（外面开始下雨，几个人的伞还滴着水靠在门边，大家把外套搭在椅背上坐下）
一、这信仰到底是不是我的？
Jack：（把奶茶往桌上一放，闷闷地）我这几天一直在想一件事，越想越不安。如果我不是生在基督徒家庭，从小被我爸妈带去教会、送主日学，我今天会不会走进教会的门？大概率不会。那我现在信的这个，到底算不算「我自己的信仰」，还是只是我家庭的延续，换个地方继续被灌输而已？
Peter：（点头）我也想过，我是CBC，从小教会长大，圣经故事我闭着眼睛都能讲，可有时候我怀疑，我是真的信「耶稣是主」，还是只是习惯了礼拜天这套流程，跟习惯了每年感恩节吃火鸡差不多。
Tom：（半开玩笑，带点讽刺）你们俩至少还有个「从小」的版本。我是每次有人问我「你为什么信耶稣」，我脑子里立刻蹦出来的都是标准答案——「因为耶稣为我死而复活」「因为圣经这样说」，说得很顺，可我自己心里都觉得心虚，好像在背书，不是在讲一件我真正相信的事。
Jenny：那心虚具体是什么感觉？
Tom：就是，我讲完那句话，心里立刻冒出一个念头——「这是我真信的，还是我只是知道『该』这样回答」？我分不清楚。
John：（放下水杯，认真听着）你们仨问的其实是同一件事的不同角度——「什么才算我自己的信仰」。这个问题很重要，我想先说一句可能有点反直觉的话：几乎没有人的信仰是「完全靠自己、不受任何环境影响」产生的，包括我。说来惭愧，我信主头几年最大的动力，其实是想追一个很虔诚的女生，追到后来女生跑了，信仰倒留下来了——按你们这个逻辑，我这信仰的「出身」比你们还不纯，但我现在觉得它是我自己的，比当年任何时候都更是。
Jack：那这不就证明了我的担心是对的吗——大家的信仰说到底都是被环境塑造的，谈不上什么「真的相信」。
John：我要说的正好相反。「受环境影响」跟「不是真的相信」，是两件不一样的事。你数学学得好，是因为你有个好老师、好的教材，这不代表你算出来的答案就不是「你自己」算的。信仰的传递也是这样——神常常用父母、教会、群体，把福音带到我们面前，这是神安排的正常管道，不是信仰「不够真」的证据。
Peter：那怎么知道，我信的是不是真的，不只是「习惯」？
John：我问你一个问题——如果明天你爸妈突然告诉你，他们其实一直不信，只是为了「传统」才带你去教会，你会怎么反应？
Peter：（想了想）……我会很难过，但我大概不会因此就不信了。我信的东西，好像还是站得住的，跟他们信不信没关系。
John：那这个反应本身，就是一个信号——说明你心里那份相信，已经不完全等于「我爸妈信什么我就信什么」了，它已经有了自己的根，哪怕这个根一开始是别人替你种下的。欧文除了写治死罪，还写过一本讲跟神相交的书，里面谈到一件事——他说，神自己的灵会亲自向一个人的灵作见证，让他知道自己是神的儿女，这个见证不是靠推理算出来的，也不是靠「我从小就这样信」这种习惯撑出来的，是圣灵自己在一个人心里做的工作，罗马书第八章讲的就是这个。换句话说，你现在心里那份「这好像真的是我自己的」的确信，本身可能就是这个见证在起作用，不完全是你自己分析出来的结论。
Jack：那这个「见证」跟单纯的「感觉良好」怎么分？我也可能只是心理作用。
John：好问题，这个我们下半场可以再往下聊，先记住一点——圣灵的见证不是取代你的思考，是跟你诚实的思考一起工作的，所以你此刻这样认真地问、认真地查考，恰恰是这个过程的一部分，不是跟它对着干。
Jack：（犹豫了一下，声音低了点）那我可以问一个更具体、也更让我不安的问题吗……上学期World Religions那门课，教授讲比较宗教学的时候，把耶稣的复活跟其他古代宗教里「神明死而复活」的神话摆在一起讲，说这是古代近东很常见的一种叙事模板。我当时听完整节课都没怎么听进去，脑子里一直在想——如果这只是「模板」的一种，那我是不是从小被教的这套，其实也没那么特别？我甚至有点不敢跟我爸妈提这个问题，怕他们觉得我信仰出了问题。
Jenny：（有点吃惊）你憋了这么久没说？
Jack：说了怕被说「怀疑心太重」「读书读傻了」，从小教会给我的感觉就是，「有疑问」本身好像已经不太对。
John：Jack，我想先说一句——你刚才敢把这个问题讲出来，不是「信仰出了问题」的信号，反而是你认真对待信仰的信号。一个从来不问「这是不是真的」的信仰，跟一个问过、还愿意继续相信的信仰，分量是不一样的。
Tom：那到底怎么分？「有疑问」和「信仰垮了」的界线在哪？我也常常怀疑，怎么知道我是「健康地问问题」，还是已经在往外滑？
John：这个界线，我觉得不在「你问了多少个问题」，是在「你带着这些问题往哪里走」。往两个方向走，结果完全不一样——一个方向，是带着问题去查考、去找人讨论、去把这个问题问到底，哪怕暂时找不到答案，也还是委身在这个信仰群体里面继续找；另一个方向，是把「有疑问」当成一个方便的出口，问了几句就自己下结论「反正说不清楚，那就是假的」，然后就不再往下追了。前者是成长，后者其实是找了个体面的理由离开。
Jack：那你说的这个「往下追」，具体要追到哪去？我总不能靠自己一个人查考出整套神学。
John：不用一个人查，这正是为什么神把我们放在群体里、也留下了历世历代那么多认真处理过这些问题的人。就拿你说的那个「死而复活的神话模板」来说——这个问题其实早就有认真的学者处理过，不是什么新问题。你可以先看一件事：福音书不是把复活写成一个后来慢慢滚出来的传说，是在很早期的基督教见证里，就已经把耶稣的死、埋葬、复活、向门徒显现，当作历史事件正面宣告出来的——保罗在哥林多前书十五章，甚至直接把一串目击者的名字和还活着的群体摆出来，等于是说「你们不信可以去问」。大部分你教授讲的那类古代「死而复活」神话，压根不是这种历史记载的写法，是被当成象征、当成仪式背景来讲的故事，跟福音书作者一开始就宣称「这是真实发生在历史里的事」，性质不一样。我不是说这一个论证就能解决你所有的疑问，这个问题也值得你认真去查，而不是一句「古代神话模板」就打发过去；我想说的是——这条路是可以认真走下去的，不需要因为一堂课讲了三十分钟就把十几年的信仰连根拔起。二十世纪初普林斯顿神学院有一位神学家叫梅钦（J. Gresham Machen），他一直强调一件事，大意是——基督教从来不是一种「我觉得这样活着比较有意义」的生活态度，是建立在神在历史里真正做过的一件事上，耶稣真的降生、真的死、真的复活，这是一个客观的历史宣告，不是先从「我心里的感觉」出发的。这提醒我们，你现在这样查考、追问，追的不是「这套东西让不让我舒服」，是「这件事到底是不是真的发生过」，这才是问对了方向。
Jack：（松了口气）……这个我倒是没想过要这样去查，我一直以为「有疑问」就只能憋着，或者干脆算了。
John：憋着最伤人，因为憋久了，问题不会消失，只会在心里发酵成「反正没人能回答」的结论，那才是真正危险的地方。
Amy：（这次是真心好奇，不是挑衅）可你们说的这些「信号」都挺主观的，我更想问一个更根本的问题——凭什么说「相信耶稣」比「相信别的」更「真」？我从小家里没有任何信仰，我看很多人信不同的东西，各有各的一套说法，各自都觉得自己那套是「真的」。
Tom：（顺势）对，我Philosophy的TA上学期就讲，每个人的「意义系统」都是自己在某个文化环境里建构出来的，没有哪一个能证明自己比别的更「客观真实」，包括宗教信仰。
John：（不急）这个说法我完全理解，因为我大一的时候，也差点被这套话说服。我想请你们注意一件事——「所有信念都是被建构的，没有哪个更真」，这句话本身，是不是也是一个「信念」？
Jack：……好像是。
John：那这句话有没有豁免自己不被「建构」？如果它也只是这个时代文化建构出来的一种说法，那它凭什么比它想推翻的那些「更真」？如果它没有豁免自己，那这整套说法用来说服你的力量，其实就自己先垮掉了——它要嘛承认自己也只是一种「建构」，没资格评判别人；要嘛承认真的有些东西是超越建构、真实存在的，可如果连这一点都承认了，那「什么都是建构出来的、没有客观真实」这句话本身，也就站不住了。
Amy：（认真思考）……你这是说，这套「一切都是相对的」说法，其实没办法只讲自己，一讲出来就把自己也否定掉了？
John：对。我不是要用这个把你说服「所以基督教就是对的」，这个跳得太快。我想说的是——你不能靠「什么都是建构的」这句话，来回避「到底哪个是真的」这个问题，因为这句话本身没办法真的站在一个中立的地方，它自己也是一种立场，跟其他立场一样需要被检验。
Jack：那到底怎么检验？我信的这套，凭什么比别的更站得住？
John：这个问题，可能没办法在一次聚会里讲完，但我可以先给一个方向——你信的这套，能不能诚实地面对最难的问题，还是需要靠回避才能维持？圣经从不回避苦难、罪恶、死亡这些最难的问题，反而直接把它们摆在最中心。你可以拿这个去检验任何一套「意义系统」，包括你自己那套怀疑一切的立场——它经得住被自己那把刀反过来割一下吗？
Peter：（想了想，半开玩笑地）所以你的意思是，我们不用怕问问题，只怕问完问题以后，找个方便的理由就此躺平不再往下想？
John：（笑）差不多是这个意思。神不怕你的问题，祂比你更清楚答案，你怕的、躲的，通常不是「问题太难」，是怕问下去以后，可能要付出改变生活的代价。
讨论：
几个朋友聊到了信仰是不是家庭的延续、标准答案背后的心虚、课堂上比较宗教学带来的动摇、还有「一切都是被建构的」这类说法自己站不站得住脚。John说，「有疑问」不是信仰出问题的信号，往哪个方向走才是关键——是带着问题继续往下查考，还是把疑问当成一个方便离开的出口。请讨论：
1) 如果有人问你「你为什么信耶稣」，撇开你从小听惯的标准答案不说，试着用你自己的话说一说，你现在心里，那份相信到底建立在什么上面？
2) 你有没有一个一直没敢问出口、或者问了却没敢往下追的疑问？
二、如果什么都没了，我还站得住吗？
Grace：（叹气）我想接着刚才的问题往下问。我现在信仰能维持，很大程度是因为有团契、有一群人一起，还有John你这样的辅导员。可我大四了，明年毕业，这些都会散。我有点怕——如果哪天离开这个环境，一个人在陌生的城市工作，我的信仰还站得住吗，还是说它其实一直是靠着这些环境撑着的？
Paul：（低声，带点自己的经验）我可以先说我的故事。我大学信仰其实挺热心的，天天参加团契，什么都参与。工作以后，团契没有了，身边全是不信的同事，加班到很晚，礼拜天累得爬不起来，慢慢地就不去教会了。不是哪一天决定不信了，是一点一点地，信仰就淡了，跟手机电量掉光一样，你根本没注意到具体哪一刻没电的。
Grace：那你后来呢？
Paul：（苦笑）我现在又回来了，但走了不少弯路，也吃了不少苦头才回来的。我现在回头想，那时候我的信仰，很大一部分真的是靠「有人陪着、有活动填着」撑住的，一旦这些撑住的东西被抽走，底下其实是空的。
Jenny：那你身边，有没有跟你一样淡出去、但到现在还没回来的朋友？
Paul：（沉默了一下）有。我大学最好的一个哥们，跟我几乎是同一年信主、同一年淡出去的，我回来了，他到现在还是没回来。我这两年一直有联系他，偶尔约他吃饭，从来不劝他「快回教会」，就是好好当朋友。他不是不信有神，他说他只是「没有力气再回去面对那些期待」。说实话，我不知道他哪天会不会回来，我只能说，我不会放弃找他吃饭。
John：Paul讲的这两个例子，都很真实，也提醒我们——信仰淡出去这件事，没有一个保证「一定会怎样」的公式，有的人会回来，有的人这条路走得特别长。这不是要吓唬大家，是想让你们知道，Grace你的担心不是多余的，事实上，团契、教会群体，本来就是神安排来「陪伴」我们信仰的正常方式，不是可有可无的，圣经从来没说信仰是一件「一个人在房间里」就能维持好的事，希伯来书特别提醒不可停止聚会。所以你担心「离开团契信仰会撑不住」，这个担心本身是对的、是健康的，不该被压下去，反而应该趁着现在还有团契的时候，想清楚怎么带着这些根一起走。
Jack：那具体怎么带？总不能把John你打包带走吧。
John：（笑）带的不是某个人，是几件更根本的东西——第一，是你跟神之间那份不靠环境中介的、直接的关系，靠祷告、靠读经养成的，这是别人拿不走的。第二，是找到、也主动成为那个即使换了城市也愿意重新建立的信徒群体——毕业之后，找教会不是「可做可不做」的选项，是必须优先做的事，跟找房子、找工作一样重要，甚至更重要。
Sophia：（低声插话）可我不是快毕业的问题，我是研一，我高中毕业以后，离开家、离开原来的教会，去了外地念大学，就那样慢慢远离了两年多——中间没有人「陪」我，我也没有主动找教会，就那样飘着。
Tom：那你后来怎么想起回来的？
Sophia：（想了想）说不清楚，可能就是心里一直有个说不出来的空，直到有一天真的太难受了，才想起来该回教会看看。
John：Sophia你的经历，其实印证了Paul说的——「靠环境撑着」这件事，脆弱到只要环境一变，就可能慢慢散掉。所以我今天想强调的不是「你要更努力靠自己撑住」，是——你越早开始，靠祷告、靠读经、靠委身一个具体的信徒群体，把根扎深，那根就越经得住以后环境的变动。
Tom：（换个话题，有点不好意思）我想说一件更丢脸的事。我在大学里，其实一直不太敢承认自己是基督徒。不是觉得羞耻，是不知道怎么解释——尤其是我自己的生活也一堆问题，喝酒、拖延、周末睡懒觉不去教会，别人一问「你是基督徒」，我就觉得很别扭，好像我一说是，就得马上表现得很「圣人」，可我根本不是。
Jenny：我有同感。我室友知道我信教之后，有次开玩笑说「那你不能骂人了吧」，我当时脑子一片空白，不知道该怎么回，最后含糊地笑笑带过去了。
Jack：那种时候感觉自己好像在演一个「模范基督徒」的角色，演不好就很丢人。
John：这个别扭，其实来自一个误解——好像「是基督徒」等于「我已经活得很完美」，一旦别人看到我不完美，我这个身份就穿帮了。但福音从来不是这样说的。基督徒不是「已经活对了的人」，是「知道自己活不对、却被一位完美的主接纳」的人。你可以直接跟你室友说——「对，我信耶稣，也对，我常常做得不好，这两件事不矛盾，正因为我做不好，我才需要耶稣」。这句话说出来，比装出一副完美的样子，更接近真相，也更有力量。
Tom：（有点犹豫）可我这个「做得不好」，不是那种偶尔的小失误，是真的常年改不掉——每个礼拜五晚上跟哥们出去，回来都喝得挺多，第二天躺一整天，礼拜天教会基本就废了。我不是没试过改，大一还发誓要戒，结果没撑过一个月。这种反反复复的，是不是说明我压根不是真信？
John：Tom，我不会说这跟「真信不真信」直接挂钩，但我要老实告诉你，这个反反复复背后，有个很值得留意的规律。十七世纪有位清教徒叫托马斯·布鲁克斯（Thomas Brooks），他专门写过一本讲撒但怎么诱惑人的书，里面提到撒但常用的一个手法，大意是——当一个人下定决心不再碰某件具体的罪时，撒但很少直接硬碰硬地把他拉回去，反而会换一件看起来没那么严重、甚至暂时还能带来点缓解的事，把他重新勾进去。你有没有发现，你不喝酒的那几周，是不是在别的地方反而更失控——可能是打游戏打到更晚，可能是对身边人脾气更差？
Tom：（愣了一下，想了想）……还真是，大一那次戒酒，我记得那阵子跟室友吵架特别凶，动不动就炸，我以前没觉得这两件事有关系。
John：这就是布鲁克斯讲的那种诡计——罪不是一件件孤立的事，它们常常从同一个根长出来。对你来说，那个根可能是「周末必须靠点什么才能把一周的压力放下」，喝酒只是这个根冒出来的其中一根枝子，你光砍这一根枝子，根还在，它一定会从别处再冒出来。真正要往下走的，不是「这周我能不能忍住不喝」，是回到那个根——你信不信，就算你这周又没忍住，神对你的接纳也没有因此掉一分；也正因为知道自己接纳是白白的，你才有力量、也才甘心去认真对付这根，而不是硬撑着做样子给别人看。
Tom：（想了想）……这样说好像轻松一点，不是那种「必须撑住不然就完了」的压力。
Amy：（这次问得很认真）我一直旁听你们讲这些，我发现你们其实也常常觉得神很遥远、日子也过得挣扎。我想问一个我自己一直想不通的问题——这个世界上这么多苦难，战争、疾病、不公义，天天新闻里都是这些。如果神真的存在，而且真的良善，为什么祂看起来什么都不做，就那样任由这一切发生？
（一时安静）
John：这是我们能问的最重的问题之一，我不会用一句话把它打发掉。我先说一件事——基督教从来不是一个「假装苦难不存在」或者「苦难都是幻觉」的信仰，圣经里约伯记整整一卷书，就是在处理这个问题，而且到最后神也没有给约伯一个「你受苦是因为……」的解释，神给的是祂自己——祂让约伯看见，祂是那位掌管一切、又与他同在的神，这份「同在」本身，成了约伯能继续活下去的力量，不是一个逻辑上完美的解释。
Amy：那不就是逃避问题吗，用「同在」来代替真正回答「为什么」？
John：我理解这个质疑。但我想反过来问——如果一个世界观完全没有神，苦难说到底只是物质世界里的随机事件，那「不公义」这个词，其实也失去了它原本的重量，因为没有神，也就没有一个客观的「本该如此」的标准，苦难只是「发生了」，谈不上「不该发生」。可你我此刻在说「战争、疾病、不公义」的时候，心里明明是带着「这不该是这样」的愤怒——这份愤怒，恰恰需要一个「本该更好」的标准才立得住，而基督教给的答案，正是这个世界确实「本该更好」，因为神造的世界本来是好的，是罪把它弄坏了，而且神没有留在远处不管，祂亲自进到这个破碎的世界里，在十字架上，自己承受了这份苦难最深的重量。
Amy：（沉默）……我需要再想想这个。
John：不用今天就想通，这本来就不是一次能想透的问题。我只想说——你愿意这样认真地问，本身就是好事，福音经得起你这样问下去。
讨论：
这一场聊到了Paul团契散了信仰慢慢淡下去的经历、还有一个到现在都没回来的朋友、Tom不敢承认自己是基督徒又活得不完美的别扭、还有Amy关于苦难与神的良善的追问。John说，福音里的「基督徒」不是活对了的人，是知道自己活不对、却被接纳的人；不能只戒一件事却不管背后的根，也不能因为反反复复就否定自己的信仰。面对苦难，神给的不只是一个解释，是祂亲自进入了这份破碎。请讨论：
1) 如果明年这个时候，你身边没有了现在这些团契的朋友，你觉得自己的信仰，靠什么才能继续站得住？
2) 现在有什么是你愿意今天就开始做，为那一天预备的？
Lesson 4: Why Do I Still Believe in Jesus? — Genuine Faith and Identity
(It has started raining outside. A few umbrellas are still dripping by the door. Everyone hangs their coats over the backs of their chairs and sits down.)
1. Is This Faith Really Mine?
Jack: (Putting his milk tea down on the table, looking troubled.) There’s something I’ve been thinking about these past few days, and the more I think about it, the more uneasy I feel. If I hadn’t been born into a Christian family, if my parents hadn’t taken me to church and sent me to Sunday school from a young age, would I ever have walked through the doors of a church today? Probably not. So does what I believe now really count as “my own faith,” or is it just an extension of my family, being indoctrinated somewhere else?
Peter: (Nods.) I’ve thought about that too. I’m a CBC—I grew up in church. I could tell you all the Bible stories with my eyes closed. But sometimes I wonder whether I really believe that “Jesus is Lord,” or whether I’ve simply gotten used to the whole Sunday routine, kind of like how I’m used to eating turkey every Thanksgiving.
Tom: (Half-joking, with a touch of sarcasm.) At least you two have the “grew up with it” version. Whenever someone asks me, “Why do you believe in Jesus?” my brain immediately spits out all the standard answers—“Because Jesus died and rose again for me,” “Because the Bible says so.” I can say them very smoothly, but even I feel uneasy inside, like I’m reciting something from a textbook rather than talking about something I actually believe.
Jenny: What exactly does that uneasiness feel like?
Tom: It’s like, right after I say those words, another thought immediately pops into my head: “Do I really believe this, or do I just know that this is the ‘right’ answer to give?” I can’t tell the difference.
John: (Puts down his glass of water and listens carefully.) The three of you are really asking the same question from different angles: “What counts as my own faith?” That’s an important question. Let me start with something that may sound a little counterintuitive: almost no one’s faith is produced “entirely on their own, completely untouched by their environment,” including mine. I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but during my first few years as a Christian, one of my biggest motivations was that I wanted to pursue a very devout girl. Eventually she left, but the faith stayed. So if you use that logic, the “origin” of my faith is probably even less pure than yours. But now I believe that my faith is truly my own—more than it ever was back then.
Jack: But doesn’t that prove exactly what I’m worried about? Everyone’s faith is ultimately shaped by their environment, so how can we talk about “really believing”?
John: I’m saying almost the opposite. Being influenced by your environment and not really believing are two different things. If you’re good at math because you had a good teacher and good textbooks, that doesn’t mean the answer you worked out isn’t “your own” answer. The same is true of how faith is passed on. God often uses parents, churches, and communities to bring the gospel before us. That is a normal means God has appointed; it isn’t evidence that our faith is somehow “less real.”
Peter: Then how do I know whether what I believe is real, rather than just a habit?
John: Let me ask you a question. If your parents suddenly told you tomorrow that they never actually believed, and that they only took you to church because of “tradition,” how would you react?
Peter: (Thinks for a moment.) I’d be really sad, but I don’t think I’d stop believing because of that. What I believe still seems to stand on its own. It doesn’t really depend on whether they believe or not.
John: Then that reaction itself is a signal. It suggests that what you believe in your heart is no longer simply “whatever my parents believe, I believe too.” It has begun to put down roots of its own, even if someone else planted those roots in the beginning. Owen, besides writing about putting sin to death, also wrote a book about communion with God. In it, he talks about something very important: the Spirit of God Himself bears witness with a person’s spirit, assuring that person that he is a child of God. That witness isn’t something you calculate through logical reasoning, nor is it something sustained simply by the habit of having believed this way since childhood. It is the work of the Holy Spirit in a person’s heart. Romans 8 is talking about precisely this. In other words, that sense you have right now that “this really does seem to be my own faith” may itself be part of that witness at work. It isn’t necessarily just a conclusion you have reasoned your way into.
Jack: Then how do you distinguish that “witness” from simply “feeling good”? It could just be psychological.
John: Good question. We can go deeper into that in the second half. For now, just remember one thing: the witness of the Holy Spirit doesn’t replace your thinking. It works together with honest thinking. So the fact that you are seriously asking these questions and seriously examining them right now is actually part of the process; it isn’t working against it.
Jack: (Hesitates, then speaks more quietly.) Can I ask a more specific question—one that makes me even more uncomfortable? Last semester, in my World Religions class, the professor was talking about comparative religion and put the resurrection of Jesus alongside myths from other ancient religions about gods dying and rising again. He said this was a common narrative pattern in the ancient Near East. I could barely concentrate for the rest of the class. I kept thinking: if this is just one example of a common “template,” then maybe what I was taught growing up isn’t actually that unique after all. I’ve even been afraid to bring this up with my parents because I’m worried they’ll think there’s something wrong with my faith.
Jenny: (A little surprised.) You’ve kept that to yourself all this time?
Jack: I was afraid they’d say I have too many doubts, or that studying has made me stupid. Growing up in church, I somehow got the impression that having questions was already a sign that something was wrong.
John: Jack, let me say this first: the fact that you just had the courage to say this out loud is not a sign that your faith is broken. In fact, it may be a sign that you’re taking your faith seriously. A faith that has never asked, “Is this really true?” is different from a faith that has asked that question and is still willing to keep believing.
Tom: Then how do you tell the difference? Where is the line between “having questions” and “my faith falling apart”? I have doubts all the time too. How do I know whether I’m “asking healthy questions” or whether I’m already drifting away?
John: I don’t think the line is about how many questions you ask. It’s about where you go with those questions. There are two very different directions you can take. In one direction, you bring your questions into serious study, talk them through with people, and keep pursuing them—even if you can’t find an answer immediately—while remaining committed to this community of faith and continuing to search. In the other direction, you treat having questions as a convenient exit: you ask a few questions, decide, “Well, if this can’t be explained, then it must be false,” and stop pursuing it. The first can be growth; the second can actually become a respectable-sounding reason for leaving.
Jack: When you say “keep pursuing it,” how far are we supposed to pursue it? I can’t figure out an entire theology on my own.
John: You don’t have to do it alone. That’s exactly why God has placed us in a community and why He has left us with generations of people who have seriously wrestled with these questions. Take the “dying and rising god myth template” you mentioned. Scholars have been dealing seriously with that question for a long time; it isn’t a new problem. Start by looking at one thing: the Gospels don’t present the resurrection as a legend that gradually developed over time. In the very early Christian witness, Jesus’ death, burial, resurrection, and appearances to His disciples were already being proclaimed as historical events. In 1 Corinthians 15, Paul even gives a list of witnesses and refers to groups of people who were still alive—as if to say, “If you don’t believe it, you can go ask them.” Most of the ancient “dying and rising” myths your professor was talking about simply aren’t presented as historical records in that way. They are told as symbolic stories or as part of a ritual background. That is different from the Gospel writers’ claim from the beginning that “this really happened in history.” I’m not saying that one argument settles all your questions. This is something worth investigating seriously, rather than dismissing it with the phrase “ancient mythological template.” What I’m saying is that this is a road you can keep walking down. You don’t have to tear up a faith you’ve held for more than a decade just because of a thirty-minute lecture. J. Gresham Machen, a theologian at Princeton Seminary in the early twentieth century, repeatedly emphasized something along these lines: Christianity is not simply a “way of life that I feel gives me more meaning.” It is grounded in something God actually did in history. Jesus really was born, really died, and really rose again. That is an objective historical claim, not something that begins with “how I feel inside.” And that reminds us that when you investigate and ask these questions, you aren’t merely asking, “Does this belief system make me comfortable?” You’re asking, “Did this actually happen?” That is the right direction to pursue.
Jack: (Relieved.) I honestly never thought about investigating it that way. I always thought that if you had questions, you either had to keep them to yourself or just forget about them.
John: Keeping them inside is what hurts the most. If you suppress questions for long enough, they don’t disappear. They ferment into the conclusion that “no one can answer this anyway.” That’s where the real danger lies.
Amy: (This time genuinely curious rather than confrontational.) But all these “signals” you’re talking about sound pretty subjective. I want to ask something more fundamental: what makes you say that believing in Jesus is more “true” than believing in something else? I grew up in a family with no religious faith at all. I see lots of people believing different things, each with their own explanations, and each of them thinks their own belief is “true.”
Tom: (Picking up on that.) Exactly. My Philosophy TA said last semester that everyone constructs their own “meaning system” within a particular cultural environment, and that none of them can prove themselves to be more “objectively true” than the others, including religious beliefs.
John: (Calmly.) I completely understand that argument, because I almost became convinced by it myself in my first year of university. But I want you to notice something: the statement “all beliefs are constructed, and none is more true than another”—isn’t that itself a “belief”?
Jack: …I guess it is.
John: Then does that statement exempt itself from being “constructed”? If it too is simply something constructed by the culture of our time, what makes it more true than the beliefs it is trying to overturn? If it doesn’t exempt itself, then the persuasive force of the whole argument collapses on itself. Either it has to admit that it too is merely a “construction” and therefore has no authority to judge other beliefs, or it has to admit that some things are real and exist beyond cultural construction. But if it admits that, then the statement “everything is constructed and there is no objective reality” can’t stand as it is.
Amy: (Thinking seriously.) So you’re saying that the idea that “everything is relative” can’t simply exempt itself from its own argument? The moment it makes that claim, it undermines itself?
John: Exactly. I’m not trying to use that argument to convince you that Christianity is therefore true—that would be too big a jump. What I’m saying is that you can’t use “everything is constructed” to avoid the question of “which one is actually true?” That statement itself cannot occupy some completely neutral position. It is a position, just like any other position, and it also needs to be examined.
Jack: Then how do we examine it? Why should the faith I believe in be more defensible than other beliefs?
John: That question probably can’t be answered completely in one meeting, but I can give you a direction to start with: can the faith you believe in honestly face the hardest questions, or does it have to avoid them in order to survive? The Bible never avoids the hardest questions of suffering, sin, and death. Instead, it puts them right at the center. You can use that as a test for any “meaning system,” including your own position of doubting everything: can it withstand having its own knife turned back on itself?
Peter: (Thinking, half-joking.) So you’re saying we don’t have to be afraid of asking questions. We just have to be careful not to ask the questions and then find some convenient excuse to stop thinking about them?
John: (Smiles.) That’s about it. God isn’t afraid of your questions. He knows the answers better than you do. What you’re usually afraid of isn’t that the question is too difficult. It’s that if you keep asking, you may eventually have to pay the cost of changing the way you live.
Discussion
The friends have talked about whether faith is simply an extension of one’s family, the uneasiness behind giving standard answers, the doubts raised by a comparative-religion class, and whether the claim that “everything is constructed” can actually stand on its own. John says that having questions is not itself a sign that faith is in trouble; what matters is which direction you take those questions—whether you continue investigating them, or use them as a convenient excuse to leave. Discuss:
1) If someone asks you, “Why do you believe in Jesus?” Put aside the standard answers you have heard since childhood and try to say, in your own words, what your own faith is actually grounded in right now.
2) Is there a question you have never dared to ask out loud, or a question you have asked but never dared to pursue further?
2. If Everything Were Taken Away, Would I Still Stand?
Grace: (Sighs.) I want to follow up on the question from earlier. A big part of what keeps my faith going right now is having a fellowship group, having a group of people around me, and having someone like you, John, as a mentor. But I’m a senior now, and I graduate next year. All of that is going to disappear. I’m a little afraid—if one day I leave this environment and work in an unfamiliar city by myself, will my faith still stand? Or has it actually been held up by all these circumstances this whole time?
Paul: (Quietly, drawing from his own experience.) I can tell my story first. My faith in university was actually pretty strong. I went to fellowship every day and participated in everything. After I started working, there was no fellowship group anymore, everyone around me was a non-Christian, I worked late into the night, and by Sunday I was too exhausted to get out of bed. Gradually I stopped going to church. It wasn’t that I decided one day that I no longer believed. My faith just faded little by little, like the battery on your phone running down. You don’t even notice exactly when it runs out.
Grace: What happened to you afterward?
Paul: (Smiles bitterly.) I’ve come back now, but it took a lot of detours and a lot of pain to get back. Looking back, I realize that a large part of my faith back then really was being held up by “having people around me” and “having activities to keep me engaged.” Once those things were taken away, there wasn’t much underneath.
Jenny: Do you have any friends who faded away like you did but still haven’t come back?
Paul: (Pauses.) Yes. One of my best friends from university came to faith in almost the same year I did and drifted away at almost the same time. I came back, but he still hasn’t. I’ve stayed in touch with him over the past two years and occasionally asked him out for a meal. I’ve never tried to persuade him to “come back to church.” I just try to be his friend. He doesn’t deny that God exists. He says he simply “doesn’t have the strength to go back and face all those expectations.” Honestly, I don’t know whether he’ll ever come back. All I can say is that I’m not going to stop asking him out for meals.
John: Both of Paul’s examples are very real, and they remind us that there is no formula guaranteeing what will happen when someone’s faith fades. Some people come back; for others, the road is very long. I’m not saying this to frighten you. I want you to know that Grace, your concern isn’t unnecessary. In fact, fellowship and the church community are normal means God has provided to accompany us in our faith. They aren’t optional extras. Scripture never says that faith is something you can maintain perfectly by yourself in a room. Hebrews specifically warns us not to give up meeting together. So your concern that your faith might not hold up after leaving your fellowship is actually a legitimate and healthy concern. You shouldn’t suppress it. Instead, while you still have this fellowship around you, you should think about how to take these roots with you when you leave.
Jack: How do you actually take them with you? We can’t exactly pack you, John, into a suitcase and take you along.
John: What you take with you isn’t one particular person. It’s a few things that are more fundamental. First, there is your direct relationship with God that doesn’t depend on your environment as an intermediary, cultivated through prayer and reading Scripture. No one can take that away from you. Second, find—and actively become part of—a community of believers that you are willing to rebuild even if you move to another city. After graduation, finding a church isn’t an optional item on the list. It needs to be a priority, just like finding housing or a job—perhaps even more important.
Sophia: (Quietly.) But my problem isn’t that I’m about to graduate. I’m only a first-year graduate student. After high school, I left home and my old church to attend university somewhere else, and I gradually drifted away for more than two years. No one was there to “walk with me,” and I didn’t take the initiative to find a church either. I just drifted.
Tom: So what made you think about coming back?
Sophia: (Thinks for a moment.) I can’t really explain it. Maybe there was always this emptiness inside that I couldn’t put into words. Then one day I was hurting so badly that I finally remembered that I should go back to church and see what it was like.
John: Sophia, your experience actually confirms what Paul was saying. Being “held up by your environment” is fragile enough that once the environment changes, things can gradually fall apart. So what I want to emphasize today isn’t “you need to try harder and hold yourself up.” It’s this: the earlier you begin putting down deeper roots through prayer, Scripture, and commitment to a concrete community of believers, the more those roots will be able to withstand changes in your circumstances later on.
Tom: (Changing the subject, a little embarrassed.) I want to admit something even more embarrassing. At university, I’ve actually been afraid to admit that I’m a Christian. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it. I just don’t know how to explain it—especially because my own life is full of problems. I drink, I procrastinate, I sleep in on weekends and don’t go to church. Whenever someone asks, “Are you a Christian?” I feel awkward, as if the moment I say yes, I’m supposed to immediately start acting like some kind of saint. But I’m not.
Jenny: I know what you mean. After my roommate found out that I’m a Christian, she once joked, “Then I guess you can’t swear anymore, right?” My mind just went blank. I didn’t know what to say, so I just laughed awkwardly and let it go.
Jack: It feels like you’re playing the role of a “model Christian.” If you don’t play the part well, it’s embarrassing.
John: That awkwardness actually comes from a misunderstanding—as if “being a Christian” means “I already live perfectly.” Once people see that I’m imperfect, it feels like my identity has been exposed as a fraud. But that’s never what the gospel says. A Christian isn’t “someone who has already learned to live rightly.” A Christian is someone who knows that he doesn’t live rightly, yet has been accepted by a perfect Lord. You can simply tell your roommate, “Yes, I believe in Jesus. And yes, I often don’t do very well. Those two things aren’t contradictory. In fact, it’s precisely because I don’t do well that I need Jesus.” Saying that is closer to the truth, and more powerful, than pretending to be perfect.
Tom: (Hesitates.) But my “not doing well” isn’t just an occasional little mistake. It’s something I’ve struggled with for years and can’t seem to change. Every Friday night I go out with my friends, drink quite a lot, sleep all day Saturday, and by Sunday I’m basically useless when it comes to church. It’s not like I haven’t tried to change. In my first year I even swore I’d quit drinking, but I didn’t make it through a month. When I keep going back and forth like this, doesn’t that mean I’m not really a Christian in the first place?
John: Tom, I wouldn’t say that this directly proves whether your faith is genuine or not. But I do want to tell you honestly that there’s a pattern behind this repeated struggle that is worth paying attention to. In the seventeenth century, a Puritan named Thomas Brooks wrote a book specifically about how Satan tempts people. He points out one tactic Satan commonly uses: when a person makes up his mind to stop committing a particular sin, Satan rarely tries to drag him straight back into that same sin head-on. Instead, he may switch to something that seems less serious, or that even provides some temporary relief, and use that to draw the person back in. Have you ever noticed that during those weeks when you weren’t drinking, you were perhaps losing control somewhere else—maybe staying up even later playing video games, or becoming much more short-tempered with the people around you?
Tom: (Taken aback, then thinking.) …Actually, yes. When I tried to quit drinking in my first year, I remember getting into really intense arguments with my roommates. I’d blow up over almost anything. I never thought those two things might be connected.
John: That’s the kind of strategy Brooks was talking about. Sin isn’t made up of isolated little compartments. Different sins often grow from the same root. For you, that root might be the belief that “I need something to help me let go of the pressure of the week.” Drinking is just one branch growing out of that root. If you only cut off that one branch, the root is still there, and it will eventually grow another one somewhere else. The real issue isn’t simply “Can I manage not to drink this week?” It’s going back to that root: do you really believe that even if you fail again this week, God’s acceptance of you has not dropped by a single degree? And precisely because you know that your acceptance is freely given, you can have the strength—and the willingness—to seriously deal with that root, rather than desperately trying to keep up appearances for everyone else.
Tom: (Thinks for a moment.) …That actually makes it feel a little lighter. It’s not the pressure of “I have to hold it together or everything is over.”
Amy: (This time asking very seriously.) I’ve been listening to all of you talk, and I’ve noticed that you also often feel that God is distant and that life is a struggle. There’s something I’ve never been able to make sense of myself. There is so much suffering in the world—war, disease, injustice. Every day the news is full of these things. If God really exists, and if He is truly good, why does He seem to do nothing and simply allow all of this to happen?
(There is a moment of silence.)
John: That is one of the heaviest questions we can ask. I’m not going to dismiss it with a single sentence. Let me say one thing first: Christianity has never been a faith that pretends suffering doesn’t exist or that suffering is an illusion. The entire book of Job is devoted to wrestling with this question. And in the end, God doesn’t give Job an explanation saying, “You suffered because…” What God gives him is Himself. He allows Job to see that He is the God who rules over all things and is also present with him. That presence itself becomes the strength that enables Job to keep living; it isn’t a logically perfect explanation.
Amy: Isn’t that just avoiding the question? Using “God’s presence” to replace a real answer to “Why?”
John: I understand the objection. But let me turn the question around. If a worldview has no God at all, then suffering is ultimately just a random event in the material world. In that case, the word “injustice” actually loses the weight it originally carries, because without God there is no objective standard of what “ought to be.” Suffering simply “happened”; there’s no basis for saying that it shouldn’t have happened. Yet when you and I talk about “war, disease, and injustice,” there is clearly an anger in our hearts that says, “This should not be this way.” That anger itself requires some standard of “it ought to be better” in order to make sense. And Christianity’s answer is precisely that this world really ought to be better, because God originally created the world good, and sin has broken it. And God did not remain far away and leave us to deal with the brokenness ourselves. He entered this broken world Himself and, on the cross, bore the deepest weight of that suffering.
Amy: (Silent.) …I need to think about that some more.
John: You don’t have to figure it all out today. This isn’t a question that can be fully worked through in one meeting. I just want to say this: the fact that you’re willing to ask the question this seriously is itself a good thing. The gospel can withstand you continuing to ask.
Discussion
This session included Paul’s experience of gradually drifting away from faith after his fellowship group disappeared, as well as his friend who still hasn’t returned; Tom’s discomfort about admitting that he is a Christian while knowing that his own life is far from perfect; and Amy’s questions about suffering and the goodness of God. John says that the “Christian” in the gospel is not someone who has already learned to live rightly, but someone who knows that he does not live rightly and yet has been accepted. We cannot simply quit one particular sin while ignoring the root underneath it, nor should repeated failure automatically lead us to deny our faith. In the face of suffering, God gives us not merely an explanation, but enters into the brokenness Himself. Discuss:
1) If this time next year you no longer have the fellowship friends who are around you now, what do you think your faith would have to rest on in order to continue standing?
2) What is there that you are willing to begin doing today to prepare for that day?
