give someone else more control over me than I thought they deserved. I was also less than eager to be referred to as one of the sheep. I didn’t need a crutch. So, I left.

For seven years, I let my friends and my ego determine right from wrong, occasionally considering what my naive sheepish friends might do. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of my newfound friends and habits, I found less need for light. From time to time, I would visit some church event with a friend. My fond memories would settle upon my sleeves as light and effortlessly as snowflakes. Then my unanswered question would brush them away and into puddles on the floor to be trampled through by all.

Then I fell in love with someone who had recently fell in love with Jesus. I followed her into church. We were embraced by a group of friends who loved Jesus. I spent months trying to figure out why each of them needed a crutch. Why did they lack the self-esteem to stand on their own two feet without a god? I thought that if I could discover each’s weakness, I could disprove the church charade and we could invest our time more wisely.

One by one, I found their flaws. Some had financial issues. Others had job-related or extended family issues. Some were struggling with health or even marital issues. Some were just anxious, and others were like me, simply following a spouse. I knew it! Sheep, too weak to stand on their own, gravitating toward this manmade crutch they called Jesus. I loved these people, and I found nothing offensive about the values they taught. In fact, if they had just admitted that this is just a great philosophical approach to life, I’d be all in. But they couldn’t talk about it without all these supernatural spiritual claims about Jesus.

Then a statement changed my life. One Sunday, as I was preparing my reasoning to leave, our preacher said, “As much as I need Jesus, I don’t follow him simply because I need him. I follow him because his story is true.” What? I needed to taste his coffee! What was he drinking?

The next day, I left his office with a couple of books. He met my question with a question, asking if I was willing to do my own research to answer my question. He was not going to give me an unsubstantiated answer. Two books led to ten. That year, I realized that there were mountains of evidence to support God’s existence and Jesus’ story. I also realized that I had a desperate need for a real savior.

Lately, my teaching has been focused on the Garden, our universal sin issue, and Jesus as our only hope to overcome it and spend eternity back in the presence of God. It has occurred to me that there may be someone out there just like me, thinking that perhaps man created this whole god story. I understand. I get it. If you’d like, let’s talk. But I think my pastor had the right idea by giving me a place to start my own research. Here’s a list of books, in no specific order, from authors who have wrestled deeply with the question, “Did God create man, or did man create god?”

·      The Case For Christ, Lee Stroble

·      Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis

·      Body of Proof, Jeremiah Johnson

·      Is God Real?, Lee Stroble

·      A Case For Faith, Lee Stroble

·      Evidence That Demands a Verdict, Josh McDowell

·      I Don’t Have Enough Faith To Be an Atheist, Norman Geisler & Frank Turek

·      The Deconstruction of Christianity, Alisa Childers & Tim Barnett

·      Cold-Case Christianity, J. Warner Wallace

If this is your question, you already know how important it is to find the answer. Now, the question is, “Are you willing to put the effort into finding it yourself?” The Bible is either true or it’s a crutch. But it’s not both. Truth is not a crutch.

Grace & Peace,

John