So, it looks to some as if things in this old world are just going from bad to worse. Those facts can be disputed, but the feeling among some is that the only solution is for us to sit real still and wait for Jesus to come back and sort this whole thing out. Among those sorts, the idea of getting involved in making things better is futile. Why bother with all of that when it’s not going to make a real difference?

Well, one reason we should bother is because it’s part of our heritage. Evangelicals have always been politically active, and it’s a good thing, too. It was, after all, Evangelicals who spearheaded the abolitionist movement in Europe and in America. It was Evangelicals who championed the cause for a woman’s right to vote. Evangelicals build hospitals and orphanages. Evangelicals drill wells in Africa and build schools in South America.

I’m not denying there has been ugliness and corruption among Christians, too. I know about the Crusades and the Inquisition and the Salem Witch Trials. But let’s tell the whole truth about our Christian heritage here – not conveniently leaving out the bits that don’t fit the script too-often read by revisionist historians whose main agenda seems to be discrediting the accomplishments of Christians throughout the past several centuries. Christians have made life better, safer and healthier for more people than any other group in the history of the world. Look it up.

An even better reason for rolling up our sleeves and getting involved in helping to solve the world’s problems is that it actually looks like something Jesus would do. Heck, it is precisely what Jesus did. Jesus put on skin so he could wear sleeves that would be rolled up as he dirtied his hands with our messes. He healed the sick, fed the hungry, released the captives, preached good news to the poor.

He did all of that, and then he turned to his followers and said, “Tag! You’re it! Your turn. No more sitting on the sidelines. If you’re going to follow me, you’re following me right into the mess, right into the worst parts of humanity.”

If you signed up to follow Jesus, you signed on to engage the world and all of its problems.

But there’s a problem with our engagement lately. Many people who call themselves Christians can’t seem to do it like Christ did – with civility. And if we can’t do it like he did, we don’t honor him and maybe shouldn’t be involved at all.

So the left does not understand the right, and the right does not understand the left. And those of us who try to find a middle ground just end up getting hit by both sides. How in the world did we get here?

Who knows? What I do know is that, here in the 21st Century, we face a staggering and complex array of issues and challenges. Things that just a few decades ago were science fiction have become part of our reality, and words and phrases like “embryonic stem cell research” have crept into the common vocabulary.

The rapid advance of technology has given some cause to believe that humans may just be capable of crating a Utopian society after all. We’re far more interconnected globally. Life expectancy is far above what it was 100 years ago, infant mortality rates are way down, the amount of drinkable water is way up, and the threat of nuclear holocaust seems a distant memory.

Sadly, for all of our technological advances, there are still as many social ills as ever. We are more disconnected as families, global poverty stubbornly persists, and the threat of nuclear war has given way to the threat of terrorist activities that have spread from places like Iran and Afghanistan to threaten places like London and New York. The gap between rich and poor remains, and humans seem to be confused about the very nature of human identity. The very technology that gives so many reasons for hope has been seemingly unable to stem the tide of production of one of the greatest threats of our time: pollution.

Abortion. War. Poverty. Violence. Crime. Disease.

This is the stuff of headline news, and it comes as no more of a surprise to us than it did to our forefathers. These things have always been with us, and it would appear they always will. Jesus said we’d have “tribulation” in this world and that the poor we would always have with us. History and current events have, once again, proven him right.

This world can be a yucky place, and it can cause one to wonder: why get involved with such a world? Seriously, why bother? Why not huddle together on some mountaintop somewhere and pray until Jesus comes back? And why would anyone who takes Jesus seriously get involved in something as gritty as politics in this day and age?

Let me confess something I’ve never had the courage to admit in a public forum before.

In the fall of 1988, as a freshman at Pepperdine University, I, John Alan Turner, voted for Michael Dukakis. Yes, I remember the disastrous tank/helmet photo. And I remember the whole Willie Horton debacle.

I’m not necessarily proud of voting this way. Nor am I particularly ashamed of it. I suppose I am somewhat proud that I voted in the first election for which I was eligible. And I would hasten to add that my vote was rather counter-cultural in those days. Pepperdine University has never been a bastion of political lefties. I remember attending a meeting of Young Democrats that year and finding only about 15 like-minded souls on campus. My roommate was livid and determined to vote, if only to cancel out my ballot. My girlfriend learned to steer conversations elsewhere as quickly as possible. I was a little passionate about the whole political thing.

While I’m revealing what I did with those secret ballots, I may as well go ahead and tell you that I also voted for Bill Clinton…twice. And George W. Bush…also twice. And John McCain. There you have it: my entire voting record, at least on presidential ballots. And I’m sure you notice that things have swung from left to right over the years. There’s an old saying (usually misattributed to either Winston Churchill or Benjamin Franklin): If you’re not liberal at 20, then you have no heart; if you’re not conservative at 30, then you have no brain.

So I made that journey, from liberal to conservative, and I’ve seen many of my friends take similar journeys over the years. Still there are others who have not. I know rabid conservatives and wide-eyed liberals who have switched sides over the years. I know some very compassionate conservatives and some very intellectual liberals. Heck, most of the conservatives I know are compassionate, and most of the liberals I know are intellectuals.

And here’s the kicker – I have good, Christian friends in both camps.

So what gives? Why do so many Christians think the Democratic Party is full of raving pagans? And why do so many secular people think the Republic Party and the Southern Baptist Convention are one and the same?

I remember the look on Patrick’s face when he hung up the phone that night. It was a cross between angry and confused and sad. Here he was, faced with a tragic circumstance, and what was he to say? If life is just random, if there’s no intelligence behind it, then there’s nothing to say – nothing worthwhile anyway. If there’s no God, then there’s just some good stuff and some bad stuff and then you die. There’s no explanation available. Deal with it.

And this is the problem with atheism: it can’t give us the answers we really want. Mostly, what atheists spout is nothing more than description pretending to be explanation. They describe things as meticulously as they can, but they never tell you what you really want to know – which is, “Why?” All the atheists can give you with their brand of science is “This is what is”; they can’t ever give you a satisfactory reason for “This is why”.

But if God’s behind all of this, then there’s a purpose to it, somehow, even if we don’t understand it at the moment. Suffering has redemptive possibilities. Pain can be a pointer to something bigger and deeper than immediate gratification. Difficulties can help us grow and learn and become better than we currently are.

I know there are parts of this whole thing that are hard to believe. Virgin birth. Sinless life. Physical resurrection. You pray for someone to get well and nothing happens – or maybe they get worse. I know the toll something like that can take on a person’s faith. I know it firsthand.

And then you hear some really educated sounding guy with a British accent making fun of religion and suggesting that the God of the Bible is as real as the flying spaghetti monster. And you think, “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just being superstitious and naïve.”

I want to be as honest as possible with you here. I have my doubts about this whole virgin birth, bodily resurrection, answered prayer thing, too. I have a doubting problem. If we’re honest, we all do.

One thing that gives me hope and strength, though, is the knowledge that I am far from alone. I know lots of you struggle with doubting. I go to meetings with other doubters (we meet every Sunday all over the world). All of my honest friends are doubters.

There’s actually a verse I’ve started using. I find it helps me deal with myself when I give in to the impulse to doubt. And it helps me deal with others who also can’t find the strength to resist the doubting. It’s way back towards the back of the Bible, in a tiny little letter by a man named Jude.

He says, “Be merciful to those who doubt” (Jude 1:22).

It’s a short and simple verse, but it’s a verse we neglect to our peril. I have doubts, and I need you to be merciful to me. You have doubts, and you need me to be merciful to you.

Everybody doubts, and when someone who has not made a commitment to faith comes to you with their doubts, the first thing you’ve got to do is level with them. Then show them mercy.

Patrick is a big, pie-faced Irish man who prefers the look of life viewed through slightly inebriated lenses. The fact that I’ve known him more than half of his life allows me to add that he is one of the most sincerely big-hearted people I’ve ever met – a guy who wants to do the right thing because it’s the right thing.

I’m not saying he always actually does the right thing, but he wants to.

We met at a sports bar one night to catch up on life after having not seen each other in a very long time. We laughed. We told stories. We cleared up misconceptions. We filled in gaps. And then life interrupted our good time.

Patrick’s an agnostic. He doesn’t know. He’s pretty certain there’s got to be something more to things than what appears on the surface. Life, the universe, is too complex for it all to be random. Time plus chance will not produce the intricacies we see when we peer through either a microscope or a telescope.

But, in his words, “the idea of there being one dude behind it all…that’s…I can’t really buy into that.”

So, he knows, but he also knows that there’s lots he doesn’t know. That’s a pretty good definition of agnosticism for me.

“I gotta say,” he said to me, “having known you before, when I first heard you were a preacher, I wondered if it was all some kind of act. I don’t want to question your motives or suggest that you’re one of those guys who’s just in it for the money or anything. But you were a party guy, a…well…not really a churchy kind of guy. Life is weird, huh?”

I told him there was a lot I could say in response. Things change, and other things refuse to change. And, in the end, we all have to figure out how to adapt the way we operate. We have to figure out the best way to navigate the world in which we live. I’m following the way that has proven to be the way that makes the most sense to me.

“Hey,” he said, “we’ve all gotta make life work.”

But life’s not working really well for Patrick. He’s mid-30s, not married, in a dead-end job, with a live-in girlfriend he’s not sure he even likes anymore. Life has happened to Patrick. He hasn’t really been proactive.

“She’s [the woman he lives with] got a little girl. And I really feel sorry for her. Her dad’s a total loser, and her mom is a really great woman who keeps getting dumped on. Life is hard for her, so I try to be the guy she can count on. I try to do the right thing by her,” he said.

“Wow, that’s rough,” I said. “How do you know what that is?”

Patrick has something called a conscience. Perhaps you’ve heard of this. But his, like mine, doesn’t always work the way it’s supposed to. Sometimes it goes out, on the fritz.

“Well, how do you do it,” he asked me. “You have three kids now, and you’re Mr. SuperDad, if your Facebook is to be believed. How’d you figure it out?”

I told him that I haven’t got it all figured out, but that I find reading that old book that’s all dusty on his shelf really helps me. “It’s not just rules in there,” I said. “There’s actual wisdom – wise sayings from people who lived a long time ago.”

“Yeah” Patrick said. “I read the Old Testament when I was a kid, but it was a bunch of begats, and it was hard to follow the story. It’s all out of sequence.”

I agreed, “The folks who edited the Bible didn’t do anyone any favors by putting it in the order it’s in. There’s a story in there, but you have to really pay attention to figure it out. But there are other parts, especially the poetry parts, where there’s some really golden information.”

“I do remember liking Ecclesiastes,” Patrick said.

“Pippin,” I said,

“Huh?” said Patrick.

“The musical ‘Pippin’.”

“Didn’t you do that show?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty much the story of the Book of Ecclesiastes.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Young, rich guy seeks pleasure and fulfillment in every way imaginable…comes up empty in the end. Finally realizes that it’s all pointless if there’s just what happens on the stage. There’s got to be something more after the final curtain, or it won’t mean anything at all.”

“Geez, where were you when I was slogging my way through Leviticus?”

The Bible is big and bulky and difficult to get all the way through. Its onion-skin pages turn in clumps. It’s eight-point font forces me to squint my 41-year-old eyes. And, honestly…columns? It’s as if the editors want to make it as difficult as possible. I have on my bookshelf an “easy-to-read” version that may be the hardest-to-read book imaginable.

But, without a doubt, the thing that really makes the Bible so unreadable for so many people is the baggage they have associated with it.

“At some point in time, Patrick, you begin to realize that some of the underlying premises of the Bible are undeniably true. Human beings have this incredible capacity for messing things up and shooting themselves in the foot. Assuming there is a God, we certainly aren’t him.”

“Again, though,” said Patrick, “the idea of one dude up there watching passively while we run around and screw each other over. That’s too much of a stretch for me.”

“Smarter people than the two of us have tried to figure that one out,” I said.

“I just see too much bad stuff to believe like you do.”

Patrick didn’t realize it, but he’s already admitted to believing a lot like I do. To begin with, he believes there’s such thing as bad stuff. I believe that, too. And he believes something should be done about it, that if someone had the power to reverse the bad stuff – at least prevent it – they’d be under some sort of moral obligation to do so.

I wanted to talk about how the very concept of “good” and “bad” mean there has to be some sort of transcendent standard or “right” and “wrong.” I wanted to ask him if there’s anything wrong with anything, and, if so, who gets to say. I wanted to mention that most of what we call “good” and “bad” is borrowed from what is known as the Judeo-Christian ethic and can be traced right back to those books he found so boring when he was a kid.

I wanted to say a lot of things, but I never got the chance. Our conversation was interrupted by a phone call from Patrick’s girlfriend. Her father had recently had surgery, and his body was reacting badly. His fever was spiked, and he had to be rushed to the hospital.

Sometimes life gets in the way of a good conversation. Sometimes you don’t have time to say everything you want to say.

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

Odds are, though, most of the people you’re likely to encounter are not that prejudiced. Most of the people you’re likely to actually talk to (most of the people you’re most likely to be related to or work with) are busy actually living their lives and aren’t concerned enough to be dogmatic in their beliefs. If they don’t identify themselves as “Christians” or “Jews” or “Muslims” on various surveys, they’re probably more likely to check the box next to “None” than “Atheist”.

Their beliefs are similar to atheists. They don’t believe in God. They don’t believe in the supernatural. They don’t attend religious services, and they don’t belong to religious organizations. But they’re not willing to make a big deal out of it.

These are the agnostics. They’re sort of like the Unitarians of Atheism. Inoffensive and humble. Open to conversation. Uninterested in persuasion and sometimes self-effacing.

I actually like agnostics. In fact, I think hardcore atheists are intellectually dishonest agnostics with personality problems. I can’t be friends with a hardcore atheist because his atheism always gets in the way. But I have lots of friends who are agnostic.

My friend Kevin recently came out to me. We were sitting in the St. Andrews bar in midtown Manhattan, and after he’d sufficiently imbibed enough liquid courage, he threw down the gauntlet.

“I’ve been looking forward to this conversation and dreading it all day,” he said. “I even read some of your most recent blog entries to know what you’ve been thinking about and reading lately. Then…” he paused for a big drink and a deep breath, “I went to Richard Dawkins’ blog and read up on how I might respond to some of your questions.”

“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment,” I replied.

“Please do,” he insisted. “You are the two smartest and most accessible writers I know when it comes to your different perspectives. It’s just that…I tend to agree with him more than I agree with you. I’m an…atheist,”

he blurted out expecting some sort of horrified reaction. After all, I know his family. What would they think?

“I don’t believe you,” I said.

“But it’s true. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I don’t believe in God anymore.”

My friend had been raised in a fairly rigid Christian environment. I’ve known him since he was very young. In fact, I used to babysit him and his younger brother when I was in high school.

“I think you don’t believe in the god you were taught about when you were young. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t believe in God.”

“John, you’re not hearing me. I said I am an atheist.”

“Well, you said that, but then what you said after that contradicted it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you don’t believe in God, and that’s different from saying that you know there is no God. If you’d said that, then you’d be an atheist. But you didn’t say that. You’re too humble to say that.”

“Humble isn’t usually used to describe me. Tell me more of this humility of mine!” Kevin said.

Me: “Suppose this table is all the information in the universe.”

Kevin: “Okay, this table is all the information in the universe.”

Me: “Thank you. Now, how much of this table do you actually possess?”

My friend put drink coasters over a larger portion of the table than I thought he should, but he intentionally left a large section of the table uncovered.

Kevin: “There. That’s how much of the available information in the universe I currently hold in my possession.”

Me: “Okay. So, you’re saying you don’t know everything, right?”

Kevin: “Right.”

Me: “Now, suppose that over here in this knowledge that you don’t have is the knowledge that God does, in fact, exist. Is that even a possibility?”

I could see the wheels turning in my friend’s head. “This is a trap, isn’t it?” he asked.

“No,” I assured him. “Well…maybe,” I confessed.

After another few moments of hesitation, Kevin said, “Sure. That’s possible. But it’s not probable.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll accept that. So, you’re a soft atheist or, more likely, an agnostic. You don’t know, but you’re doubtful. Maybe God exists but probably not.”

Kevin: “Sure. That sounds right. You can’t ever know anything for certain – positive or negative. I get that. But I don’t like to be a soft anything. I’d rather be a hardcore agnostic. Can I do that?”

Kevin’s not much different from another friend of mine named Patrick. We’ll talk about him tomorrow.

My theory about all the anger and vitriol pouring forth from the camp of the new atheists is that these outbursts are, in fact, religiously motivated. In fact, I think atheism is a religion, an increasingly fundamentalist religion. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was once interviewed for D. James Kennedy’s television show. The producers were shooting interviews with theologians and thinkers for a show about this new brand of atheism, and they actually wanted to talk to my friend Ken Boa (who is way smarter than I am and has the initials after his name to prove it). But Ken couldn’t do it, so he recommended they talk to me. They called and set up a time for me to be on camera.

I did it. We had fun. They cut it together pretty well. It aired on cable and satellite. It got thrown up on YouTube, and I got hate mail. Serious hate mail. Threats. Ridicule. I got called names I can’t say in front of my kids.

One guy in particular demanded that I issue a retraction of a comment I made about atheists attacking Christianity with a level of violence that I think is somewhat unprecedented. He wanted to know what violent attacks I was talking about. I told him I was speaking of rhetorical violence – you know, strength of emotion. That’s a perfectly acceptable dictionary definition of violence, but this guy didn’t like it.

I told him I was writing this book about talking with people who disagree with Christian beliefs. I asked him if he wanted to be part of the conversation. He said “no.” Then he called me a bunch of names. Come to think of it, if you’re in my target market (and you probably are since you’re reading this blog), he called you a bunch of names, too.

Think about this: he became angry and mean when I suggested that the new atheists are angry and mean. Ah, irony.

That’s the problem with the new atheists. Well, that’s one of the problems with the new atheists. They’re wrong to start with, so that’s the first problem. But I have found them to be (without excpetion) mean too. That’s the problem I had in mind when I started this paragraph. They hold bad beliefs, and they hold those bad beliefs badly.

Okay, I’m going to go ahead and say it (and I’m prepared to be lambasted on all those atheist websites once again for saying this): they hold those bad beliefs religiously. They hold their beliefs with the same level of religious fervor as any southern tent revival preacher I’ve ever known. And I’ve known a few.

While we’re comparing fundamentalists to fundamentalists, we might as well go all the way. If an atheist suggests, as Sam Harris has, that society ought to consider killing people for their beliefs, then we can fairly equate that brand of extreme atheism to the Muslim extremists who advocate violence in the name of their religion.

And here’s something else I’ll go ahead and put in print (as long as I’m going to get skewered I might as well get my money’s worth): there is no talking to them. They are fundamentalists, and there’s never any way to reason with a fundamentalist. They’re arrogant and closed-minded, and it’s impossible to have a rational, good-natured conversation in which you disagree with them. Believe me. I’ve tried. They simply will not tolerate it. (If they will tolerate you, please, by all means, continue speaking with them. You have a very special ministry.)

This has consistently been my experience when I’ve tried to have conversations with this new brand of militant atheist. I’ve tried, and it never goes well. Either you agree with them, or they’ll call you names. I’ve surrendered myself to this and memorized Matthew 5:11-12. I repeat it over and over to myself after an encounter with a new atheist and his hostility.

I am a live and let live kind of guy. I can tolerate a wide range of opinions. I have friends who are crazy liberals and friends who are crazy conservatives. I enjoy the company of libertarians and libertines alike. When they ask me my opinion, I’m glad to tell them what I believe and why.

But I don’t go door-to-door looking for non-Christian people to persuade.

There are some who have suggested that, if I really believed everything I claim to believe, I should be barking at people on the street corner, pleading with people to repent. Sack cloth. Ashes. All that.

I’m just not sure that God wants me to harangue people like that. I suppose you could make a biblical case for it if you pull out some of the behavior of some of the Old Testament prophets – bearded performance artists who were more likely to run naked through the streets than appear at your local church’s volunteer appreciation banquet.

I’d counter that the prophets weren’t trying to persuade their unbelieving friends and neighbors to make an initial commitment of faith to God; they were calling other Israelites to live out their covenantal commitments to God with greater integrity – and quickly, before YHWH sends a horde of pagan warriors to round up the women and children.

So, instead of going door-to-door through the church directory pantsless (after all, God hasn’t spoken that kind of direct message to me yet), I’d rather try to have some sensible, productive conversations with regular, non-church-going folks.

But I’ve run into some problems trying to get some of them to talk – especially the ones who say that God doesn’t exist.

Well…that’s not exactly true. It’s not that they won’t talk as much as it is that they won’t listen. I sometimes wonder if what I feel when I try to talk to an atheist is what a lot of non-Christians feel when they try to talk to us. Except, I can’t imagine saying the kinds of things about them that they’re saying about us.

For example, if I, having never met you, said that you are psychotic or accused you of child abuse, that would probably reveal more about me than it would reveal about you. If I went on to suggest that you and your kind act like battery acid on our society, poisoning and corrupting everything you contact, you might take offense. If I continued by suggesting that I might be well within my rights to kill you as a form of pre-emptive self-defense…well…you might want to have a word with me, right?

Or run away.

Or punch me in the face.

Of course, you wouldn’t punch me in the face. You probably haven’t been in a fistfight since you were a kid. But you might want to. You might have to suppress the urge.

Think I’m exaggerating? Here are just a few quotes from the recent slew of anti-God screeds that have found their way into your local bookstore.

Sam Harris, The End of Faith: “We have names for people who have many beliefs for which there is no rational justification. When their beliefs are extremely common, we call them ‘religious.’ Otherwise, they are likely to be called ‘mad, psychotic, or delusional.’ While religious people are not generally mad, their core beliefs absolutely are.” (p. 72)

Christopher Hitchens. The title of his book alone is enough to let you know how he feels about us. God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything

Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion: “Children, I’ll argue, have a human right not to have their minds crippled by exposure to other people’s bad ideas – no matter who these other people are. Parents, correspondingly, have no God-given license to enculturate their children in whatever ways they personally choose: no right to limit the horizons of their children’s knowledge, to bring them up in an atmosphere of dogma and superstition, or to insist they follow the straight and narrow paths of their own faith. In short, children have a right not to have their minds addled by nonsense, and we as a society have a duty to protect them from it. So we should no more allow parents to teach their children to believe, for example, in the literal truth of the Bible or that the planets rule their lives, than we should allow parents to knock their children’s teeth out or lock them in a dungeon.” (pp. 325-326)

Another from Sam Harris’ The End of Faith: “Some propositions are so dangerous that it may even be ethical to kill people for believing them. This may seem an extraordinary claim, but it merely enunciates an ordinary fact about the world in which we live. Certain beliefs place their adherents beyond the reach of every peaceful means of persuasion, while inspiring them to commit acts of extraordinary violence against others. There is, in fact, no talking to some people. If they cannot be captured, and they often cannot, otherwise tolerant people may be justified in killing them in self-defense.” (pp. 52-53)

Welcome to the world of the new atheists. These are not your grandfather’s atheists – the old guard who might have looked at you dismissively and joked about you behind your back as you dressed in your Sunday best and attended the church of your choice on Sunday mornings. No, atheism, like so many things these days, is new and improved. It’s more aggressive, more in-your-face. It’s “X-treme Atheism!” It’s atheism on steroids – complete with the short-tempered bursts of rage that are usually thought to be religiously inspired.

I once told Dennis that my thoughts on this subject have gotten me into hot water. He said, “Most Christians I’ve spoken with haven’t given social issues a great deal of introspective pondering. It’s easier for all of us to absorb the sound bytes of a culture than it is to substantively critique. Maybe the fact that you can discuss your views with a great deal of complexity and sophistication is what causes the disconnect.”

I know he meant to pay me a compliment, but it made me sad. I am deeply saddened that he has never met a Christian who can talk about these things without getting bashed by oversimplified arguments. He grew up in a college town in the southeast. How many gigantic churches did he drive past when he was a kid? And not one of them was producing disciples who knew how to discuss their faith in reasonable and gracious terms?

I don’t mean this as an indictment on one community. He could have grown up in Atlanta or Dallas or Chicago. The geography is irrelevant. The truth is that churches everywhere have failed to produce the Christlikeness in people that the world desperately needs.

One day, Dennis wrote me and said he’d finally found a church to attend in New York. He said it was the first time in his entire life he had felt welcome in a Christian environment.

“I wasn’t expecting to dig it – I’ve never really dug church before. But the pastor is astonishing – a scholar of amazing depth who learned Hebrew, Aramaic and other ancient languages and brings a complex understanding of world beliefs into messages that show a total lack of intimidation by other faiths. Everyone is welcome. The gospels are read in Spanish and English and (in the afternoons) Mandarin Chinese. Rich white couples sit next to near-homeless people. The serve the community by bringing Meals on Wheels to people with cancer and HIV. I feel like it’s a good place.

“I talked with someone there about my doubts, and she said a remarkable thing. She said I wouldn’t be a good member of the congregation if I didn’t honestly bring my doubts to the table. I hope if you ever come to NYC that maybe you’ll go to services with me there.”

I went to visit Dennis one gorgeous October — ah, Autumn in New York. I didn’t make it to church with him, but we had a great dinner in an amazing restaurant and had some seriously enjoyable conversation. I hope that through all of this I showed my friend Dennis a face of Christianity that was different from what he was accustomed to.

I’m not saying we should stop teaching about sin in all its multifaceted forms. But I don’t know that telling people what they’re doing is sinful will bring them into a more intimate relationship with God. Paul tells us it is the kindness, love and mercy of God that draws us to him (Titus 3:4-5).

At the end of one of our e-mail conversations recently, Dennis promised to do something amazing. He wrote, “I’ll pray for you – how about that!”

Pray, Dennis, pray. Pray for all of us. Pray for yourself, and pray for Adam. And pray for me, too. Pray for God to reveal his will to all of us, to give us answers and to make us brave.

I’ll join you in that prayer. I promise.

You should know by now that by friend Dennis is a pretty smart cookie. He picked up on something important. He said,

“I sense that it’s not people being gay that are the problem – you seem to recognize that they are created as such – it’s that they have sex. Am I right in reading you that it’s ‘eroticism’ that you can’t reconcile?

“Also, if you think that ‘we should get out of the judging business’ as Christians, then why do you feel the need to withhold ‘support’ from same-sex eroticism, like it’s a political candidate? I mean, you’re free to find it distasteful or yucky; I personally find liver and onions to be distastefully repugnant. But it seems ludicrous to me that I would ‘not support’ liver and onions.

“I’m sure my logic’s faulty somewhere in that last paragraph, but, heck, this isn’t an essay for publication, is it? I’m having fun with this.”

As bizarre as it sounds, Dennis is right. It’s the intercourse part that I have trouble with. The reason is that the Bible is rather explicit about that part – not feelings or fondness or affection or bonding or commitment – the Bible is blatant about the intercourse part. I don’t know what else to do with that, so I have to say that homosexuality is not compatible with a life that honors God.

I say that fully understanding that much of my own daily lifestyle dishonors God, myself and the people around me. I do not like an artificial hierarchy of sin. Still, there’s got to be a difference between judging and withholding support, right? In other words, can I make a judgment about something – say, a particular behavior – without judging the person who commits that act? Can I say that a thing is wrong (stealing, for example) without judging a person (you are a thief and thieves inevitably go to hell)? How do you use good, sound, wise judgment without judging?

That’s a tightrope that’s difficult to walk.

With that in mind, I continue to search the Scriptures and my own conscience. I read the scholarship. I think and reflect. I continue to engage in productive conversations like the ones you’re reading about here, and I try to the best of my ability to treat people – especially those with whom I disagree – with the respect they deserve.