The Outsider

I often feel like an outsider amongst Christians, which is weird, because I find myself thinking, "We all love God, right?  We're dependent upon Jesus's salvation?  We all think the Holy Spirit lives within us?  SO WHY DO I NOT UNDERSTAND ANYTHING YOU STAND FOR?"

Today was a great example of my outsider status.  We talked about humanistic counseling theories, which operates under the assumption that people are inherently good and that in an ideal environment of unconditional positive regard, empathy, and genuineness, people will strive for betterment.  Almost everything my professor said resonated with me.  Except...she kept talking about it as if it were ridiculous. 

And I get it, to some extent.  Everyone in the class was hung up on the idea of original sin.  People are inherently disgusting!  Ew, sin!  And, sure?  I mean, I definitely believe we are inherently selfish--we want what is best for ourselves, regardless of if it comes at someone else's cost, at a gut level.  I also believe our world is super screwed up.  There are diseases and disasters, and people treat each other like crap.  That is all there, I won't argue with you.

But I don't think that's the end of the story.  I also think people are beautiful and creative and capable of great love and sacrifice.  Men and women are created in the image of God, and that initial declaration of "very good" is still there, no matter how much we've been screwed over by the effects of sin in the world. 

I didn't mean to actually defend humanism, but I guess I did a little.  What I want to talk about is how every question asked and answered felt crazy to me.  I literally could not understand how people were so against humanistic theories.  It was like we were two different species, and since I was the one not talking and there were a whole bunch of people making comments, I thought, am I the weird one?  Am I wrong?

I kept thinking this over as I drove home, and inspiration hit when I was listening to an Emmy the Great song.  She sings about her first sexual experience, and it's strongly implied that it was against her consent.  She sings:

"Well I wish I never met you that day
You said I have a room and music to play
I have a room let me show you the way
I wish that I'd never come

But now that I have, I would do it again
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave

I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
and the words as they came to my tongue were hallelujah. Hallelujah!
And the sky was so much bluer
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
And the world was so much newer."

What is that craziness?  She wishes that she'd never been with him, but she would do it again.  It makes no sense.  AND I LOVE IT.  I love her conflicted emotions, and her desires that don't align with what she believes, and her confusion as to what happened and how to react.

That's when I realized the difference between me and the vocal majority of Christians.  My gut instinct is to make things more complex.  Other people's gut instinct is to make things simpler.   Everything makes sense now.  From my habit of loving villains (because I want to know why they are evil and what experiences made them think this was appropriate) to my definition of God (I have no desire to explain how God is both one and three, or how Jesus is both God and man--I want those paradoxes to lie hand in hand, undissected). This is also why my tag for thoughtful topics is "stubbornly hopeful skeptic."  I have no problem being a skeptically hopeful, or a doubtful believer, or a selfish lover.  These truths can co-exist, and I find joy in letting them breathe together rather, admitting the grey rather than living in black and white.

So there's my new self-awareness.  I'm happy to let people be both sinful and self-actuating.  I believe we screw each other over and build each other up.  I believe God helps us whether we are believers or doubters.  I believe we can make progress in bettering our lives and we need God.  And I know that most people don't like to see the world that way, which is why I so often feel like an outsider.