What’s a radical Christian?

Is it someone who eats granola and makes his own clothes? Is it the preacher spitting fire and brimstone at his congregation? Maybe it’s both; maybe it’s neither. The truth is that I don’t which one is more ‘Christian,’ which is ironic since I was raised in a Christian home. I did the rounds of Awana and Sunday School. I even went to a Christian school for two years.

 The result is one very confused nineteen year old. What I heard in Awana and Sunday School means nothing to me. It leaves me cold and empty. The God I learned about as a child is not a God I want to serve. In fact, I’m not so sure that I want to serve anyone at all. I’m not good at serving people. I grumble. I judge and I begrudge. I serve out of a sense of duty and nothing more.

However, that’s not enough for me anymore. The Christians I’ve met recently have something that I don’t have. They’re alive in a way I’ve never known. I’m afraid of what they have, but I want it badly. What would it be like to really know God? To actually feel Him, and not a collection of sermon-induced emotions? I sense that there is Something there, and it is missing from my life.

Maybe being radical is wiping the slate clean and starting all over again. It certainly feels radical, to admit that I really know nothing about God. Sometimes I’m not even sure that He exists. I think that I have been feeling that way because the God of my childhood doesn’t exist. I’ve been looking in the wrong places for the wrong Person, and I think it’s time that I opened my eyes to the God that’s been there all along.