I remember the Sunday School class when the teacher set small cups full of room-temperature soda in front of each of us kids. She told us to take a drink. Neither hot or cold, each of us grumbled about how it tasted gross and that we wanted ice. The teacher went on with her illustration, explaining how God would spit out the lukewarm Christians, that he’d rather us be hot or cold, on fire for him or bound to burn.

That was one of the first lessons I learned as a child — there’s no in-between for “true” Christians. You’re either sold out or a sell out. There’s no middle ground. So I chose the sold-out camp. I believed God should be the center of everything, of my existence, so that’s the way I lived (or attempted to live).

But the last eighteen months have taken their toll on my faith.

I’ve repeatedly prayed, Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.

Silence.

I’ve whimpered, No matter what, you’re good anyway. 

More silence.

I’ve begged, God, I need to know you’re real and that you care.

Nothing.

I’ve wept, Pleeeeease…. 

No response.

. . .

A new friend with whom I’ve been sharing my questions and doubts recently described my belief system as “one foot in, one foot out.” I hadn’t necessarily thought of it that way, but he’s right. I’m somewhere in the middle: wanting to believe, but not quite believing. I’m sitting on the virtual fence. I’m the yucky, lukewarm drink. I’m in the camp of indecision.

I’m sitting atop the fence, wavering back and forth. I’m not contemplating selling out; I’m considering giving up on any remote belief that God exists.

If there’s a god who sees my deep grief and my shattered dreams, who hears my desperate pleas, who allows me to be stripped of hope, and yet he remains silent and distant, and that’s supposed to be love, I’m not interested. I’d prefer to believe that kind of god — the one who ignores me when I need him most — doesn’t exist. That’s not how I love others, and that’s no longer the kind of “love” I accept into my life. That’s no longer the kind of god I’m willing to allow to be the center of my existence. I can no longer even attempt to live a sold-out life centered around a god who guides me into the wilderness and leaves me stranded.

I’d rather believe life just happens (good and bad), and it’s up to me to deal with it. I’d rather believe it’s my responsibility as a human to be kind and generous with grace instead of believing those are byproducts of a god who doesn’t extend the same courtesies to me. 

I’m sitting atop the fence, but I’m leaning heavily on the side of unbelief. I’d rather believe god doesn’t exist than believe in one who’d spit me out simply because my faith failed when he ignored me. That’s manipulative, and I can no longer drink the kool-aid (or the lukewarm soda) that says otherwise.