Dealing with “Evangelical Trauma”

Samuel Cardillo

Let me start with a disclaimer — since I’ve been thinking a lot lately (almost to the point of fixation) about the “big” questions of life, I can’t help but write about them. These are mostly developing ideas, not necessarily solid conclusions, although on some level, I do feel a degree of certainty about what I say. So I invite feedback, harsh or otherwise…

I came away from a reading of Jamie Lee Finch’s recent book, You are Your Own, with this thought — I’m realizing that breaking free from the bonds of what she calls “Evangelical trauma” isn’t a quick and easy process; it has to happen over time. An Evangelical attachment that has been built over a lifetime is a strong bond. To try to break that bond immediately would not only be ineffective, it would also be dishonest. After all, it has been a part of my identity for most of my life. Having been immersed in Evangelical belief and practice over a lifetime has produced thought and behavior patterns that simply cannot be altered or broken by a simple act of will. The emotional attachment to a system of belief that has conditioned one’s behavior over a lifetime is not easily broken; nor should it be. To attempt to follow the urge to immediately abandon the Evangelical mindset once it stops making sense is not a workable solution. It has taken a lifetime to build an immunity to the “worldly” influences that Evangelical Christianity considers unbiblical and therefore unacceptable, unChristian. So why should it be simple to overcome that immunity… it shouldn’t, and it isn’t.

The fear that accompanies the process of deprograming can be overwhelming at times. Why? Because at the root of Evangelical belief are the consequences of betraying that belief. As Evangelicals, we are conditioned, over a lifetime, to view our existence as a simple dualism: either/or… Either accept and follow the “rules” of historic Evangelicalism, which guaranty eternal bliss, or take the risk of walking away from those historic roots and leave what surely seems like the “protection” of adherence to that tradition.

For the person who is on the fence, who has come to recognize the inconsistency of Evangelical belief but also feels and fears the consequences of losing that belief, the trauma can be overwhelming. It seems that at some point in the process there must be a moment of decision — when one (purely through an act of the will) decides to stick with the comfort and assurance that come with Evangelical Christianity despite its apparent inconsistencies, or when the urge to stick with adherence to the faith simply stops making sense in any consequential way, and therefore it becomes a matter of dishonesty to oneself to stick with it in any meaningful way.

It seems impossible (not to mention unproductive) to stay for any length of time in some sort of limbo or middle ground between faith and doubt. I find myself having straddled that thin line for some time now, and I’ve attempted to describe that condition in some detail in my book, Between Faith and Doubt. Evangelical Christianity, as I have come to understand it and identify with it over a lifetime, has become a “safe place” to settle because it promises good results (eternal bliss). But at the same time, the theology that underlies it has become increasingly troublesome, in some ways unacceptable, in fact, almost repulsive. Why go so far as to call it “repulsive?” Very simply, Evangelical Christianity posits the idea that humanity is helpless, hopeless, and incapable of being good or doing good; lost, and headed for disastrous eternal consequences if left to itself. Evangelical Christianity posits a solution to that dilemma — simply throw yourself into the safe and merciful hands of God… believe (or at least express or articulate belief), and all will be well, eternal bliss will be guaranteed.

Pascal’s wager is profoundly simple in this regard; for him, it’s all about the potential risk of not-believing. Why take that risk when you can mitigate the odds and have the assurance of eternal bliss? I’m not sure whether Pascal was being facetious — whether he actually believed what he wrote or if he was making a point about the phenomenon of true belief vs. false hope. Did he actually believe it was that simple, purely an act of verbalizing adherence to a given proposition (perhaps facetiously), or was it his underlying intent to make the point that belief is something deeper than a simple articulation of a proposition? To put it another way, does one’s mere verbal assent to a conviction necessarily constitute that person’s true belief? Could it be that simple? Or must one’s true conviction be deeper than mere verbal expression? I mean seriously, can a “death bed” expression of faith in God, purely for the purpose of avoiding an awful afterlife, alter that person’s ultimate destiny? Or, alternatively, is the idea of eternal security that is based on a “quick and easy” confession pure nonsense? Pascal’s Wager (and Evangelical Christianity’s proposal) certainly provoke those kinds of questions.

Here’s why those kinds of questions have come to weigh so heavily for me these days. I have spent most of my adult life living and studying in the world of biblical history and theology. Having studied the biblical text in both Evangelical and secular environments, I’ve come to recognize a critical disconnect in the expression of God’s character as it has been understood historically by Evangelicalism. Very simply, that expression (that blatant disconnection) is as follows: God is universally Good, Merciful and Kind; and God is Judgmental, Intolerant, and Punishing. Now the immediate Evangelical response to that statement would be to simply dismiss the second set of portrayals as a misguided and wrong characterization of God. A true Evangelical would simply stop at the first characterization: God is good, merciful, kind… Even if he or she were to espouse the second set of characteristics of God, he or she would claim that when applied to God, those characteristics (which are abhorrent to us) are good and positive qualities in God, simply because he is God. (This way of thinking is characteristic of Calvin and his followers, John Piper for example) As a lifelong Evangelical, I understand that mindset — the mindset that essentially excuses what are universally considered negative human qualities when attributed to God, simply because God is God and cannot be judged by human standards.

But more importantly, as a “recovering” Evangelical I still believe that (the idea that God is good), only in a deeper and more honest way. What has changed is that I’m no longer able to see that same God as punishing, intolerant, mean-spirited. (It’s interesting but sad that it has taken so long to come to that conclusion.) What’s important at this point is to be honest enough as a recovering Evangelical to recognize the obvious disconnection (in fact, the impossibility) in viewing God as both/and — both merciful, kind, etc. and as a God who unexplainably subjects some of his “loved ones” to worst imaginable punishment. The claim of Evangelical Christianity is simply impossible to rationalize. And in fact it is impossible to justify the goodness of a God of such opposing extremes.

My understanding of Evangelical Christianity is undergoing a gradual but definite transformation. Again, traditional Evangelicalism presents a dualistic and conflicted god who both creates and destroys; loves and hates; a god who determines arbitrarily who is “elected” to be saved from damnation (as the Apostle Paul is certainly saying), and who will escape that damnation… and all purely based on God’s arbitrary decision-making process. We as the creature are not privy to those decisions that apparently take place within the secret counsels of God. As the creatures of God, such discriminatory decision-making is not our business; we are not to question the deep and hidden counsels of God.

Yet (and here is the great inconsistency), we are created in God’s image, which can only mean (at the very least) that we are endowed with “godly” intuition regarding morality; we know right and wrong. Such endowment is evident in our natural inclination to know the difference between good and evil; right behavior and wrong behavior. Humanity’s sense of morality must in some way mirror that of the righteous and holy God who created that humanity. Of course that doesn’t mean that humanity mirrors God in every way. God is perfect, we’re not. God, in his perfection is good; our goodness is damaged by our natural inclination to live independent of God (at least on that point I retain my evangelicalism).

The question then becomes, How much, or to what extent, does humanity retain the Image of God? Or perhaps from God’s perspective, How does God treat the imperfection that is apparently an inevitable consequence of life in a fallen world? Or the question might be asked like this — Has God, as creator, designed an imperfection in his creation of humanity that does not guaranty that creation’s ultimate happiness? Or this — does the fact of humanity’s creation by a perfect God come with a disastrous risk that some of those created beings were created purely for the purpose of living maybe 80–90 years of a relatively happy mortal life before being sentenced to an eternity of tortuous suffering? The ultimate question then becomes something like this — Is that an accurate depiction of biblical theology? And if so, is it fair by any conceivable standard of fairness: human or divine?

These are the kinds of questions that have been occupying my thinking since the principles underlying Evangelical theology have come to make less and less sense. The pieces to the puzzle simply don’t fit. We as Evangelicals have been conditioned to accept (and in fact to delight in) the idea that “God’s ways are beyond ours”… that although the eternal consequences of unbelief seem harsh and unjust, we don’t question them… I’ve lived most of my life convinced that this is, in fact, the case; that God, who is the very standard of perfection, can institute in his world what seems to me (as one of his created beings) to be unjust, “unlike” God. Like a child whose loving parents know what’s best for their child can, at times, feel like his parent doesn’t love him, we as Evangelicals go to great lengths to “justify” God’s seeming mean-spirited acts as a matter of “good parenting” or some such quality.

There’s a popular saying in Christian circles (taken from Paul’s statement in Romans 8:31: “If God is for us, who can be against us?” The problem is that the “us” there is qualified in Paul’s theology — it refers to the chosen ones: as Paul puts it, those whom God has predestined, called… not to all of humanity. The real question, then, raised from Paul’s theology becomes clear: Who among us is God actually for? The implication is also too clear to miss: the word “If” is the key. As they say, “that’s a big IF.”