Real with Rue

I don’t think about heaven very often, and I really don’t want to, because I am only 26 years old and have no plans to die soon or meet my maker any time either. It sounds strange, but I think this is one of the problems with Christianity’s “package” today: that it feels as though it’s all about heaven. Whilst that is true—and I completely agree with the Bible verse “set your mind on things above” in Colossians—I also like planet Earth. It’s not that I don’t want to go to heaven; I do, I want eternal life. But I also want to see heaven on Earth right now. I want a successful career, I want to travel, and I want to see God’s glory on Earth as it is in heaven.

The distinction may sound odd, but it’s because lately, whilst I believe there is a revival of people coming to Christ, there is also a slow trend of people deconstructing their faith and even leaving it behind. Strangely, I understand them. I get why being a Christian is hard to grasp. I know that living against the standards of the world is actually harder than people sometimes say. For me, being a Christian means accepting that I will never have all the answers—and being at peace with that.

Recently, I saw a TikTok about people attending church, loving the songs, even crying during them, but then realising they are agnostic (unsure about whether there is a God). I understand why people would deconstruct, and I believe it’s important to wrestle with your faith. But I also think there’s a way to wrestle well—just as I believe we are called to “suffer well.” Personally, I believe in God (at least sometimes) simply because I need to know there is someone bigger than me—in both the hard moments of life and the joyful ones. I need there to be a God now, not just for heaven, but for my sanity here on earth. I believe God is merciful enough to meet me with his grace in those moments, which is why he requires only a “mustard seed” of faith. At the time, a mustard seed was the smallest known seed—he didn’t even ask for a branch. Yet what that seed can grow into is much greater, and for me, I need that.

In fact, research shows that being a Christian—especially reading the Bible four times a week alongside regular prayer—can reduce symptoms of anxiety and depression, whilst also improving overall cognitive function. There are further benefits too, such as a deeper gratitude for life and stronger family relationships. This is why I refuse to deconstruct my faith. I struggle with severe anxiety when things don’t turn out the way I planned, and I am deeply emotional—I feel things intensely.

I’ve also reached a point in my Christianity where I am content not knowing every single answer to every theological question. When I am in desperate need of clarity, I ask my helper, the Holy Spirit. There are things I simply accept as part of the faith. I don’t need, nor want, to deconstruct. The encounters, knowledge, and lived experience I have of Jesus in my life are sufficient to sustain my belief in him.

And that’s the thing: deconstruction is not for everyone. Sometimes it creates more problems than it solves. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk to God or ask questions—please do; God can handle it. But for me, I lean on Romans 9:21: “Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?” There are questions I have for God, yes—but I remind myself that I am not God. I was not there at creation. His ways are not my ways. As an omnipotent and omniscient being, he understands why he has planned things as he has. Despite that and above all, my personal encounter with him will forever remain my reason for belief. 

It’s been real.

Rue