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Beliefs for Which I Would Die

I haven't had time to post for awhile, but I've enjoyed reading the exchange between Cheryl and DanDaniels. It would take me forever to make every little comment I would like to make, so I'll try to refrain.

I'm not sure that I agree with Dan's definition of belief, in terms of it being something that "happens" to us. Although, come to think of it, there might be more truth to that than I first realized. Perhaps he is referring to the kind of unquestioningly held "beliefs", the sort of unexamined thinking, the "I believe whatever Pastor So-and-so says" attitude that is all too rampant. (A friend of mine is involved with an ongoing discussion/sometimes argument with a Catholic who is becoming much more devout in her Catholicism. Whenever my friend points out some Scripture and asks, "What do you believe about this?", the answer is inevitably something along the lines of, "I haven't heard my priest answer that one so I don't know".) I, not known for my humbleness, like to think that I am far beyond that, and that I lead a much more examined life. But I am humble enough to admit that I don't know everything, that some of my beliefs are more strongly held than others...and that, in some areas, I don't quite know what to believe.

Which brings me to Cheryl's question, "Do you have beliefs for which you would die?" I certainly hope I would be willing to die for--well, not really for my beliefs, but for the Object of my belief. I'm not sure what answer you expected, Cheryl: a carefully articulated statement of faith? what I believe boiled down to a few key points? This kind of question is so thought-provoking, but it can't be properly answered by statements of doctrine.

A member of the S.S. once stood in my grandfather's home. He confronted my grandparents with the words, "The time has come to decide between Hitler--or Jesus!" (Not your typical theological discussion.) My grandfather answered quietly, "We made that decision a long time ago." And the S.S. officer spat out, "You will pay with your life for your decision!" and abruptly left. (It turned out he was wrong because my grandfather lived many more years, but that's another story.) My mother and her sisters were quite shaken, but insisted, "If you die, we will die with you!" only to be told by their parents, "We don't want you to die for what we believe". My grandparents urged them to have a faith that was their own, to be sure of what they believed as opposed to merely believing what their parents believed.

I grew up with that story and with the constant admonition that I couldn't ride into heaven on my parent's coattails, practice secondhand faith, or any of those other oft-repeated picturesque phrases.

So in my junior year of high school, while I was having a crisis of faith and/or belief (every time I use either word, I worry that DanDaniels will hold me accountable for using it improperly ;) ) I went so far as to invent my own religion that had absolutely nothing to do with the Bible or even with a personal God. That was an unsatisfying experience. It's hard to pretend to believe or to take comfort in something you know you just made up.

In the intervening years, what and how I believe has grown and changed. I've gone through phases of being experience-based and emotionally-driven in terms of belief. I've gone through more mind-y phases. I've explored some extremely different expressions and subsets of Christianity. I've struggled with issues of doctrine. I've struggled more with issues of obedience. And somehow, as I've grown older, I've almost surprised myself by coming back to the faith of my fathers--perhaps different here and there in a few of the more subtle nuances and the less essential doctrines, but pretty much the same.

My grandfather, as I mentioned earlier, died long after the war. He died of a massive, quite painful heart attack. His last words were, "Jesus is the Victor! Hallelujah! Amen." You have to understand that my grandfather was my childhood hero, the man who seemed larger and stronger and funnier and more wonderful than any other human being could possibly be. He died right after I turned 19 years old. There was a lot that was unsettled in my life then, and his last dying words deeply troubled me. In fact, sometimes they rather infuriated me. Why couldn't he have said "God" instead of "Jesus"? Why did this have to be so important to him that these were his very last words?

To answer Cheryl's question: that's Who I would die for. The Jesus that my grandfather lived for, the Jesus he was willing to die for, the Jesus Whose Name he praised in his dying words--and that Jesus is the Jesus of the Bible. People can argue over interpretation (who is the Biblical Jesus?) and it can be interesting and frustrating and all that. When I strip away the mind-y arguments and my theological wrestlings and ponderings, I KNOW. I don't mean that in an arrogant, anti-intellectual, blind faith way. I don't mean I know everything about Jesus Christ or even that what I do know is all that complete. But I know. I know enough to know that He is worthy of my life--and my death too, should He require it.

copyright 1994 by Rebecca Prewett

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