This is a positive post. David Fitch presents a sustainable church planting model that appears to demonstrate compassion, wisdom, and a missional ethic towards the community as well as Kingdom workers themselves. Check it out.

Summer 2002… the cafeteria was about to close, and emphatically so.

It marked the close to the greatest year of my life.

I graduated high school and was off to the University of Connecticut. My fresh start! No longer would I be the pretty-well-liked-but-by-no-means-popular-enough kid. It was time for me to come out of my shell, meet new people, and, just to be honest, drink and party a lot.

I made up my mind that I would be as friendly and outgoing as possible. My dorm room door stayed open and I did my best to make friends with everyone. I eventually found a crew, something I never had in high school.

I had friends, I was partying, I was working out, I was playing basketball, I was getting good grades, I was going to church. Life was great!

In the meantime, an old friend had come back into my life during the previous summer. He had “become a Christian,” whatever that meant, and often engaged me in conversation about this. I was happy for him, because it certainly seemed to bring improvement to his life. But I was already religious, so my attitude was good for you, but don’t try to get me to change.

We stayed in touch over my year at college. I never told him about my newfound partying ways. I felt guilty, for some reason, talking to him. But I didn’t let it deter me.

Finally, my freshman year was completed, and I was back home and miserable. I couldn’t wait to get back to school. But again, in the meantime, my old friend comes into play. He invites me to his church. It was different than the ones I was used to. I didn’t think it would count if I went to his church. But I tried it anyway. Two Sundays in a row.

I heard a gospel message each time. I partied once in between, for the first time ever at my own house. As I was picking up empty beer cans and cleaning up someone else’s vomit in my backyard, a very captivating, very other thought entered my mind: This is not the life you were created to live. So maybe I should go back to church, I thought.

Afer that second gospel message – that You probably know something about God, but you probably don’t know him personally…and if you don’t know Christ personally and have received forgiveness for your sins, you will go to hell…so repent and be born again message, I gave it up. I knew I was missing something. I knew that what I was hearing was true. The truth. And I knew that I was either all in, or not all in, that there was no line to be straddled.

So I raised my hand, asked Jesus to forgive me, told him I would follow him and I wanted what he wanted for my life.

And it took!

My life was suddenly and drastically changed. And I knew it. I knew I was giving things up. I knew I was gaining things. I knew I belonged to God in a way I never had before. I felt different. Lighter, happier. The world seemed crisper to me.

But wait… what about everyone else?

I said to my friend on the way home “This is awesome for me and you. But what about my family, your family, our friends we grew up around… do they go to hell? Is this really the way it is? Black or white, Jesus or no Jesus?”

“Yup.”

“So what do we do, we gotta tell everyone, right?”

“Yup.”

And thus, within 10 minutes of my own conversion, I was persuaded that everyone else needed to be converted, too.

I went back to Uconn as a different person. I didn’t quite fit in with my friends from the previous year. I didn’t feel comfortable partying. I sort of became a loser. But I was fired up to tell everyone who didn’t know what I knew about what I knew. Since I was only the second Christian I’d ever known at that point, I was convinced that nobody else knew. So I had to tell them. Who else would tell them? (I found much support from the book of Romans).

I really had no grasp of the Christian faith at that point. I probably couldn’t spell atonement or discipleship or Ezekiel if you had asked me. But one thing I knew: that Jesus got me, it was wonderful, and he wanted to get everyone else too. So I tried to get’em.

I started random conversations with people, invited them to bible study, handed out bibles, and even wrote an article for the Daily Campus (go ahead, read it!), Uconn’s student newspaper. This was my mission, especially since it seemed liked most Christians didn’t really care all that much about it (though they certainly paid it lots of lip service).

That’s how I started the walk of faith.

Summary for me at this time:

1. Who was I? I was saved! I used to be deceived; now I had true knowledge. I was in darkness; now I’m in the light. My purpose was to live for God, and spread the news about Jesus. I found my identity in the praise I was given for my boldness and enthusiasm.

2. Who was God? He was a rescuer. He created the world, but it went to crap because of our sin. Jesus came to win us all back to God. He wanted me in on this mission. And that was simply the end of the matter.

3. How did I see others/How did others see me? People were either saved or lost. Just about everyone I’d ever known up to that point was lost. Some of my friends thought I was a loser, or holier-than-thou. My family thought I joined a cult. I beat some people over the head in my zeal.  Christians were impressed with my boldness. But I felt I didn’t fit in with Christians – there was a lingo and a culture that seemed weird to me. But I knew this was family. That’s who I could hang out with. Everyone else, I needed to save. Again, very simple.

4. What have I taken with me? Nine years later, I look back on my evangelistic zeal from this time with some jealously. I wish to get some of the fire back. Yet I was so incredibly immature, and I know I damaged some relationships. My identity needed to be formed in the person of Jesus, not what I could do for him. I never learned to pray much, either. But I realize that that’s how it goes for many new Christians. The paradigm shift is so drastic, and the joy is so genuine, that you have to share it with anyone at any cost (even detrimental cost). It was high-energy, fast-paced, lots of zeal but little knowledge conversion theology. And in hindsight, I wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything.

Growing up, I was a good kid.

Here’s what happens when you’re a good kid: You’re trusted, you’re respected, and you’re encouraged. It means you can get away with a lot, because you’ve earned a long leash from the adults around you. And eventually, you come to think that you’re fine just the way you are.

Now there was enough brokenness within my childhood (some of the effects of which I’m just beginning to experience) that kept me from thinking I was a perfect person. In fact, I knew I was a perfectly average person, and I was content with that. But religiously speaking, I thought I had it made.

I believed in God. I went to mass throughout my childhood, mostly willingly. I always aced my religion classes in the Catholic grammar school I went to through 8th grade. I always went to confession before Christmas and Easter, and I always felt great after I confessed my sins. By the time I got my driver’s license, I was going to mass on my own on Sundays. I made it a habit during my freshman year of college. Granted, I would often see the same people I was getting drunk with on Saturday at Mass on Sunday, but I still figured I was doing what God wanted.

I was a good student, I didn’t hurt anyone, I tried to be kind to everyone, I went to church, prayed sometimes… I was a good kid. And that was my theology. Why should their have been anymore then that? Of course I believed Jesus died and rose. Who didn’t believe that?

“Cafeteria Catholic” is common parlance for a semi-practicing Catholic who picks and chooses what they believe and how they live. This was me, and I never knew it. I blamed it on never being catechized (being taught the faith) properly. Faithful Catholics who I’ve dialogued with over the years see the cause of my spiritual lethargy as me alone, since I never pursued faithful living on my own, despite the many tools at my disposal for doing so (priests who were family friends, Catholic school, etc).

Whatever the case, I went through religious motions for 19 years. And those religious motions were reinforced again and again, because surely my being such a good kid proved my religious convictions. I mean, I even thought about becoming a priest!

The truth was that I was a mediocre Catholic and mediocre person overall, and I was content with it. I had no reason to believe there was anything more than that, until the next theological progression unfolded.

3 questions, in summary:

1. Who was I? Affirmed for being a good person, not a troublemaker, but very insecure. Always wanting a “fresh start” somewhere. Got that fresh start in college.

2. Who was God? He existed, he was benevolent, I was glad for the good things he gave to me. Yet he was far and impersonal. I thought he would be pleased with the way I was living my life.

3. How were those around me affected? People knew I went to church and practiced my religion. I may have been labeled holy or a hypocrite by those around me depending on my behavior at the time.

In an attempt to communicate my intentions for this series, let me chop up the mind of Paul, maybe the greatest human theologian, from various points in time in his life.

I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate.

But by the grace of God I am what I am.

I don’t mean to say that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me. No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.

This roughly captures a three-fold process for how I’ve often done my theology:

1. I don’t get it… I have questions.
2. I get it….I think I’ve arrived
3. I’m humbled… I’m an idiot, I can’t tame the Bible or life in general with whatever system I’ve adopted, and I need to keep my eyes on Jesus.

…and repeat, for the past 9 years.

If this was my own personal journey, which never affected anyone else, everything would be fine. We’re all on a journey, right? Yes, but beliefs affect behavior. These steps correlate to the ones above:

1. I have questions about what to believe, so you should probably have these questions too. So let me impose them upon you.
2. Hallelujah, I’ve found the reason/doctrine/theology behind it all! If only we all knew about this. So let me impose this upon you.
3. I’m an idiot. I don’t know anything. When will I stop looking for formulaic answers? Come to think of it, most people do that. So let me… no… Jesus help me.

I’ve been around the theological block in a relatively short amount of time. I’ve been informed by people, churches, books, blogs, and experience. I call this a “progression,” because even though there have been some highs and lows already, I’m better off for the journey.

I’ll highlight maybe 7-8 points in the journey so far and reflect why I came to the conclusions I did, how they affected me, how they affected those around me, and the good I’ve taken with me.

Buckle up :)

I am going to write a few posts on my theological development over the last 9 years.

Oh yes, this will be interesting.