do i still believe the gospel?
on the skepticism of long lost friends
Last week, I had the opportunity to lead a keynote presentation with my good friend and long-time editor Josiah Daniels at a conference called “Unveiling Common Threads.” Our presentation focused on writing and editing as authors of color.
Near the end of our time together, an audience member posed a great question: what do we do with criticism? In a world where there are countless ways to respond to any thought—comment sections, response articles, TikTok ‘duets,’ quote tweets, and the like—how should we respond? Do we engage with every critique and risk joining the ranks of the Twitter wars? Do we let critique go unanswered and risk appearing uninformed or lazy? Do we selectively engage and risk appearing biased or taking an easy route?
While I gave a preliminary answer during the Q&A, the question has stuck with me.
When I talk with new and aspiring writers, I always caution them that this work requires thick skin. Opinion writing and public commentary inherently sit at the intersection of ideologies and events—of a shared moment and our subjective, individual experiences of it.
As writers, we give audiences a glimpse into our experience. I, for example, write as an Indian American adoptee, as someone formed in evangelical spaces, as someone with a physical disability, and as someone who remains in the Christian tradition. It is my job to recognize this. I am not unbiased, even when I try to be. I am not a blank slate receiving and sharing information. And I do not pretend to be such.
Thinking back on the criticism I’ve received over the years, I find much of it comical. It is strangers in my social media DMs and inbox pulling quotes out of context or poorly-intended Facebook connections reaching out ‘genuinely wanting to know’ why I believe something. At the core of most of these is a presumption that my experience and interpretation of an event is wrong precisely because it is understood through the lenses I just named. If I could only see an even through their lens, then I’d understand the truth.
For me, most of the unfounded critique and slander can be brushed off because it isn’t credible or made by a stranger. But, what does often stick with me is hearing that former classmates, peers, and professors don’t think I believe the gospel anymore.
This critique sits with me because the folks who now claim this once knew me well. We sat in class and chapel together, we had rich theological conversations, we attended the same church and participated in the sacraments together, we asked hard questions together, and we loved one another well.
But, after reading an essay from my column in Sojourners where I’ve discussed the BLM movement, learning from my queer classmates in seminary, finding God in the pungent smell of rotting tomatoes, and the problems of identity politics; or this newsletter where I’ve talked about the struggle to find a church home, my experience with ‘See You at the Pole’, and how refracted light preaches the gospel, my peers have concluded that I’m too far gone—that I’ve deconstructed and what remains is unrecognizable to them as “Christianity.”
It is true that my understanding and practice of the Christian faith look very different today than a year ago, let alone five years ago. The articles above highlight several key moments of this journey. There was, years ago, a “deconstruction” of sorts that took place.
But my writing is not deconstructive and I am not deconstructing. While I am critical (at times), I am not taking a wrecking ball to the church as an institution, nor am I calling for people who disagree with me to be scorned and mocked. I am not casting anyone out of the church, including myself.
At the core of these articles (and every piece I write) is a vision of building and belonging that is rooted in a deep love for Jesus Christ and His gospel—a message that is manifest tangibly in a radical love for my neighbor. In fact, in every season that I’ve questioned whether or not I want to remain in the Christian tradition, it is Jesus who I can’t shake.
The life and ministry of Jesus have such a strong grasp on my heart that it compels me to draw near to God. When Jesus bends down to pick up a mustard seed and says “This is the kingdom of God,” I feel the Gospel’s power. When Jesus instructs, “Go and sin no more” while placing himself between the “sinner” and those ready to cast stones, I see a vision of reconciliation and love.
The task of my work is to equip the church to faithfully, critically, and constructively engage in the complex issues of our world today. I am wholly unsatisfied with how the Christian church is acting in our society today. But my response is not to burn it all down. Instead, out of a deep love for Jesus and his church, my writing aims to build and plant, to construct and nurture. I am convinced that this is Gospel work.
Reading:
Jeanne Murray Walker, “A Conversation with Christian Wiman” (Image)
Ashwin Afrikanus Thyssen, “Theological Work as Love” (God Here & Now)
Michelle Zauner, Crying in H Mart (Penguin, 2022)
Watching:
Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse (Netflix)
My brotha. All of this is just it, man - just it. I pray that as you continue writing from bedrock, you'll find others who share your candid story. Lord hear our prayer. Kingdom work can be lonesome, but the Spirit is gracious to give us companions along the way nevertheless. In Christ's name, amen.
Great read, Amar! Thanks for always sharing your perspective with the kind of class and balance that seem so allusive for so many people throwing around their opinions. Miss you, old friend.