Whose Faith Do You Have? Why I’m No Longer a Protestant

Most people who go to church either categorize themselves as Catholic or Protestant -- or a Protestant (non)-denomination.

For me, when I became a follower of Christ in college, the only experience I really had was when my family had gone to an Assembly of God church when I was in ninth grade. So I pretty much became a Protestant by default.

My steadfast Protestantism grew as I learned things about Catholicism that I didn’t agree with, such as Scripture and tradition being sufficient for spiritual authority (see Mark 7:8), or transubstantiation.

As I grew in my knowledge about different beliefs within Protestantism, I identified myself more particularly: at first it was Assembly of God, then non-denominational, then Adventist. At the moment, I currently go to a Foursquare church (even though I hold to certain beliefs that conflict with the official doctrines of that denomination). 

But I no longer identify myself by any of these labels.

I’ve known for a while that I’m a spiritual “mutt” -- my particular belief system is a hodgepodge of several schools of thought (the strongest one -- and the only one I truly identify myself as being as evidenced by the title of my blog -- is Ransomed Heart).

Then -- through one of the members of Ransomed Heart -- I learned about a book on contemplative spirituality called Open Mind, Open Heart.

Contemplative spirituality is something I’ve kinda identified myself with since taking the You’ve Got Style quiz from North Point Community Church. Based on the quiz -- which is derived from the book Sacred Pathways -- contemplatives “draw near to God through personal adoration and heartfelt devotion” (I also scored high on “ascetic” and “intellectual,” if you really want to know).

So I was curious to learn more about what it meant to really be contemplative -- especially since other contemplative-ish sources (such as Dan Millman’s book, Way of the Peaceful Warrior) were also life-changing to me.

But I was also hesitant.

You see, the book is written by Thomas Keating, a Cistercian monk of St. Benedict’s Monastery.

Catholic.

But the book was recommended from someone that has helped shape how I view the world (in a positive way), and so I went ahead and read it.

*Insert breath of fresh air.*

This was, at the time, the only Catholic book that I had. There were a couple Catholic references in it that I disregarded (“eat the meat and throw away the bones,” as the saying goes), but on the whole, the book resonated with me profoundly.

MOTORCYCLES

Ransomed Heart also has a YouTube account, and one of the videos that they posted was from John Eldredge regarding men doing things that are physical in nature, and he referenced a book on motorcycle repair called Shop Class as Soul Craft:

I recall one time going rock climbing with a friend and his kids, which involved driving down by the river,* then walking along a trail in order to get to the (outdoor) wall. Part of me was freaking out about being away from “civilization” unexpectedly: no computers, no bathrooms, etc. (This is different when you go camping since you plan the trip out; this particular excursion caught me off-guard.)

* No, we didn’t go in a van, and no, he didn’t have any government cheese.

Once I was out there, however, it was great and a welcome escape from the technology-infused environment I so often find myself in.

Of course, the concept of the physical realm being important to masculinity intrigued me, and while I was looking at Shop Class as Soul Craft on Amazon, I saw that it was “paired” with a similar book called Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

Consequently, both went on my Amazon Wish List.

So when I’m in Barnes & Noble last week, imagine my elation when I see Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance on one of the tables!

But Jesus is cunning and promptly pulled a bait-and-switch on me, because I then noticed the book next to it, which was The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything.

Jesuits are Catholic, so they have been somewhat off-limits for me, but they also have a reputation for being intellectually fierce (remember, one of my “pathways” is intellectual). As Pat Conroy tells of his experience at a Jesuit high school, Gonzaga, in My Losing Season,

Throughout my nun-spooked, Catholic school life, I had heard and digested the urban legend of the Jesuits, the rottweilers of a Catholic boy’s education. The order had a reputation for intellectual ferocity... They were a warrior caste of the intellect, famous for the rigor of both their training and their teaching. Founded by St. Ingatius Loyola as militant advocates of the Pope, the Jesuits have always prided themselves on their fierce reputations as cunning foot soldiers of the far-ranging, free-thinking Catholic mind. Astuteness, acumen, and razor-sharp perceptions were virtues in the high precincts of the Jesuit world...

A dark sensuality and a celebration of the masculine virtues as tribal rites inhabited each corner and room of that beleaguered, ghetto-encircled school. Everything was tough about Gonzaga, including its neighbors. The Jesuits possessed a genius at making learning itself seem like a martial art... At Gonzaga, I always felt as if I should be wearing a coat of armor instead of a coat and tie.

Curious as a cat, I picked up the Guide and randomly opened to a page:

Sadness is something else that some people feel reluctant to share with God. Someone once told me of the experience of going to a movie with a close friend. Because the subject material intersected with his life, he began to sob at the end of the movie and was embarrassed. Later on, as the two sat together in a car in the parking lot, his friend sat silently and simply let him cry.

His friend wasn’t the only one showing love. The person weeping allowed another to enter into his life, giving the gift of intimacy. Can you share with God the intimate gift of your true self, your true emotions, even when you are grieving?

Hook. Line. And sinker.

Not just because of this one passage -- for I could’ve snapped a pic of the page with my phone -- but because the passage reveals an underlying belief on how to approach God -- a perspective that rang true with my heart.

LABELS

Back to my “not being a Protestant.”

I don’t consider myself a Protestant any more.

No, I’m not becoming Catholic.

No, it’s not just because I bought a second Catholic book.

It’s because buying the Jesuit book made me realize that there are others out there who have walked this journey of faith -- specifically the particular paths that I want to travel -- even though they may come from belief systems I may not whole-heartedly agree with.

And that, when I label myself as something other than simply a follower of Christ, I unintentionally “box” myself -- and God -- into only being able to operate or relate in a certain way.

So I encourage you, reader -- especially those of you who were raised in church -- examine what you believe based on your experiences with God and your reading of Scripture and other sources. Don't just passively accept what your church or your family believes.

In the end, your beliefs are the only ones that matter, anyway (Ezekiel 18:20).