Have you ever heard bizarre, nonhuman screams coming from the other room? Have you ever had that eerie feeling in the waking hours where your mind is alert but a heavy pressure on your body prevents you from moving? Have you ever felt a haunting presence closing in on you under the cloak of night? Have you ever done something “sinful” in the privacy of your bedroom only to wake up the next morning to a prayerful parent telling you that they sensed a fierce clash between angels and demons was taking place somewhere in the house the night before?

If you have, I’d love to hear more details about your experience.
But if you haven’t, you are not alone.

I haven’t either.

However, I know many who have had such experiences and the sincere conviction in which they retell their accounts leaves me to wonder.

Recently, I went to hang out and catch up with a small group of my Christian friends. My friends are complex individuals with memories full of profound experiences who would describe themselves as Bible-believing, orthodox Christian, conservative evangelicals. They are committed creationists and faithful servants to their understanding of God and the Bible. They are compassionate and thoughtful individuals who are skeptical toward the views of nonbelievers, mystics, New-Age types, self-help authors, right-wing fundamentalists, cults, liberals, televangelists, mega-church leaders who advance “the prosperity gospel” and all who accept the theory of evolution. And there was a time, not long ago, when I would describe myself in similar terms.

Over the past seven years, many of us have grown close by working on service projects together. We have participated in each others’ development into dependable friends, mature husbands and responsible fathers. But over the years, some of us began to depart from the majority opinion and pursue more unorthodox pathways of fulfillment.

I don’t think any of us were surprised by this. Even in our early bible study conversations years ago, one could hear subtle hints indicating that some of us thought about God and life’s purpose just a little differently than the rest of the group. These differences would only become more pronounced over time.

During our most recent gathering together, we joked around for an hour or so about random topics such as local job cuts, our kids, the Obama administration and the latest entertainment news. But as the evening progressed, the discussion topics became far more serious as some of my friends began to share stories about their encounters with—of all things—demons.

It began with one person’s off-handed joke about demon possession until, soon, everyone in the room, one-by-one, began chiming in with stories of their own encounters with what they believed to be demonic forces.

It was as if a line was being drawn in the sand and I found myself on the other side of it. Like an outside observer, I watched as my friends reaffirmed their fellowship with similar experiences. As the stories were told, I heard phrases like, “You too!” and “Yeah, that’s the worst.”

The situation was awkward and I couldn’t help but to be cynical; silently questioning both their judgment and my own.

How ironic was it that these individuals who sat before me sharing their personal encounters with demonic forces also happen to skeptical and distrusting of the scientific method? How ironic was it that these individuals who believe in demons also told me that they cannot accept evolution with any confidence because it leaves too much unexplained? Functioning with their assumptions about reality, I’d think some invisible and benevolent force controlled my sudden urge to fire off a witty and obnoxious remark pointing out the obvious, double standard here.

I couldn’t believe we were having this discussion. But I listened.

When someone tells me about a demonic encounter they have experienced my first reaction is to place that person firmly in the crazy category. But part of me neither wants to dismiss their stories nor the conviction in which they tell them because they may be indicative of a deeper, psychological reality to which I should pay close attention. Of course, this is an area beyond my expertise and again I am left only to wonder and ask questions.

I struggle with the fact that the Bible has plenty of stories similar to the ones my friends shared that night as its pages frequently describe a supernatural, otherworldly realm beyond sensory comprehension.

The noble and appealing character of Jesus is easy to embrace when you focus primarily on his paradigm-challenging command to love one’s enemies and his creative parables about the prodigal son, the persistent widow and the Good Samaritan. But the New Testament doesn’t stop there. It seems to me that in order to embrace this Jesus—according to the New Testament—one must also profess belief in a strange, spirit world where angelic and demonic forces wage a constant and invisible war for the eternal souls of human beings. To embrace this Jesus—according to many biblical texts—it seems that one must also accept the ideas that demons can possess human beings; that certain individuals can wield miraculous powers and perform miracles that defy the laws of gravity and physics; and that a personal God exists and is capable to speaking to and through selected prophets.

When I read what the gospels say about Jesus of Nazareth, I find an inspiring figure that said and did many admirable things throughout his final years. But if I am required to believe and defend far-fetched ideas and speculations about a spiritual realm in order to follow the way of Jesus, then Christianity is a pill that I cannot swallow.

At this point in my life, I don’t believe in a Devil, Satan, demons, evil spirits, or any sort of personalized beings of incarnated evil. However, I do believe that humanity has a dark side; a selfish part of us that desires to satiate our unbridled appetites without considering the needs of others; a dangerous part of us inclined to hate out of ignorance and to kill out of fear; a susceptible part of us easily possessed by the spirits of indifference and apathy.

And as mysterious as human evil is, I suspect this dark side of our existence has a biological and naturalistic explanation instead of a supernatural one. I suspect we can find more explanation for the origins of this dark side in the reptilian remnants of our brains than we can find in the tempting suggestions of a mythological serpent.

I find enough in the natural world to be afraid of than for me to occupy time and energy worrying about realms unknown, unseen and—dare I say—imaginary. I have more fear that a stray bullet will interrupt my earthly existence than that any demon would ever attack, influence or possess me.

Interestingly, some would posit one of those circular, conversation-ending arguments claiming that someone who doesn’t believe in demons is not able to believe because they are already under a demonic influence. I have no patience for that kind of exchange.

You can call it what you want, label me however and rely on whichever authority you find trustworthy in this dynamic and ever-changing thing called life. I’m going to try to make sense out of this the only way I know how: by continuing to ask the questions and pursuing explanations to the mysteries.

As you may know, I don’t believe in the popular, biblical portrayals of a personal God who communicates with human beings and intervenes on their behalf, but I still attend weekly worship services at a primarily African-American Missionary Baptist church with my loving wife- who is a believer. And not a week goes by where I don’t hear a testimony about how “God” has moved in someone’s life.

In the context of Christianity, testimonies are those special stories shared by members of a community to strengthen belief, encourage devotion and renew hope. Most of these accounts are very compelling in their simplicity and exceptionally convincing in their sincerity.

I have always considered such moments to be among the most precious and sacred moments of a worship service. Precious- because, in testimonies, people bare their hearts, expose their internal struggles and proclaim their faith in a reliable God they trust to “make a way out of no way”; Sacred- because testimonies provide a forum for those who aren’t pastors and preachers to bear witness to that which they believe to be both true and meaningful.

But nowadays, I can’t help but wonder if most—if not all—testimonies about “God’s work in our lives” are merely our best guesses at explaining that which is beyond our sensual comprehension. Do our testimonies about spiritual and supernatural experiences serve to reveal actual facts about reality or are they themselves a testament to our prioritized psychological need for meaningful explanations, comforting reassurance and satisfactory closure?

Perhaps it was the strength of the testimonies shared by those “Christ-like” individuals who I have known and trusted that—for so long—preserved my hope and faith in the “God” they described- despite my growing apprehension and consideration of evidence to the contrary.

Similar to how a positive customer review can motivate someone to overcome their initial apprehension to purchase a product, there’s something compelling about observing people we trust as they describe their specific and personal experiences of the holy. Such descriptions seem especially appealing to those of us who—in our own lives—observe a lack of any such encounters with the divine.

I remember being a college freshman and attending a New Year’s Eve watch night service where I heard the testimony of a 17-year old girl from my Sunday school class as she stood before the congregation confessing— for the first time— how close she came to ending her own life earlier that year. In her tearful proclamation she explained how the Holy Spirit intervened to help ward off her desire to self-destruct.

We could sense the gratitude in her tears. She truly believed that the Holy Spirit rescued her. Who would dare disturb her with fancy philosophical notions about the nature of reality?

Several years later, I remember listening to the testimony of a 73-year old man who was admitted to a local hospital for a series of examinations. He stood before the church and claimed that—while he lay in his hospital bed—he had a vision where Jesus reaches into his body, extracts his diseased organs and juggles them in mid-air as he lays there motionless and bewildered. Soon after his vision, the doctors came back to report- to their astonishment- that his organs seemed to be functioning fine and that there was no longer any trace of the malady.

We could hear the assurance in his voice. He trusted that his Lord healed him. Who has the nerve to trouble him with naturalistic explanations and empirical-based arguments?

I also remember, a few years ago, visiting a church in Cleveland where a forty-something deacon told me about his previous life as a street-wise, drug dealer. He told me how his rivals raided his house hoping to find him, but only finding his wife. Within moments, they opened fire on her, leaving her for dead. She would later recover, but this misty-eyed deacon told me that he would never forget the day he came home to find his wife laying there with fragments of her skull splattered on their living room table. He attributes that as the moment that got his attention and compelled him to give his life to the Lord. Soon afterwards he found this particular church, was taken under the wing of the senior pastor and eventually trained to become a deacon.

I could see the sincerity in his stare. He was convinced that God spared his life and had more noble purposes for him. Who has the balls to question his sanity and to challenge his personal theology?

Now, none of these strike me as being very sophisticated reasons to believe in God. And actually, such stories of divine assistance are not bound to one religious tradition. These are neither the hidden meanings discovered by biblical scholars nor are they the abstract ideas of theology professors. Instead, these are the testimonies of flesh and blood human beings living on the frontlines of a harsh world where faith plays a key role in maintaining sanity amidst the tangible struggles of life. These individuals— like so many of us— have a profound and unshakable sense that something or someone is out there thinking about their lives here on Earth. These individuals firmly believe that the shameful, unfortunate and traumatic episodes of their lives serve a larger purpose in some grand sovereign scheme set in motion at the beginning of time.

In the face of such individuals, my most compelling theological and philosophical arguments begin to sound like immature and insensitive rants. They seem increasingly impotent in the face of an individual’s struggle and their will to overcome. How I wish I could testify to these individuals my personal belief: that the divine presence in which they trust is nothing more than the combination of their own inner resolve to press on and the resource of other living beings that are there to offer attentive support, provision and encouragement.

When I hear testimonies like these, I find myself asking: Did that experience really happen? Although, I sometimes wonder if that is even the best question to ask.Perhaps I should instead be asking: How does this story work for them?

I place a high value on Truth. I have invested significant amounts of time, money and energy towards seeking it. And I am still searching. But maybe there is more to Truth than facts.

These testimonies seem to testify to a truth about human beings and our unremitting need to feel significant; to be appreciated; to be given attention.

In addition to Truth, I also treasure life. Sometimes, I wonder if the value of life sometimes outweighs the value of Truth. I begin to wonder if it is sometimes worth allowing some falsehoods to exist unchallenged in order to grant some a better quality of life? Are there situations where Truth is not helpful? But what kind of life is grounded in falsehood?

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but while I believe Truth is a crucial ingredient for progress, perhaps Truth isn’t necessary for survival. Perhaps the idea of God is useful, even if I don’t believe that it is true.

In contemplating the most accurate way to describe my own religious affiliation (should I be asked by fellow churchgoers), I have given long thought to one my good friend’s approaches of responding according to the primary religious model and/or framework that has shaped one’s outlook on life; which for us is the person of Jesus.

I was reminded of this approach after my friend refered me to Malcolm Dalglish’s hymn “Paradise” where Jesus is imaged as the “flame that lights the way.” I could really relate to my friend’s reflection that- even if he doesn’t believe in certain Christian doctrines- there are still those aspects of Jesus’ “life, teaching, example, and person” that serve as “the light by which (we) discern things.”

I totally agree. Although I think Jesus went way too far in some of the things he was believed to have said and despite the fact that I have serious intellectual difficulty in (1) embracing his ideas about otherworldly matters, (2) accepting the authority he seems to assume for himself and (3) believing the Gospel’s miracle stories as historical facts, I still admire Jesus greatly and find wisdom in his approach to life, humility, conflict-resolution, service and ethics. As I have said before, I blame his Good Samaritan story for making me a humanist!

All that to say, I cannot deny that my personal outlook on life has been profoundly shaped by the one they called Jesus.

I consider myself to be an “admirer of Jesus.” It seems too dishonest for me to say I am a “follower of Jesus” considering that- in the most literal sense- I have not done what those characters in the Gospels who actually followed Jesus were asked to do; I’d dare say that few of us who confidently claim allegiance to Jesus’ way us have actually gone that far with it. I suspect that those of us who attend Christian churches have fashioned an easier, more formulaic, less-demanding and distorted form of Jesus’ gospel in order to make us feel better about failing to actually emulate his example.

Even though I’m pretty far along in my discarding of traditional Christian dogma, I do take the idea of following Jesus seriously and wish more people allowed themselves room to really “count the cost” and consider the implications of such a major commitment.

In light of this, I try to use the life of Jesus (primarily based on my reading of the Synoptic Gospels) as a guiding model and hermeneutic to discern his interests and priorities from those of the early Church. I, like many others who have pursued this line of thought, think there is a profound difference in the two.

Before I realized how unoriginal this notion was, I had long wondered: Why does the Jesus who preached the “Sermon on the Mount” seem so far removed from the emphasized teachings and practices of the contemporary Christian church? Why does the Sermon on the Mount’s “almost-humanistic” Jesus (so practical and so human) seem so different from the ethereal and cosmic character of The Savior Christ that millions of individuals worship and call upon? Why do I gravitate to the former figure while so many gravitate to the latter?

How refreshing it would be if my Christian brothers and sisters could at least admit that many of our contemporary churches tend to emphasize and demand conformity in things that Jesus didn’t seem to stress about (i.e., the great commission to “go ye therefore”, public prayer, adherence to notions of biblical inerrancy, papal infallibility, advancing pro-Christian political agendas, condemning homosexuality, creationism, intimidating non-Christians and “sinners” with the threat of hell, the idea that one’s salvation is contingent upon one’s acceptance of certain doctrines, etc.) whereas Jesus himself seemed to stress a lot of things that many of our more dogmatic evangelical churches seem to downplay (i.e., the great commandment to “love God and neighbor”, loving and praying for one’s enemies, selling all possessions and giving to the poor, being non-violent, being merciful, forbidding divorce, praying only in private, being service-minded, turning the other cheek, intimidating the apathetic religious hypocrites of his day with the threat of hell, and the idea that one’s salvation is contingent upon one’s compassionate behavior/willingness to forgive others, etc.).

How I wish I could get more of my Christian friends to at least agree with me on that point!

I also can’t help but notice how many “bible-believing churches” base their beliefs and faith claims on things that Jesus was likely to have never said (for example, the material found primarily in the Gospel of John and the New Testament letters).

Though I am visiting, I refuse to ever join a church that seeks to teach me how to frame the world into an “us-versus-them” of believers and “hell-bound” non-believers; that teaches young children to reject the most credible scientific insights; that teaches members how to suppress the faculty of reason; and who actively pressure children and adults into professing “a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior.”

I say that is only one understanding of the gospel, and- thank goodness- not the only way.

Where are the fellowships that focus more on teaching congregants how to cultivate the fortitude to forgive others “seventy times seven;” how to develop the maturity and contentment needed to part ways with self-absorption and mindless consumerism; how to use what you have to serve those who are in need; how to regularly escape to quiet, secluded places to pray mindfully; how to empathize with the outcasts, orphans and widows; and how to evangelize without words by extending merciful “Samaritan” hands to those of different cultures, beliefs and traditions?

Does one have to become a Buddhist or a mystic in order to engage in spiritual practices that would help them to live closer to the way of Jesus?