My New Statement Of Faith

When I was 14 years old, I handwrote a statement of faith as part of my confirmation into the Presbyterian church. After working on several drafts, I felt impressed with how articulate the final product seemed. This was vanity on my part, for I missed the entire point by failing to discuss Jesus Christ and the meaning of his short time on Earth (I discussed the Book of Exodus and how God manages human affairs to serve larger goals). My faith was not truly confirmed yet.

As years went by, I forgot about such matters and focused on growing up and making my way in the world. I had my share of successes and failures, but I noticed something that initially troubled me and eventually became a crisis. I have an active mind. I enjoy searching for the truth that often hides beneath the surface of things, regardless of whether I gain any benefit from it. It didn't take me long to see that this is not how most people operate, as they tend to explore ideas only to the extent they are useful, and their ideas never stray far from their interests. I provoked hostility whenever I shared my own ideas about deeper truths. It made no difference whether the issue was big (such as politics or religion) or small (such as movies or music). It made no difference whether the conversation took place in a classroom, in an office, or on a beach. It made no difference whether I was tactful and refrained from sharing my ideas unless invited to do so. Upon uttering my thoughts about a deeper truth, people would lash out at me, often in the form of personal remarks about my motives rather than the merits of my thoughts. I was steadily learning that my reluctance to accept things at face value angers people, which baffled me because I always enjoyed hearing other people's views even if they differed from my own. 

This was especially troubling for me while in college and then law school. Surely, these places were havens of free thought and the open exchange of ideas. They proved quite the opposite. I endured the open hostility of classmates as well as the covert hostility of professors, who would penalize me whenever I expressed something that did not echo their worldview. For instance, I once prepared thoroughly for an exam on constitutional law, so much so that other law students would ask me for help on what a particular decision or line of precedent meant. The exam was a breeze, and I was delighted that the professor had included a question inviting us to rewrite any major decision by the U.S. Supreme Court. I chose to rewrite one of the decisions from the 1970s that ordered interracial school busing, since this was pure social engineering and a matter of public policy rather than constitutional law. I put a lot of thought and feeling into the essay to argue that forcible integration is just as wrongful as forcible segregation, perhaps even more so because a court rather than a legislature was doing it. Even though I knew I had aced the exam, the professor gave me a middling grade while awarding high grades to the very students who had asked me for advice. I knew it was because he disagreed with my essay, and it stung because the transcripts would suggest that the other students understood constitutional law better than I did, even though that was false. This sort of thing happened in other classes as well, where I naïvely shared my thoughts and thereby damaged my career prospects.

When it came time to leave law school and join the practice of law, I encountered not only the expected hostility from opposing counsel, but also the unexpected hostility from my own colleagues. For instance, I developed a talent for winning all or part of my cases in the early stages with motions to dismiss or for summary judgment. Rather than congratulate me, my colleagues scorned my approach and often refused to follow it because it might close the file before they could bill it as much as they wanted. On another occasion, a partner instructed me to build a legal theory to support a lawsuit on behalf of a new and wealthy client. After performing the research, I informed him that the legal theory was hollow and wouldn't work. He was very upset and drummed me out of the firm shortly after that. Years later, I learned that the client was suing him for malpractice because he had pursued the lawsuit to an unsuccessful and costly conclusion, and my internal memorandum advising against it had become a major piece of evidence. I chuckled, but at the same time I lamented that this was why I eventually had to give up on working in law firms and build a practice of my own. 

But nothing was as painful as the destruction of my marriage. My ex and I are both from Florida but no longer cared for it and decided to leave. We chose Montana because of its natural beauty, open spaces, and other good qualities for starting a family. This meant I would have to take the Montana bar exam even though I had been practicing law for ten years, since Montana did not have reciprocity with Florida. So, while working a full-time job in Florida, I studied as much as possible in my spare time and searched for jobs in Montana. Everything fell into place miraculously, as I passed the exam and got a job offer during the same trip. My ex and I stood under a starry sky while hugging each other and yelling, "We're moving to Montana!" We made the move, and I settled into my new job while enjoying the beautiful spring and summer. As autumn arrived, I noticed she was growing more distant. She became argumentative and hostile, and she suddenly declared that she wanted a separation so that she could return to Florida and spend time with her family. As she left the house I physically collapsed, powerless and miserable. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. I accessed her emails and saw that she was telling lies about me to her family and friends, claiming that I was being cruel and refusing to go to counseling. Everyone was showering her with sympathy while criticizing me. Then I found that she was talking to another man through a website devoted to a depraved subculture. Not only was the man married, but he lived in Florida, and she was planning to meet him in person under the cover story of visiting her family. I felt a murderous rage rise within me. The lies, betrayal, and humiliation were all too much to bear. I contacted her father and told him the truth, which is when her mask dropped and she declared without hesitation that she wanted a divorce. She soon placed photos on social media of her out partying with friends, celebrating what she had done. Our vows to love, honor, and cherish each other forever meant nothing. I was alone in Montana as autumn turned to bitter-cold winter. Only two things were certain to me: I would never speak to her again, and I would never marry again. Other than that, I was lost and felt as if I did not even belong in the world.

At some point I began reading the Bible again, particularly the Gospel, and I arrived at the moment when Pilate confronts Jesus in John 18:37 and 38 (Revised Standard Version):

Pilate said to him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth. Every one who is of the truth hears my voice.” Pilate said to him, “What is truth?”

These words hit me like a lightning bolt and made me understand the source of my troubles in life. Jesus was not referring to a particular truth, but to the very concept of truth. For his part, Pilate was not asking a sincere question, but rather was mocking the very concept of truth. The world, like Pilate, sees truth as meaningless or counter-productive because it does not serve the world's interests. The world, like Pilate, sees only winners and losers, predators and prey, or masters and servants. From this perspective it makes no difference whether the servant has truth on his side, for he remains beneath the master. From Jesus's teaching, the servant can be right while the master can be wrong. This is why Jesus was hated and condemned by His own people, for He spoke truth rather than tell them what they wanted to hear. He threatened their special status as the chosen people, which mattered far more to them than any universal truth that might unite everyone as children of God. Jesus signifies truth, which is why the world hated Him and still hates Him today. If you embrace truth, the world will hate you as well, just as it has hated many martyrs and heroes down the centuries. 

This gave me a deeper understanding of how the love of truth must be otherworldly and of divine origin because it is so incompatible with this world, which is the domain of knaves and fools. Truth serves no practical benefit here. Plants and animals are oblivious to truth and flourish without it. Humans are capable of ascertaining truth but have strong reasons to ignore it because it plays no favorites and can harm or destroy you if you stand by it rather than cater to what everyone else wants. To love truth in such a hostile environment means to be in the world but not of it.

My persistent feeling of not belonging was well-founded because this, indeed, is not my home. As Jesus also said to Pilate, “My kingship is not of this world; if my kingship were of this world, my servants would fight, that I might not be handed over to the Jews; but my kingship is not from the world.” This means we all have a choice to make: to serve truth and sacrifice what we have in the world (even life itself), or to serve the world and sacrifice truth. This choice confronts people every day, and they often choose the world over the truth. The love of truth in my heart and many other hearts -- even though it is so impractical and brings so many earthly miseries -- convinced me that its source must be divine and that Jesus Christ embodies it. At long last, my faith was confirmed.

None of this means that I am perfect or even particularly good. To the contrary, it motivated me to look deeper within to find uncomfortable truths about myself. I have lied, cheated, and stolen. I could have been a more attentive and affectionate husband, which might have kept my wife from getting sucked into that despicable website. I could have tried harder to build relationships with people at school and at work even though we disagreed on many things. I have harbored bitterness toward people who have wronged me, overlooking that many people likely harbor bitterness toward me for wronging them, and it does no good to cling to it. 

It makes no difference whether I can change the world or the other people in it, since the only real power I have is over myself. I will use that power to be as truthful as I can, with myself and with others. If that brings me earthly troubles, I can bear them because I will never be alone again.