Growing Up Liberal

(My counterpoint to Philip Yancey’s “Growing Up Fundamentalist”)


One of my childhood favorite is “One God” by Barbra Streisand which was “hymnified” somewhere along the way.  I never really heard Barbra Streisand until much later when I finally discovered “grown-up” music but version sang by the Ellinwood Malate Church Chancel Choir stayed with me for the longest time.

It was pleasantly scored music that stirred emotions as well as fed my mind.  There was this ambiguity to it that opened my mind to asking questions.  The lyrics included “many a path winding their way to One God” and “…men calling to him by many different names.”  In the immediate context of Ellinwood Malate Church, it seems to refer to the greater Christian community beyond our denomination (Presbyterian).  But ever so often, an occasional interfaith event takes place and I begin to wonder if that ambiguity applies to the Buddhist, Hindu or Moslem names of their deities.  And of course, as I would later find out, Barbra Streisand is Jewish.

There were running debates among those who are knowledgeable: on one end were those who thought that way and believed that all were ultimately saved by Jesus’ work on the cross and evangelism was simply sharing the good news that all were accepted by God, whatever name you called him.

Or her.

Of course, Ellinwood being what it is, had pockets of the opposing opinion that insisted that evangelism is all about calling on Jesus and renouncing the false gods.  I was barely out of puberty when I got wind of these and was more preoccupied with airplanes, cameras, cars, girls and other stuff a normal twelve-year old would be drawn to.

[I was twelve-years old when Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law and plunged the Philippines into an authoritarian rule.]

I did not really care for these theological debates—yet.   I did walk away with “One God” stuck in my head and carried with me its underlying theme.  Because of which I had this respect for other beliefs and religious opinions.

College would later put a name to this philosophical and theological framework—liberal humanism—which at its core, values humanity above all else.  I can see where humanity becomes the center of the universe and how God ultimately becomes a mere comet zipping by.  That has been a stickler for many who would like to affirm the sovereignty and glory of God and thus making this paradigm less than what is deemed as “biblical”.  In the ensuing debates about the merits of liberal humanism, I fail to see the positive affirmation of this paradigm for its desire to bring unity to humanity and dignity to individuals with the same zeal that God in Jesus had in valuing men and women as worthy of his death on the cross.  That makes Jesus the ultimate humanist.

This made it easy for me to honor and respect anyone whatever religion or creed they may have, or at least up until they begin to irritate me (“I love humanity, its people I can’t stand”—Charles Schulz through Linus).  The problem it created for me was when I would affirm someone else for what they believe in, that other person usually went ahead to agree and affirm their own belief.

     Me: “You’re okay!”

     Friend: “You’re right, we are okay.”


     Friend: “So when will you become one of us…?”

It seemed that in the real world, everyone else was a fundamentalist of sorts that would readily affirm and congratulation themselves for what they believe in and they were not usually in the mood to congratulate another for a different idea.  It created a dilemma in a manner that I cannot impose my liberal attitude and make everyone else think the way I did.

That would have been a contradiction: being a liberal assumes that the other person is “okay” and to try converting someone assumes they are flawed and needs to be fixed.
Being liberal became lonely and tiring.

Life actually becomes simpler when one retreats into a fundamentalist corner in contrast to shuffling around in the middle of the boxing ring.  My later journey to the other side of the philosophical and theological spectrum was on one part a retreat and another part getting tired of it all.  When Muhammad Ali started out as Cassius Clay, he shuffled a lot—“float like a butterfly, sting like a bee”—because he admitted he was scared of being hit, but older and more resilient, he became like the lumbering hulks of the older generation of boxers he did not like to be.

Compounded by the foibles of a geeky adolescent transitioning into adulthood, it became apparent that I did not believe in anything.  All that shuffling around as a liberal was merely running around inside a barrel that had no bottom counting on centrifugal force to keep me from falling out.

In that sense, liberalism failed me.  The church I grew up in presumed too much and left me without a real foundation for my faith.

I left on a quest to find it and thus the subsequent adventures that were to follow.