My Fathers in the Faith

rowing up in church, I always felt my story of faith was inadequate. I’d hear testimonies of the most extraordinary conversions, but instead of elating me, they left me deflated. While my congregation wasn’t the type to make an extreme spiritual experience a criterion of true faith, it was hard not to wish for my own road-to-Damascus moment. Sure, I didn’t want to suffer addiction or abuse. But normal, boring, suburban life isn’t the stuff of cinema. Then, one night, a man stood up to share his testimony, and his opening was different from others I’d heard before. He began by explaining that he’d had no radical turnabout, no remarkable deliverance from waywardness and unbelief. He had no memory of not believing. And then he said this: “I make no apology for being raised by faithful parents in a Christian home. There is nothing to apologize for. I give God thanks for such a wonderful gift. I’m grateful every day for it.” I’m paraphrasing, to be sure, but believe me when I say that the opening words—I make no apology—are etched in my mind. They turned my adolescent spirituality on its head. Instead of rolling my eyes at my “normal” parents and my “boring” life, I ought instead to fall to my knees in gratitude. Far from being normal or boring, being raised by faithful followers of Jesus is a miracle in its own right. The question is whether we have the eyes to see it. Each weekly CT Pastors issue equips you with the best wisdom and practical tools for church ministry. Explore more newsletters—don’t forget to start your free 60-day trial of CT to get full access to all articles in every newsletter. This anecdote came back to me a few months ago when I was asked to give a talk to freshmen at the university where I teach. I was instructed, as part of a weekly series of faculty talks, “to share a short narrative of a formative experience in church,” which might “be an experience in which the church supported you in a critical moment or an experience in which important spiritual formation happened for you during a difficult moment in church.” related Photograph of Paige Lohman I Sold My Body and Couldn’t Quit Heroin. But God Pursued Me. Paige Lohman Kyla Gillespie in a black jacket standing on a metal staircase in an industrial setting, looking to the side. Born a Woman, I Spent Six Years Living as a Man. Then God Showed Me My True Identity. Kyla Gillespie I confess that, at first, I was at a loss. My whole story is that there were no “critical moments,” at least in the usual sense of crisis points. I had no pit from which I was brought up. I suffered no great desolation worth telling. My struggles were quotidian in the extreme, and my faith was more or less constant throughout them. Then I recalled the man on that Sunday night. And what came to me at that moment was not spiritual potboilers or narratives to rival Peter and Paul in pathos and drama. Rather, what came to me were names. First names, to be exact. The names were Spence, Craig, Duane, Chris, Lee, and Mark. Each played a role in my story and, in that sense, was critical to my spiritual formation. Each was a mentor and, in his own distinctive way, a father to me. So I decided to tell these students about them, and now I’d like to tell you too. First was Spence, one of my youth ministers in middle and high school. Under God, Spence is the reason I am not just a Christian but a theologian. After I left the house and married, my parents shared with my wife and me something my father had told my mother during my teenage years. He’d said, “When Brad grows up, he is going to be either the world’s most passionate Christian or the world’s most passionate atheist. There’s no in between. We just have to figure out how to steer him toward one rather than the other.” A bookworm earning a master of divinity at a local seminary, Spence was the answer to my parents’ prayer. He clocked my precocious theological questions early and took me out for meals and walks, fielding my continuous queries with intelligence, humility, and wit. Besides my eking out the beginnings of a theological grammar, those conversations did something even more important: They communicated to me that the Christian faith welcomes honest questions. Doubt Is a Ladder, Not a Home Brad East Illustration of a person falling through a void of doubt and confusion while reaching toward a golden life line. Borrowing Faith When Doubt Creeps In Stefani McDade As I have written before, questions are not always doubts, and mine most certainly were not. If Christianity had answers, I wanted to hear them—to sift, test, and debate them. Spence showed me how to do that well and that it was part of the house of faith, not its exit door. Spence gave me books too: C. S. Lewis, G. K. Chesterton, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and Søren Kierkegaard. I still own them. Did I understand what I was reading? Occasionally. But you have to begin somewhere. And Spence knew the right masters to put in my hands, who in turn would lead me to their masters, as in fact they did. Spence thus deserves the lion’s share of human credit for steering me toward God and away from skepticism. But others played a role too. Craig was the prototypical “cool” youth minister: a long-haired “Jesus people” California vibe. We shared a love for music. I was the teen who showed up for everything, so we spent plenty of van rides to local youth gatherings talking life and listening to bands. I was terribly concerned, in the way adolescents are, that my faith would entail social humiliation at my large public school. Just by being who he was, Craig showed me two things: First, you could follow Jesus and still be cool. Second, that didn’t matter, because following Jesus was worth it regardless of your reputation. I think of both Craig and Spence whenever I’m tempted to cynicism about youth ministry. The dangers are all too real: fun instead of faith, hangouts instead of catechesis, concerts instead of worship, “community” instead of church. And yet the witness and presence of these two men were just what I needed in the most vulnerable and spiritually formative years of my life. related A white sheep wearing sunglasses with a group of sheep in the background that are colored by a green and blue gradient. Worship Together or Bowl Alone Brad East A baby crib mobile with stars and houses hanging from it. Train Up a Village Bonnie Kristian Then there was Duane, a second dad to me from the time I could walk. My brothers and I called him “Du” for short. Growing up in central Texas with extended family many states away, our congregation was there for births and deaths, car accidents and hospital visits and more. I was an adult when I realized how atypical—indeed how special—an experience this was. Along with his wife and three sons, Duane was at Thanksgiving, Christmas dinner, Fourth of July cookouts, every birthday party. He was an uncle I took for granted. One evening in the summer of 1997, I got to church too late to catch the youth group vans. My parents went to their Bible class, and I was left to fend for myself. So I wandered into the sanctuary to—by my 11-year-old standards—the boring class for gray-haired folks. I sat on the back row, disgruntled. At one point we were invited to discuss some question with a partner. Duane was sitting nearby and joined me in my pew. Somehow the subject of baptism came up, and it became clear to him that I was hemming and hawing, remaining unbaptized for no clearly articulated reason. He asked me directly: “If you believe in Christ and nothing is holding you back, then why don’t you go ahead and get baptized?” He was right. A few months later, I did just that. Now, was I baptized because of that conversation? Yes and no. No, because there were a thousand factors that led to my baptism. Yes, because sometimes, with any big decision, you need a final nudge. And the reason Duane could be that nudge was because he had been around my whole life. As a church uncle, he could casually chat with me on a random summer night. As a spiritual father, he had the authority and trust to challenge me to act on my convictions. He was the final domino in a providential sequence. Had I the eyes to see at that moment, I would have seen a quiet miracle, the kind that happens every single day. Faithful Fathers Brad East A blue gradient background with a "no two way street" sign. The sign is made out of water. Baptism Is Not Optional Brad East Imentioned other names above: Chris, Lee, Mark. Each befriended me and took me under his wing as I grew older. Chris asked me questions about my life with infinite patience and good humor (something he still does). Lee, together with his wife, hosted me weekly in their home—even when I was the only teenager to show up. Mark once drove me and a friend out of town to see a metal band in concert. Were my parents fans of this band? No. Did it leave a lasting impression on me that a father and husband and eventual elder in my congregation was willing to spend an evening with two high school boys who thought the most important thing on earth was seeing that band live? Yes, yes it did. These are just a few of the stories I could tell, and only a fraction of the names. (After all, I’ve left out all the moms!) But the point, I trust, is clear: Not all of us will have a Damascus-road experience, but each of us has a testimony, because God is at work in all our lives. Even those with spectacular tales don’t live daily on the road to Damascus—Paul’s visionary encounter with the Lord happened on a single day in his life. What God promises to every believer is both less and more than this. Less, because the mystical and ecstatic are rare. More, because God is present and at work in the mundane and ordinary just as much as in the shocking and extraordinary. God has given us a family we call the church. It is full to the brim with spiritual fathers and mothers, not to mention siblings and cousins, aunts and uncles. Like every family, it can hurt. But it can also bless. And it’s what we’ve got, because it’s what God has provided. For that reason, on this Father’s Day, I give God thanks for the spiritual fathers—in addition to my earthly father—with whom he blessed me: for Spence and Craig, Duane and Chris, Lee and Mark. In some small way their witness showed and continues to show me a glimpse of God, the Father of our Lord Jesus, “from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name” (Eph 3:15). I make no apology for them or for God’s church, and neither should you. Brad East is an associate professor of theology at Abilene Christian University. He is the author of four books, including The Church: A Guide to the People of God and Letters to a Future Saint.