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by Kevin Offner
 

Take Hal (not his real name) for example. Hal used to be quite the guitar player in his pre-Christian days. You could always count on Hal to liven things up at a party with his creative flair on the guitar, his wild and crazy sense of humor, his unpredictably bizarre acts of weirdness. Hal loved music. He was passionate about various forms of artistic expression. He freely displayed a wide range of emotions. And yet evidently Hal was lonely and empty, always in search of something or someone that was constantly beyond his reach. Then, through a number of events, Hal became a Christian. The change was immediate and palpable. He gave up smoking, swearing and carousing with women. He had a deeper purpose to his life now, and a new gratitude for the forgiveness of his sins. Hal became very involved in attending Christian meetings, from Sunday School, to Bible studies, to men’s accountability groups. Hal was unquestionably a changed man.

Everyone kept remarking about how much Hal was "growing spiritually," and he was constantly asked to share his testimony at various church gatherings. But what especially struck me, I must confess (and it took a long time for me to give myself permission even to acknowledge this), was how much less enjoyable Hal was becoming. All but gone was the craziness, the passion, the spontaneity. Hal rarely played the guitar anymore because it was too "worldly." He didn’t laugh as much or seem to experience a very rich emotional life. Hal seemed somehow more predictable, more one-dimensional, more--well, boring. Even when he talked enthusiastically about Jesus, there was a sort of glaze over his eyes, a sort of surreal unreality. Hal may have become more spiritual but he was also becoming less fun. I confess I began to miss the old Hal.

Now while I do think Hal is an extreme case, I’ve seen many other Christians fall prey to the same tendencies. To the degree that their "spirituality" increases, their humanity diminishes. Many supposedly "mature" Christians don’t seem to enjoy a very rich or varied emotional life. Many don’t seem capable of functioning in the real world of pain, doubt and longings for intimacy and joy, but instead hide themselves in Christian activities, Christian theology and Christian lingo.

When I went through a rather severe (though thankfully short) depression a few years ago, I knew I desperately needed to turn to some people for help. Given my emotional state I wasn’t able to think through very rationally who I "ought" to go to for help, but rather on a very intuitive level I found myself gravitating towards a few people. Though all three people I shared my struggles with were Christians, two of them would not fit most people’s list of mature Christians. And yet somehow, intuitively, I sensed that they would understand, that they would care.

Why is it that spiritual maturity so often shrinks, rather than expands, a person’s humanity? Why is it that seemingly committed Christians so often have such a bland emotional life? Why is it that it’s often non-Christians who seem more real, more alive and more attractive? Is a less colorful life simply the cost that must be paid by those who are serious about following Jesus?

Hardly! Our problem is that we evangelicals have adopted a fairly gnostic spirituality. We are practicing dualists, unconsciously peeling apart the fleshly and the spiritual, subtly assuming that our spirits are superior to our bodies. We have bought into the notion that there is something unspiritual--meaning inferior--about changing diapers, going for long walks, enjoying good food, having sex with your spouse, feeling sadness or elation or grief. We feel guilty about enjoying the simple pleasures in life, or at least we don’t easily make the connection between these pleasures and God.

I long to be fully human, fully real, fully alive. I want to embrace, not repress, a deep and rich array of emotions. I want to be a man of passion--someone who enjoys art, music and sports, someone who enters into others’ pain. We all want life, don’t we? We’re tired of "playing church." We’re tired of people who wear fake Christian smiles and always burp out their "Oh, praise the Lord" without actually doing so. Where are those attractive Christians today who love Jesus wholeheartedly and who suck the very marrow out of earthy, human existence?

Evangelicalism in America still needs to shake off its legalistic trappings. We need a fresh anthropology. We need a more sacramental view of life. We desperately must understand in deeper ways the reality and significance of the Incarnation, God in the flesh. I used to say the following: "Jesus is fully human in every way, just like we are, except that he had no sin." I no longer put it this way, for here the subtle implication is that we, not Jesus, are the truly human ones; that Jesus’ perfection somehow makes him less human. Now I prefer to say it like this: "We are fully human in every way, just like Jesus, except that we sin." For it’s our sin, not our Christlikeness, that diminishes our humanity. In the broadest sense, Jesus was and is the only fully human being that has ever existed. The more like Jesus we become, the more truly human we are.

Christians, not non-Christians, ought to be the most physically and emotionally alive human beings on this planet. Christians, not non-Christians, ought to be the best musicians, artists, athletes and lovers; the most quick-witted, emotionally complex, adventurously unpredictable, down-to-earth people on this planet. The goal, though, is not merely to strive to be "more human." Our goal, as always, is to be more like Jesus. In following Jesus, we only find our lives after first losing our lives. But the lives we end up finding will be delightfully more, not less, human.