What Lies Beneath: Religion as a Crutch

Now when Simon saw that the Spirit was given through the laying on of the apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying, “Give me this power also, so that anyone on whom I lay my hands may receive the Holy Spirit.” (Acts 8.18-19)

People don’t always become—or remain—Christians for the noblest of reasons. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure this is true of myself, which is why I have a harder and harder time explaining my motivations for becoming a Christian 15 years ago.

It is no secret that religion can serve as a crutch in life. God, church, liturgy, theology—all these can become the means by which we assert ourselves in the world and make ourselves important because otherwise the world might not hear us, or worse, have a place for us. For Simon the Magician of Samaria, what drew him to the Gospel was his desire to become great once again in the eyes of others (“Give me this power…”). The Samaritans who had become Christians had probably become less enthused about his magical career (Acts 8.9-13), and Simon wanted to know how to get it all back. For him, Christianity was a way of getting other people’s attention and respect. In fact, I’ll venture to say that this explains why so many of us “churchy” people are often uptight, controlling, possessive and downright mean. We claim that what we do what we do “because it is the truth,” “because I’m concerned about the good of the Church,” “because I want to serve God,” but often mingled with these intentions are the (often dysfunctional) strategies and mechanisms by which we’ve learned to survive in the world. When these strategies and mechanisms are threatened, we lash out in the name of religion, God, the Church and all that is holy.

But you know, God can hold this ugly truth about us. It’s never been a surprise to Him that His children sometimes (or often) use Him to manipulate others, protect themselves, or seek gain for themselves. In fact, He sees this more clearly than anyone else. What He asks, I think, is that we come clean before Him. If I can own up to the fact that I’ve used God and my faith for selfish purposes, to make myself feel important or righteous, or to control other people, then I’m already one step closer to Him than I was before. The Greek word “to confess”, after all, means “to say the same thing”—that is, to agree with God about my identity, intentions and actions.

This is the kind of repentance Peter asked from Simon: “Repent therefore of this wickedness of yours, and pray to the Lord that, if possible, the intent of your heart may be forgiven you” (Acts 8.22). Simon was asked, first, to acknowledge that he had treated the Gospel as a means of obtaining power, and to renounce his desire to manipulate God for his own purposes.

I’m afraid that for many of us “seasoned” Christians, beneath the masks of our concern about orthodoxy, erudite arguments about theology, zeal for traditionalism, criticisms of hierarchs and hostility toward “the godless world,” lie secrets and layers of selfishness, each to our own, that we are either unable or unwilling to acknowledge. What would happen if I finally owned up to God? What about my life might change? How might this affect the Church and the world for which I have been appointed a witness of truth?