33 years ago
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March 31, 2024 (Originally published on Substack)
Last Sunday, March 24, held a special meaning to me. It was not my
birthday. Most people around me do not know about this.
Thirty-three years ago, on the morning of Sunday, March 24, 1991, I
was baptized at an independent fundamental Baptist church in
Nagoya, Japan, where I spent my middle school years. As middle
schools in Japan run from 7th to 9th grades (unlike in the United
States, where it is from 6th to 8th) and their school year from
April 2 to the following April 1, it took place a few weeks after I
was done with the middle school.
My interest in Christianity began when I was 12 years old,
especially after my parents sent me off that summer to Camp
Quinipet, a United Methodist camp in Shelter Island, N.Y. (without
really knowing that it was a Christian camp). My parents were
mostly hostile to religion in general, for two different reasons:
my mother was a card-carrying communist, and my father a
businessman with a purely materialistic worldview focused on money
(I do not know how they stayed married for 17 years, but I give
them credit for putting off the divorce until I was old enough,
thus sparing me a lot of drama).
I began attending a Christian Reformed Church (CRC) congregation
when I was 13, after I came across the Far Eastern Broadcasting
(FEBC) radio broadcast by happenstance, and listening to programs
produced by CRC's radio ministries (now known as ReFrame
Ministries).
Yet, after several months, I felt like CRC was "too liberal"
because the pastor would overly intellectualize the Bible and
explain the scriptures as "allegories." Also, I did not fit into
(what I felt at the time as) the rigid and boring worship services
of the Reformed tradition.
Soon, I began attending a JW congregation after I read one of their
books and thought the JWs take the Bible literally and seriously.
But I lasted for maybe four or five months before I began
questioning the JW doctrines of soul, death, and resurrection. You
see, the Jehovah's Witnesses do not believe in the existence of the
soul as separate from one's body, and therefore, one's existence
and consciousness fully cease when one dies. So their ultimate
hope, bodily resurrection, and eternal life in the paradise on
Earth made no sense to me: If I were dead, I'd no longer exist. If
I were a good, loyal JW all my life, then Jehovah would remember me
and resurrect me in paradise. But, since there will be no
continuity between my present life and the resurrected "me,"
whatever would exist in paradise will be a replica, an exact copy
of me, that looks and talks and smells like me, living somewhere in
paradise forever. That was really creepy. I asked one of the elders
this question, and he could not answer, and I was told I was no
longer welcome there (since I was not baptized yet, there was no
need for a formal disfellowshipping).
For several following months, I read the Bible by myself but I did
not attend any church. Soon later, I wrote a radio ministry (TWR,
not FEBC) asking for a church recommendation. The Sunday before
Christmas in 1990, I first stepped into the Baptist church.
By the end of January 1991, I wanted to get baptized. Since I was
leaving Nagoya at the end of March, the Associate Pastor arranged
for a special, accelerated pre-Baptismal class that met nearly
daily between my middle school graduation and March 24.
March 24 came and it was a surreal day. Like a typical fundamental
Baptist church, the baptismal pool was on the stage behind the
pulpit. The water cooled the air inside the sanctuary so it felt
strange. The Senior Pastor, an elderly man who had been ministering
since the 1950s, prayed for me and prophesied that I would dedicate
my life to Christ and spread the Gospel wherever I go. Then I was
dunked into a stainless steel tub filled with cold water. It felt
like time stopped underwater.
The following Sunday, March 31, was Easter, just like this year.
(This year is the third time when this has occurred since then; the
next time Easter will fall on March 31 is 2035, and after that,
2046, 2057, and 2068.) It has been 33 years and in a sense, I have
come a full circle in my Christian walk. Yet, it is not a circle,
but maybe a turn in a spiral, reaching a similar point but on a
different level.
My first learning about Christianity came through CRC. Now I am
studying at Christian Leaders Institute, a school with some
connections to CRC. I am preparing for ministry, albeit 33 years
late to the game. Thirty-three years was the lifespan of Jesus
Christ on Earth. Even though most of what he accomplished took
place during the last three years, he made a major impact on human
history. But have I, during the last 33 years?
For most of the 33 years, I behaved like an atheist. Even as I was
good at "playing" religion, I was devoid of spiritual life. While I
was curious and inquiring, faith always seemed like an intellectual
exercise disconnected from my heart. I mostly chalked it off as
part of my autistic traits; in fact, I used to pride myself in
being part of the "religious not spiritual" counterculture amidst
the age of woo-woo spirituality.
Lately, I have questioned my motives for becoming a Christian as a
teenager. It is easy to explain this away on my youthfulness or
immaturity, but deep inside, I know that I was using Christianity
as a weapon to be antisocial, and as an excuse to be an asshole. It
was convenient for a teenager in the rebellious phase: I could give
my parents and teachers a hard time while justifying my own actions
as "holiness" and claim "persecution" whenever I was called out for
immature and unacceptable behaviors. Uninformed adults who did not
have to directly deal with me thought I was a mature and good kid
because I became a Christian. (That is, outside the church, in
school, and at home; I behaved so well in the church to the point
where many adults considered me a model Christian and a positive
influence on their children, who were begrudgingly attending
services and Sunday School only because they're forced to.)
Church also gave me a social outlet that wasn't school or home -- a
kind of "third place" -- where I found respite from school bullies,
indifferent teachers who saw me as a failure, and abusive parents.
At church, I was at least somebody, and I was often praised for
being "on fire for the Lord." I felt special whenever I
participated in soulwinning or mission activities.
In a sense, I joined the church for the same reasons why some
troubled and marginalized teenagers join gangs. Except that I did
not go to jail for being a fundamental Baptist thanks to the
constitutional guarantee of the freedom of religion.
Back then, I was taught that being a Christian is to be a soldier
of Christ's Kingdom and that we were engaged in spiritual warfare
and Satan would use people like one's parents, employers, and
unsaved friends to persecute us. So I quickly saw my own parents as
devils incarnate. My behaviors confounded them. How could a
purported Christian act like this? My response was that church was
not a "school of morality" and I wasn't saved because I was acting
morally.
I'm bringing this up as a part confession but also as a case study
of how an Evangelical mind works.
Many ask why "Christian" Nationalists can be so hateful, uncivil,
and even violent, often acting contrary to what most people think
are Christian behaviors and teachings of Jesus.
I was an edgelord Christian who used my faith as an excuse, a
shield, a weapon, and a
mask. Evangelical Christians do not think the essence of being a
Christian is to act like Christ.
Indeed, when I was a fundamental Baptist (and subsequently, a
Pentecostal), I do not recall many sermons from the four Gospels;
most of the Bible teachings on Sundays came from the Epistles,
Acts, the Hebrew prophets, Psalms, and sometimes Revelation.
Basically, Jesus was skipped. (They do not use the Revised Common
Lectionary or any similar plans.)
When they speak of being filled by the Holy Spirit, they emphasize
power and victory over the demonic forces and principalities, (and
for Pentecostals) miracles, deliverance, and healing. Yet, they do
not speak much of the fruit of the Spirit.
By the time I was in college, I bought into the whole Religious
Right propaganda hook, line, and sinker. I was sending donations to
the Christian Coalition and other assorted far-right groups
thinking that Bill Clinton was going to ban Christianity. I was
also gullible enough to be influenced by various conspiracy
theories which I took as truth: from a then-popular rumor that
Proctor & Gamble was owned by Satanists, to the UPC barcode being a
proto-"mark of the beast" containing 666, to the American flag with
gold fringes are "war flags" of an illegitimate government run
under the admiralty law.
Just before the popular spread of the World Wide Web, my exposure
to media was limited to TBN, a few Christian radio stations, and
books I found at Christian bookstores.
Deep into the Charismatic/Pentecostal faith that taught even an
innocent Halloween trick-or-treat was part of a demonic conspiracy
to abduct children and animals for Satanic sacrificial rites, my
mind was closed to "secular" and "liberal" materials.
Yet, I began to question all this by 1996. The first crack was a
realization that all the Christians around me seemed to think that
Christianity and American nationalism were inextricably connected,
never mind that there are Christians outside the United States.
Having become a Christian outside the U.S. in a predominantly
non-Christian cultural milieu, I had a mixed feeling about this. On
the one hand, I loved being in America where Christians seemed to
have not only political and legal freedom but also social freedom
to express their faith. I loved how there were so many Christian
broadcasting stations and Christian bookstores, and even the
mainstream corporate America often marketed to this segment as a
valuable market. On the other hand, I felt increasingly uneasy
witnessing how my fellow Christians acted as if American (that is,
white, middle-class, suburban, Republican American) culture was
"the" Christian culture. There were American flags in churches, and
they held special services to honor the military, the veterans, and
the police. In Japan, even Evangelical Christians were against the
Japanese national flag and the national anthem, and they were
adamant about the separation of church and state, insisting that
Jesus is the Lord of all nations. There are many countries where
the military and the police commit horrendous acts of violence
against Christians. Is Christ for all people or not? Would they
"respect the God-ordained authority" only if they were not in
Communist China, North Korea, or Iran?
I was no longer sure about my faith. Increasingly I realized that
what I have been taught as "biblical doctrines" were filtered
through the lens of the white, conservative American Protestants
and that there were other ways to look at the Bible. I looked to
Judaism for what I thought to be the original and traditional
understanding of the scriptures, and by 1998, I was seriously
considering conversion.
I was disillusioned and explored other faiths as an adult. While I
ultimately decided against converting to Judaism, the process
permitted me to look beyond the Evangelical ideas of God. I spent a
year in a Unitarian Universalist congregation, then a few years in
progressive mainline Christian churches, with a few episodes of
joining the Neo-Pagan community. But for the most part, I was going
through the motions, using the church as a source of comfort and
occasional social outlet. I was a sincere seeker, but I was also
arrogant and full of ego. I wanted to learn everything there is to
religion and spirituality so that I could construct my own personal
cult and hide my insecurities and issues, including self-hatred and
hatred of others. I may not be a conservative or a "Christian"
nationalist, but I have been just as much of an edgelord who did
not love, and who delighted in offending others and in moments of
schadenfreude. I wasted 33 years like this, and only now that I
realize I was wrong.
As to "Christian" nationalists, I hope that they too will
eventually come to this realization and introspection. I too was a
product of conservative white American Christianity, brought to me
by American missionaries, U.S.-influenced churches, and U.S.-based
missionary and parachurch organizations. I hope they too will find
that this form of "being a Christian" hollow, shallow, and contrary
to the fruit of the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23).
Today, apparently many of them are upset that President Joe Biden
issued a proclamation that tomorrow, March 31, to be the Trans Day
of Visibility. The far-right talking heads falsely accuse Biden of
"banning Christian symbols on the White House easter eggs" (a
long-standing WH policy for the last 45 years, including during the
Trump
administration) and "persecuting" Christians by making Easter a day
for trans folks instead (March 31 has been TDOV for over a decade,
and Easter is a movable feast day that happens to be tomorrow this
year). Sorry, MAGAs, but it's not about you and it's not always
about you. The world does not revolve around "Christian"
nationalists, or for that matter, trans people. Persecution complex
and false victimhood often become excuses for bad behaviors and
un-Christlike behaviors, including hate crimes, doxxing, death
threats, and even the January 6 insurrection attempt.
As a recovering edgelord Christian seeking a more Holy
Spirit-centered way, take it from me: people will not glorify God
for you being an asshole hiding behind the guise of
feigned godliness and "biblical" doctrines; people will, however,
see Christ in and through you if you love one another (John 13:35).
