Adam Rao

Here are two of the questions I’ve received in relation to this week’s post, “Call, or Comfort?“

Q: I’ve been struggling with this for a while now. I’m a United Methodist. Our congregation is inclusive of LGBT people, but our denomination is not. Should I leave my denomination?

Q: I go to a conservative Christian college. I consider myself an ally of LGBT people and women, but my school is not really inclusive of either. Should I transfer to another school?

To be honest, I have no idea.

First, I’m thinking about the church and, more specifically, the local church. With rare exceptions, attending a local church, supporting it with one’s finances, and expending energy and time to further its mission are entirely voluntary activities. We don’t have to do any of those things. We choose to do them.

Second, I do believe that some people are called by God to witness in a local church that needs to change. However, I’m not convinced that this is the case for most people. If you feel that you’re called to stay, then stay. But make sure that you weigh that decision carefully. Is it truly a call or simply a matter of comfort?

Transferring to a different school can cost you time and money, and your voice may lead to transformation where you’re at. A denomination on the cusp of change may need you to speak more fervently but remain within its borders. I honestly don’t know. Neither is a local church and both of these situations are deserving of more than a black-and-white answer.

Pray, and may God bless your decisions.

For the earliest Christians, to say “Jesus is Lord” and “Caesar is Lord” was never an option. Instead, they witnessed boldly to the world that Jesus, not Caesar, was the world’s true Lord and that Jesus, not Caesar, revealed the true character of God. For these followers of Christ, there was no middle ground. You either witnessed to the lordship of Jesus and the true character of God or you colluded with the empire and contributed to evil.

If you say that you’re an ally of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people, but you continue to hold on to a church community that doesn’t recognize their full humanity, it’s time for you to leave that community. If you say that you’re an ally of women, but you go to a church that doesn’t treat them as equals, it’s time for you to leave that church.

Yes, our context is different. We can, and sometimes do, contribute to change when we remain as witnesses in hostile environments. But it seems to me that, all too often, we excuse our staying put with the language of being “called” when, in reality, we are really just too comfortable to leave.

Last week, similarly, Kathy Escobar wrote,

“What will change things is when we begin to vote with our feet . . . and refuse to be part of churches and systems and groups that oppress. Period. They aren’t going to get our money or our time or absolutely-anything-anymore and I don’t care how good their music, teaching, or kids program is.”

(You can read the entirety of her blog post here.)

No church is perfect. But I truly believe that the world needs the real church and that the church needs you. It’s time to step out of what’s comfortable. It’s time to leave behind the church that colludes with empire and evil. It’s time, once again, to witness to the world the lordship of Jesus and the true character of God.

Then another of his disciples said to him, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead.”

Matthew 8:21-22 NKJV

Follow Jesus. And let the dead bury their own dead.

I still remember the exact moment when I left the Christian faith.

A variety of experiences led up to that decision.

• After graduating from high school, I attended a small, Christian college for a couple of years. During that time, I pursued my questions about salvation and hell with my professors. The answer I was offered over and over again made absolutely no sense. I was told that a holy God wasn’t able to be in the presence of sin and, thus, God had to separate himself from human beings. If that were true, then how was Jesus able to walk among us?
• I heard a speaker deride the Harry Potter books because they advocated the use of magic. I came to realize that the Christian faith I grew up with believed that everything was hortatory in nature and had to be treated “literally” because everything was in competition with the Bible and its authority on our lives. I knew that the Harry Potter books (which I still haven’t read!) were literature. What if the Bible, too, was telling a story?
• After transferring to the University of Colorado at Boulder to continue my studies, I took a class entitled “Christian Traditions” and, for the first time, I was exposed to the history of the Church. I came to realize that the beliefs I had were based on those of Augustine, Luther, and Calvin. But what about everyone else? What about Origen, Teresa of Avila, and Schleiermacher? How could we possibly know that we were right and everyone else, including these Christians, were wrong?
• When I moved to Colorado, I took a position at a church in the Denver area. One of the Pastors there was kind enough to talk with me about my many questions, but his answers only left me less confident about the Christian faith. Divorce was never acceptable, even when abuse was involved. The Bible only had “seeming” contradictions, not actual ones. And, yes, my father, unless he converted to Christianity, would spend eternity separated from God and from me. Who was this God that I was worshiping?

I’ve always been fascinated by the night sky. So, during my first semester at CU, I opted to take an introductory astronomy class. As the professor, a man with multiple doctoral degrees, taught our class about the “Big Bang” and the expansion of the universe, I realized that, not only did this make sense, this was overwhelmingly supported by all the scientific evidence. The Christian faith I knew left no room for science and faith. I felt that I had to choose between what I was learning and what I was taught to believe. And, in that moment, the walls came tumbling down.

Much of my childhood took place in a church in the town where I grew up. I was baptized in that church. I was a member of its youth group, attended its weekly worship services, and learned the Christian faith through the teachings of its pastors.

All of that was contrasted by the tapestry of faith traditions represented among my family and friends. My father was Hindu, as was his entire family. My mother’s family was mostly Catholic (which was not the same as “Christian”) and my best friend was Jewish.

Though it was often avoided as a topic of conversation, I grew up with the fundamental belief that everyone is destined to be punished by God for their sins unless they “accept Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior” and “get saved.” (So potent was this message that I still remember the exact words used to explain it!) In other words, most of the people I knew and loved were going to be condemned to hell unless they converted to Christianity.

Was my dad really going to be separated from God for all eternity?

Was my dad really going to be separated from me?

That question haunted me. So, eventually, I started to question it.

Welcome to the blog of Adam Rao!

I’m a pastor, leader, and theologian living in the Twin Cities, where I serve as the Pastor of Teaching and Strategic Leadership at SafeHouse Church in Minneapolis. My wife, Sarah, and I have been married since 2004, and we’re the proud parents of Treko, a golden retriever.

I write as part of my mission: progressive Christian faith made relevant. I’ll be sharing the questions I’m asking and those I’m being asked, what I’m learning and what I’m failing to learn, and some of my thoughts on what it means to think about and live out the Christian story.

I appreciate your comments. You can also email me and/or connect with me on Twitter.

Thanks for reading!