A number of years ago I received this monthly newsletter and resource offering from John MacArthur’s Grace to You Ministry. The offer is a teaching called, “When Believers Stop Believing: Portrait of an Apostate.” And, quite honestly, it was pretty good.
But what intrigued me was the intro to the letter promoting the offer. It went like this:
Dear Friend,
It grieves me to bring you sad news from within our own ministry family about someone who has walked away from the Lord. Several months ago, we received a shocking, heartbreaking letter. It was from a long-time listener and supporter of Grace to You named Steve. His short note explained in stark, simple language that he has rejected Christ, turned his back on the church, and wants nothing further to do with our ministry. He wrote:
Over many years I have been blessed to receive free tapes, CDs, and books from your ministry. Thank you. At the time, I really appreciated them.
Now I no longer believe in the God of the Bible or in Jesus Christ. Ten years of full-time ministry proved to me that there is no God and that the God of the Bible does not care. I now reject Christianity and have come to peace. What was at first a great loss has now turned to joy, peace, and freedom. I did not leave the faith because of some extreme sin. I left because the God of the Bible, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit are all a fantasy. I’m happy I now live in the real world.
He goes on for a couple more paragraphs stating that he feels guilty about those he led to the faith in the Lord back when he was deceived and asked to be taken off all mailing lists, etc. MacArthur, rightly so, then springboards into a discussion of apostasy and ends with offering an hour-long Q & A with Phil Johnson about the very question at hand— Why Do Believers Stop Believing?
Great question.
But something else bothered me about Steve’s letter… other than the obvious account of a man rejecting the saving grace of our Lord. No, there was something more. There was another question— a nagging question, just under the surface, that needed to be answered. And not with some theological discussion about the definition of or the signs of apostasy.
But something simple, just one word. “Why?” Yet, the answer was so deceptively sinister.
“What caused Steve to lose faith in the God of the Bible? Did God somehow fail him in his time of need? Did Jesus lie to Steve, betray Steve, ridicule Steve, or abandon Steve? Did the Holy Spirit refuse to give Steve the gifts that He seems to give to everyone else?”
I don’t think so. There must be more.
“Did Steve find errors in the Bible? You know, passages that have been fraudulently inserted into the Scriptures by others to lead us astray into believing that Jesus is, in fact, God? Maybe Steve found the body of Jesus buried somewhere in the Judean countryside? Maybe he has proof that the resurrection was staged, or that Peter and Paul were fictional characters, or that the Gospel is nothing more than feel-good pabulum?”
Maybe. But I still think it was something else.
Did you see what Steve said proved to him that there is no God or the God of the Bible doesn’t care? Let me show you once again.
Now I no longer believe in the God of the Bible or in Jesus Christ. Ten years of full-time ministry proved to me that there is no God and that the God of the Bible does not care. I now reject Christianity and have come to peace. What was at first a great loss has now turned to joy, peace, and freedom. I did not leave the faith because of some extreme sin. I left because the God of the Bible, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit are all a fantasy. I’m happy I now live in the real world.
That’s right. It was ten years of full-time ministry. Ten years of working in a church or para-church organization with believers just like you and me. It was ten years of seeing people who profess to know and love Jesus treat others so shamefully. It was ten years of gossip, slander, backbiting, broken promises, political intrigue and all the other hurts that take place within the walls of ministry.
Ten years— ten long years of all the stuff Love Jesus, Hate Church is all about.
But for Steve, his final story will most likely be Hate Jesus, Hate Church, not because God failed, but because of the horrible, degrading things good people do to good people— all in the name of the Lord. And Steve concluded, probably after weeks and maybe years of agonizing prayer, that God doesn’t care. That God won’t, or can’t, take away Steve’s pain. That God just turns a blind eye to what takes place in full-time ministry.
Or, that God must not exist . Because if He did, He would do something about all the hurt and pain and disappointment Steve, and tens of thousands just like him, suffered those ten years.
Pain, most likely caused by Christians Steve had to deal with during 10 years of ministry.
The following excerpt is from Love Jesus, Hate Church:
For most of us, the idea of church often conjures up the image of stately red brick buildings with tall, white, majestic steeples that point like an arrow straight into the heart of God. For others, church gives us the warm, cozy feelings of nostalgia, the pleasant memories of good-times long past. We fondly think of Sunday school with its Picture Bibles, flannel graphs, warm cherry Kool-Aid, and hard oatmeal cookies. We remember Christmas plays and living nativities and shepherds’ costumes made from mom’s best bath towels and dad’s favorite pale-blue robe. There was VBS and sword drills and Tootsie Rolls and Labor Day picnics and… well, the list can go on and on.
Church was portrayed as a place of safety and security, a living sanctuary where Christians could take shelter from the oppressive hurt and abuse the world tends to dish out on its inhabitants. It was a place of worship, a place of love, of acceptance, and mutual ministry.
The Church was the one place on earth where you never feared being hurt or mistreated or misunderstood or belittled or needlessly offended or persecuted or slandered or wronged or berated. Why?
“Because church is just like one big ol’ happy family. Right?”
Well, not always. Not really.
Every Sunday, hidden among masses of people that dutifully file in and out of church services across the land, there is an ever-growing army of disgruntled and disillusioned Believers that carry with them the battle scars they received on the frontlines of Church. This group of walking wounded, their Purple Heart in hand, are interwoven into the very membership fabric of our congregations. They’re disguised, cloaked, concealed behind a well-dressed façade that smiles and says, “How are you today? Just fine. And you?” and then moves on. They’re detached. Wary. Reluctant to allow the pain they’ve experienced in Church be inflicted upon them, and their families, again.
“Don’t come any closer. Stay back. I don’t want to be hurt again.”
And this group just keeps getting larger.
Church splits, moral failures, deacon’s meetings, gossip, financial budgets, “the pastor didn’t call me when I was sick”, arguments, hymns versus choruses, young versus old, family church dynasty versus the “new kids on the church block”, building programs, tithing, pride, the annual Church Business Meetings, “look, those people sat in my seat”, and King James going one-on-one with everybody else… ah, you name it. They all take their toll.
It’s like a young man or woman who has lost their virginity and is desperately trying to right the wrong, trying to turn back the clock in a futile attempt to make things like they were once before.
Well, you can’t. You can never go back to the way it was before.
Once the bottle is broken and the innocence is spilled, you can never put it back into the bottle again. You never move from Love Jesus, Hate Church to Love Jesus, Love Church. There’s no round-trip ticket. No return fare. It’s simply a one-way ride from intimacy to disengagement, from reckless abandon to cautious reserve, from child-like delight to disillusionment and despair— or, in other words, from love to hate.
And every day it seems the ranks of the Love Jesus, Hate Church army swells. *
So what do we do about the church? Nothing. We just live our lives out the way Christ called us to and allow Him to take care of His church.
We pledge to be different— and we do it for His glory!
Adveho quis may. Come what may.
Will you join with me? Come what may.
To read Love Jesus, Hate Church, click – HERE
* From the chapter, Rescue Those Who Are Perishing, page 94.
