Lies Archives - Wm. Paul Young

Lie #5: God is a Christian.

I wrote The Shack at the request of my wife, Kim. She’d asked, “Would you someday please write something as a gift for our kids that puts in one place how you think? Because, you know, you think outside the box.” She was referring to my lifelong struggle with conflicts between faith and religion, and to my work both theologically and personally as I searched for helpful ways to think about God and humanity. Later, after I delivered the Christmas present, she told me that she had been thinking four to six pages. Oh well!

Obviously, the book has become something much bigger than what I’d originally intended for a small audience. As of this writing, The Shack has sold around 20 million copies. For me, this whole adventure has been a God-thing, but not everyone views it this way. While that book offered alternative ways of thinking about God and humanity that resonated intensely with many, it also challenged deeply held assumptions and embedded paradigms. For some, this was not a God-thing or even a good thing. Occasionally, precious people took issue with the imagery and concepts. I understand their concerns about my writing and, even more, am aware of many of the reasons such apprehension exists.

There is the infamous page 184 (depending on your edition), which has been a topic of passionate conversation on many occasions. In the course of an exchange with the main character, Mackenzie, Jesus says,

“Who said anything about being a Christian? I’m not a Christian.”

Allow me to give you some background for this statement.

The term Christian was originally an insult directed at the followers of Jesus, years after the resurrection.

It basically meant “little-Christs” or “mini-Messiahs” and was intended to demean the ragtag, ragamuffin members of “that Jesus’s Way cult.” You can imagine the litany of accusations brought against them by people who thought they were dangerous, both to the empire and to the religions of the day.

“Who do you think you are? You live your life without any real allegiances—not to Rome, not to politics, not to Moses; and you waste your time caring for the poor, the slave, the prisoner. Your relationships matter more to you than your country or culture. You are all about this turning-the-other-cheek and going-the-extra-mile nonsense—both impractical ways of living, with naïve commitments to other-centered, self-giving love. That will never work in this world. Sure, you don’t return evil with evil, you work hard, and tell the truth; but we can’t count on you to keep our systems going. You are just a bunch of idealistic losers who are under the delusion that death can be defeated and who think the world could possibly be changed by love: little-Christs, that is all you are.”

The idea that God is not a Christian is quite disconcerting to those of us who subtly, if not overtly assume that our religious, human-defined “Christian way” is the best way and the way others should follow. Please hear me out: God is not a Muslim, either, or a Buddhist, an atheist, an animist, or any other category that we humans have manufactured in order to confiscate God and God’s “blessings” over to our side of the ledger.

Why do we do this? Why must we insist on creating ways to define ourselves in opposition to someone else? Why do we then build empires based on these divisions, justifying our superiority and our brutality? We act as if our empires are condoned and supported by God.

The Scripture states that all things were created in and through and by Jesus, and it emphasizes that not one single thing has come into existence apart from Jesus. But our religions assume separation—being apart—so when we hear the word Christian, we think of someone who started on the outside but then prayed a prayer or did something special that moved him or her from outside to inside. However, as the creator and redeemer and sustainer of all things (and this includes every single human being), Jesus challenges every religious category.

If we take Jesus seriously, then we are not dealing with outsiders and insiders; we are dealing with those who are seeing and those who are not seeing, trusting and not trusting.

So is God a Christian?

If you are asking if God is about separation and treats people of different denominations, faiths, and ways of thinking as outsiders until they pray a special prayer to “get in” . . . then, of course not. If you are asking, does God relate to all of us as beloved insiders who are completely ignorant and miserable, does God love us and incessantly find ways to lead us to discover Jesus as our only way, truth, and life . . . then, of course.

The New Testament was originally written in common Greek—Koine Greek (most of it). Guess what the Greek word for accuse is, as in “the Satan is an accuser”? (see Revelation 12:10). It is kategoro, from which we get the English word categorize. It means to put something or someone into a group to categorize them.

We do this all the time, not always improperly, either. But when such categorizations carry an implicit judgment of value and worth, we are joining the adversary of our humanity, the Satan. Entering into divisive accusation reduces if not disintegrates the unity of our common humanity, and we become butchers of the Body of Christ.

Categories might be helpful in aiding our understanding and navigation through this cosmos in which we all dwell, but categories are powerfully divisive and destructive to relationships. For a child to learn the difference between me and you, parent and non-parent, safe and not safe, is good, but categories meant to establish healthy boundaries often turn into walls that frame prisons both for the “other” who are outside and the “we” who are inside.

If we all lived isolated in caves and were free to create all the boxes we wanted, that would be fine—no harm, no foul. But we don’t. We live in community, and while many of us battle against an entitled, moral sense of cultural and religious superiority, we still have a tendency to cram everything into tidy mentally and verbally crafted boxes.

Believing (trusting) is an activity, not a category. The truth is that every human being is somewhere on the journey between belief and unbelief; even so, we perpetuate the categories of believer and unbeliever.

I am regularly asked if I am a Christian.

My usual response is, “Would you please tell me what you think one is, and I will tell you if I am one of those.”

If the previous “little-Christ” description is how people today defined Christian, I would wholeheartedly accept and embrace such a categorization, and I would do it as a member of all the struggling communities of Jesus followers whether in the first or the twenty-first century. It is of utmost honor to be an expression of Christ and His life into the cosmos, to be that sort of Christian.

In The Mystery of Christ—and Why We Don’t Get It, Robert F. Capon writes:

Christianity is not a religion. Christianity is the proclamation of the end of religion, not of a new religion, or even of the best of all religions. If the cross is the sign of anything, it’s the sign that God has gone out of the religion business and solved all of the world’s problems without requiring a single human being to do a single religious thing. What the cross is actually a sign of is the fact that religion can’t do a thing about the world’s problems—that it never did work and it never will.

Christianity is not “the way.” Jesus is the Way!

—WPY

PS) This is actually chapter five of my new book, Lies We Believe About God. There are 27 more “lies” where this one came from. Order your copy or preview the book here!

Lie #25: God is Disappointed in Me.

Wm. Paul Young

Every child yearns to hear “I am proud of you,” not for performance but simply for being. Yet, most of us know what it’s like to feel the devouring abyss of disappointment, especially in the face and voice of others.

My father was disappointed in me—all the time. At least that is what I felt as a child and therefore what I believed. Whether or not he was, I don’t really know. We have not had that conversation yet.

There are many ways to shame a child, and sadly, many of us know this from experience. Cruel words and harsh declarations of judgment unhinge little souls from their moorings:

You are disgusting.
You’re just a slut.
You will never amount to anything.
You’re an idiot.
After all we have done for you . . .
I was happy until you came along.
I wanted a boy.
I wish you had never been born.

But there is another devastating way to shame a child, and that is through silence. The turned-away face and the little shake of the head before the door closes leave a child absolutely and utterly alone—crushed under the voiceless glance of disappointment.

For many, life itself is a series of disappointments.

Things don’t turn out the way we had wished. Circumstances seem to work against us or something comes out of nowhere and knocks down what we had worked hard to build. The unexpected washes it away as quickly as a hurricane, a flood, or a political, business, or moral decision.

As we mature, we begin to discern the difference between disappointment and grief. Grief is a healthy response to loss. In addition to grieving the loss of someone we love, we may also experience grief when a desire or hope or prayer is not fulfilled in the way we had imagined, or seemingly not at all. And sometimes our grief is expressed as regret, by which we own and understand our participation in the losses of our lives, especially the losses we inflicted on others. Grief is embedded in real life, real loss.

Disappointment largely revolves around expectations and imagination.

I expect you to act a certain way, or I expect a specific outcome, or I expected to have achieved (fill in the blank) by now, or I expected that my life would be different or that I would be working in a job that I actually like. Fueled by media images, expectations are mostly disappointments waiting to happen and almost entirely built on imagination or illusion. Now, I understand the positive power of visualization and the neurological benefits of meditation, but that is not what I am talking about. I’m talking about imagining outcomes that can’t or don’t materialize.

This is precisely why God is never disappointed in you.

God has no such imaginations or illusions. God knows you, completely, fully, and with unrelenting affection. You don’t surprise God. God delights in you, as you delight in your own children; God also grieves for and with you when you act inside your lies and darkness—but not because God expected more of you. God is a fully engaged participant, present in the deepest and most profound activities happening inside the highest of all creation— you. God knows you for who you truly are and grieves for the distance between that truth and what you believe about yourself. It is from that gap of darkness and lies that we project God’s disappointment and abandonment.

God is never disillusioned by you; God never had any illusions about you in the first place.

God is never disappointed in you; God has no expectations.

Do you remember the verses halfway through Psalm 22? That’s the psalm that begins with “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” This was the cry of Jesus when He experientially entered all of humanity’s lies and darkness, when He plunged into the shadow depths in which we projected a turned-away face of God. We believe that we are abandoned and unworthy to be face-to-face with God, and it is in that delusion that Jesus finds us. Halfway through this psalm, which Jesus knew by heart, are these words:

You do not despise the afflictions of the afflicted one,
Nor will you turn your face from him,
And when he cries, you will hear.

This God does not do abandonment. We will never be powerful enough to make God’s face turn from us. Because God knows us utterly and is with us always— you are never a disappointment.

— WPY

PS) This is a portion of a chapter from my new & first non-fiction book, Lies We Believe About God. Learn more, preview it or order your copy here.

Lie #1: God loves us, but doesn’t like us.

Wm. Paul Young

It is the middle of winter in northern Alberta, Canada. The temperature is well below zero, one of those days that is so cold your nose hairs feel like little sticks plugging up your nostrils and every exhalation of breath becomes its own fog bank. I was born not too far from this city, up in the northern prairies.

“At least it’s a dry cold,” someone offers, which is true, but not that comforting.

We enter the building and I unwrap the layers of protection, trading them for the warmth of this place of incarceration. We are visiting a women’s prison. The women who have asked me to come and speak said that dozens of copies of The Shack have been making the rounds and having an impact. The government has given these inmates a “time-out,” an invitation to think about their lives and choices, something that people outside these walls have little opportunity to do. These women are here today to spend an hour with me, by their own choosing. Their presence is a gift.

Those who have eyes to see will find much wonder beneath tough exteriors and callous hearts. Most of the women are here because of a relationship gone wrong, and their suffered betrayals and losses are visible in their bluster of defiance or barely concealed shame. I feel quite at home here, among the bruised and wounded.

These are my people, our people.

I don’t remember what I talked about. It probably had to do with the prisons in my own life, places that became precious to me because they were all I knew. About how we hold on to the certainty of our pain rather than take the risk of trusting anyone ever again. Deeply wounded souls in the room began to weep. Bruce Cockburn, the Canadian poet and musician, would call these “rumors of glory.” Lost coins, lost sheep, lost sons, but not just any. These are my sons, my sheep, and my coins.

I finish my talk and only a few leave. Others wait to have me sign a book. I hug everyone, which I am certain is a violation of all sorts of rules. But I have been breaking such codes for a while, and no one ever interferes with these sacred encounters. A woman stands waiting, her body tense with emotion. When I simply take her in my arms, it is as if I set off a charge that lets the dam burst. She sobs uncontrollably, for minutes. I whisper that it is okay, that I have other shirts, that I have her and she is safe. I can’t comprehend all the misery and humanity that is flooding through this one small touch, but it is real and visceral and wrenching.

Finally, she stops the heaving enough to end some words.

“Do you really think,” she whispers in short bursts, “that Papa is fond of me?”

And there it is, the question. This tender human being is entrusting me with this monumental question. Even those who don’t believe that God exists are desperate to know that love does and that love knows who we are. More, we are driven from within to take the risk to ask of someone or Someone, Do you find anything in me that is lovable, that is enough, that is worthy of being loved?

There is a scene in The Shack in which the main character, Mackenzie, is having his assumptions challenged. Mack is face-to-face with Sophia, the Wisdom of God, and she is asking him about the love he has for his children. In particular, she asks which of his five children he loves the most.

Even moderately healthy parents would tell you this question is impossible to answer.

My wife, Kim, and I have six children. When our eldest was born, we couldn’t imagine ever having the capacity to love another child. Our first used it all up. But then our second arrived, and suddenly there was a new depth of love that either hadn’t existed or had been dormant before his arrival. It is as if each child brings with him or her a gift of love that is deposited into the hearts of the parents.

In the religious subculture in which I was raised, we all knew that God is love. We said it and sang it all the time, until it didn’t mean that much. It was simply the way that God is. It is like the grandchild who says, “But you have to love me. You’re my gramps.”

But saying “God is love” doesn’t capture our question, does it?

So I’ve made a habit of rephrasing the line “God loves you,” and instead of making it about God, I make it about the object of God’s relentless affection—us. So throughout The Shack, Papa would say, “I am especially fond of her or him.” There is a world of difference between saying “I love you,” which is about me, and saying “I am especially fond of you,” which is about you. Both are correct, but the latter somehow pierces the disquiet of our souls and says, “Yes, I know you love me, but do you know me and do you like me? You love because that is the way you are, but is there anything about me that is worth loving? Do you ‘see’ me, and do you like what you ‘see’?”

“Do you really think,” she whispers in short bursts, “that Papa is fond of me?”

I squeeze her tight. “Yes,” I whisper back as we both dissolve into torrents of tears. “Papa is especially fond of you!”

Minutes later she regains a semblance of emotional control and looks up into my face for the first time.

“That’s all I needed to know. That’s all I needed to know.”

With another hug, she exits, leaving me thinking,

Darlin’, that is all any of us needs to know!

– WPY

PS) This is actually chapter one of my new book, Lies We Believe About God. There are 27 more “lies” where this one came from. Order your copy or preview the book here!

PPS) Pre-order now & get some fun perks, like behind-the-scenes insight into The Shack movie & more! Learn more & redeem your bonuses here!

Lies We Believe About God.

Wm. Paul Young

A couple of years ago, I started tweeting a series of thought under the heading, “Words you will NEVER hear God say.” For those of us who have grown up in a religious environment, sometimes we heard positive affirmations so often that they became meaningless. But when you look at negative space, elements stand out that you missed or that your assumptions had hidden.

Words you will NEVER hear God say:

“The depth of my affection for you is dependent upon you.”
“I expected you to do better.”
“If you don’t say the magic words, my hands are tied…sorry about that.”
“I allow evil because it will make you a better person.”
“You are deafer than my ability to communicate.”

You get the idea.

Well, this adventure into dark space has become my newest & first non-fiction book, Lies We Believe About God—which launches March 7, 2017!

Inside short essay-story telling, I explore twenty-eight of the common lies that many of us believe about God. Some may directly apply to you, while others won’t, but each is designed as an invitation to a larger conversation about the assumptions that we make about God, about being human and that shape our experience of life. Some of these might make you cheer, while others might upset you. Listen to both. None of us has ever made significant changes in our lives until something is uncomfortable and challenging. Why change if things are going well and I feel in control.

This book is an invitation to explore questions and the discomfort that attends them.

Amid so much beauty and wonder in our world there are large fractures. We are often lost and adrift, lonely and broken and we know implicitly that something is not right. We are designed for growth and change, but often find ourselves stuck in places where the prison of the lies we believe have become our sanctuaries.

Some of the lies include…

“God wants to use me.”
“God is in control.”
“God is a prude.”
“God does not submit.”
“Death is more powerful than God.”
“Hell is separation from God.”
“Sin separates us from God.”
“God is disappointed in me.”
And more!

If you are so inclined, come along on this part of the adventure, and join me in a conversation that is both challenging and kind.

Pre-order your copy here!

Also, if you’d like to read or listen to a preview of the book, you can do that here, as well.

Love to you and yours,

In light of the election…

Wm. Paul Young

In the aftermath of an exceptionally abnormal political season, there’s really only one thing to say…

Thanks to the family and friends who lost their minds with me to make this video. And sincerest of apologies to Taylor Swift.