Why Christianity is Worth Holding Onto
In previous discussions, we examined two of Christianity’s more challenging doctrines—the claim of exclusive salvation and the reconciliation of a loving God with divine wrath. These difficulties have led some to question or even leave the faith.
However, before dismissing Christianity, let’s step back and appreciate some of its beauty. Beyond doctrinal debates, Christianity remains a profoundly meaningful and life-giving tradition, offering hope, love, and transformation to those who embrace it.
Our spiritual traditions are often the roots that ground us, providing a sense of identity, belonging, and meaning. Even the Dalai Lama has spoken about the importance of maintaining one's spiritual tradition, recognizing that it serves as a wellspring of wisdom and personal growth. He advocates for religious harmony and mutual respect among different faiths, acknowledging that despite philosophical differences, all major world religions have the potential to create better human beings. As he states, "It is therefore important for all religious traditions to respect one another and recognize the value of their respective traditions." (Dalai Lama Official Website)
Christianity, like all great traditions, carries within it the potential for deep spiritual nourishment, and one does not have to accept every doctrine unquestioningly to find a home within it. At its core, Christianity offers something profoundly unique: a tangible, living expression of God’s love—Jesus the Christ. While other religions often describe God in abstract terms or as a distant force, Christianity presents a God who walks among us. Jesus, being both fully divine and fully human, embodies the clearest image of divine love in action.
God is vast, mysterious, and beyond full human comprehension. "The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation." (Colossians 1:15) In Jesus, we are given a tangible face to that mystery. His life and actions serve as a window into the heart of God, helping us to grasp, even in part, the divine love that transcends understanding. As stated in John 14:9: "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father." Having a real, visible person in Jesus provides an anchor in our spiritual journey, giving us a way to relate to and experience the depths of God’s presence in a personal way.
We don’t have to wonder what love looks like; we can see it vividly in His life. He embraced outcasts with compassion, forgave His enemies with grace, fed the hungry with generosity, healed the broken with tenderness, and ultimately sacrificed Himself in love. Christianity is more than a set of teachings—it is an invitation to follow a person, to walk in the footsteps of Jesus, and to experience a love that transforms.
A God Who Understands Our Suffering
Life is full of suffering. No one escapes pain, loss, or disappointment. While many belief systems acknowledge suffering as part of life, Christianity does something radical—it reveals a God who enters into suffering with us in complete solidarity.
Jesus did not remain distant from our struggles. Unlike many religious traditions where the divine may seem transcendent and detached, Christianity presents a God who stepped directly into human suffering. Some belief systems emphasize detachment or enlightenment as a means of overcoming suffering, but Christianity reveals a God who took on flesh, lived among us, and personally endured pain, rejection, and even death. This radical closeness is what makes Jesus unique—He is not just a teacher or a distant deity; He is Emmanuel, God with us in the deepest sense.
He did not sit in a palace, immune to hardship. Instead, He became one of us, experiencing hunger, exhaustion, rejection, betrayal, deep sorrow, and even a brutal execution. If you’ve ever felt abandoned, so did Jesus. If you’ve ever cried out, “Why, God?” so did Jesus: ""My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46) But His suffering was not just an unfortunate circumstance—it was an act of divine love. As we explored in 'A God of Love, Not Wrath,' Jesus did not take on suffering to appease an angry God but to reveal the heart of a God who suffers with us, who takes our pain into Himself, and who transforms it through love.
There is no suffering we experience that God does not understand. More than just understanding, God is present in our suffering. Jesus is not just a historical figure; He is “Emmanuel”—God with us, carrying our burdens and walking alongside us in our darkest moments.
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18)
And the greatest hope of all? Suffering is never the final word. Through Christ, suffering is redeemed and transformed, leading to renewal and resurrection.
The Pattern of Death, Transformation and Resurrection
In the rhythm of creation, there is a profound spiritual pattern: death, transformation and resurrection. This is what is called the Paschal Mystery, a term rooted in early Christian theology and emphasized by figures like St. Augustine. It refers to the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus as the ultimate pattern of transformation, not just for Him, but for all of creation. The term "Paschal" comes from the Hebrew Pesach, meaning Passover, signifying Jesus as the new Passover Lamb whose sacrifice leads to new life. This mystery is woven into existence itself—showing us that through suffering and death, we are invited into renewal, just as Jesus was.
We see it in nature:
A seed must be buried before it can grow into something new.
The sun sets before it rises again.
Winter comes before spring.
We see it in our lives:
Relationships break before deeper ones are formed.
Old dreams die before new ones take shape.
Grief and loss give way to wisdom and renewal.
Even our physical bodies follow this pattern—scientists tell us that nearly 98% of our atoms are replaced each year. Constant change and renewal is woven into the fabric of creation itself.
Jesus describes this divine pattern in simple yet profound words:
"Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." (John 12:24)
This pattern also applies to our own spiritual lives. As Paul said:
"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me." (Galatians 2:20)
"Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it." (Matthew 10:39)
Before our big death, there will be many deaths along the way—losing a job, health issues, losing loved ones, being betrayed, and the list goes on. These mini deaths help us to be "crucified with Christ," letting go of our ego, our false selves, and our attachments in order to experience true transformation – living from our true essence. Only in surrender can we be truly reborn. Scripture emphasizes the necessity of being reborn, as Jesus said: "Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again." (John 3:3) But before rebirth or renewal can happen, something must first die. Paul echoes this transformation in Romans 6:4: "We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life."
Jesus declared this truth to those demanding a sign:
“A wicked and adulterous generation asks for a sign! But none will be given it except the sign of the prophet Jonah.” (Matthew 12:39; Luke 11:29)
“For as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of a huge fish, so the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.” (Matthew 12:40)
Jesus wasn’t just referencing an old story—He was revealing a divine pattern. Jonah’s descent into the fish symbolized death, his three days inside represented waiting and transformation, and his return to dry land prefigured resurrection and renewed purpose. Only after this symbolic death and rebirth did Jonah fully embrace God's mission.
Likewise, Jesus' resurrection was not just a miraculous event but the ultimate fulfillment of this sacred pattern. His time in the tomb mirrors Jonah’s three days in darkness, and His resurrection ushers in a new reality—one where life always triumphs over death, and transformation follows every surrender.
As proclaimed in Catholic Masses and echoed throughout Christian liturgy: "Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again." This acclamation encapsulates the core of the Paschal Mystery—the divine pattern of death, transformation, and resurrection. It is not just a statement of past events but a present and future reality, reminding us that just as Christ was resurrected, so too will we experience renewal and restoration in our own lives.
The death and resurrection of Jesus is not just a one-time event to believe in—it is the model of hope for all creation. His victory over death reveals that no matter what we face, no matter how broken we feel, there is always resurrection.
"Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5)
Deconstruction and Reconstruction of our Faith
The pattern of death, transformation, and resurrection isn’t just a grand theological concept—it’s the blueprint for personal growth. Every meaningful transformation requires some form of loss, pain, or uncertainty. That’s why questioning our faith, and the discomfort that comes with it, is not a sign of failure but a necessary part of the process.
We often begin with a faith that serves us well, a framework that feels secure and answers our biggest questions. But as we grow, life happens—experiences, knowledge, and encounters challenge our assumptions. When our old way of understanding God no longer makes sense, we enter a season of deconstruction. This can feel disorienting, even painful, but it is not the end of faith—it is an invitation to something deeper.
During this process, we are not meant to discard everything, but rather to sift through and discern. Some elements of our faith remain vital and foundational, while others may need to be let go. This is the process of transcending and including (an integral theory as articulated by theorist Ken Wilber)—we move beyond certain beliefs, not by rejecting them outright, but by integrating the deeper truths they point to in new and expanded ways.
Reconstruction is about embracing a faith that has been refined by experience, one that is not simply inherited but deeply owned. It is a faith that is both resilient and expansive, one that allows room for mystery, growth, and ongoing transformation. The process of questioning and rebuilding is not a betrayal of our faith—it is, in fact, the way we make it stronger and more authentic.
Christianity and the Call to Unity
One of the most profound aspects of Christianity is its message of unity. Jesus’ final prayer before His crucifixion was not for power, wealth, or status for His followers—it was for oneness: “That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us.” (John 17:21) Why is this so important? Because separation is at the root of sin—separation from God, from others, and even from creation itself. When we live disconnected lives, we lose sight of our true identity and purpose. But unity, true oneness, is what brings healing and restoration. It is the very thing Jesus prayed for, the glue that holds us together, and the bridge that leads us back to wholeness. This isn’t just a side note in the Gospel; it is the heartbeat of the faith. Unity is not uniformity, and it’s certainly not about agreeing on everything. It’s about seeing Christ in one another, embracing our differences, and understanding that we are bound together by something greater than our individual selves.
Christianity teaches that we are not meant to walk alone. From the beginning, God’s plan has been a family, a body, a community. The Apostle Paul describes the Church as a body with many parts, each essential and interconnected:
"For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others." (Romans 12:4-5)
This sense of oneness goes beyond just the Church—it is something we are called to live out in our daily lives. It looks like choosing kindness over division, embracing diversity rather than fearing it, and seeking reconciliation instead of deepening conflicts. It extends to all of creation, reminding us that the way we treat one another and the world around us is a reflection of our unity with Christ. “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.” (John 1:3) The entire cosmos is infused with the presence of God, the Christ. When we isolate ourselves, we resist the natural rhythm of divine connection. But when we live with a spirit of unity, we reflect the very nature of God, who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—distinct yet inseparable.
Unfortunately, history is filled with divisions—both inside and outside the Church. Whether through theological disputes, denominational splits, or political conflicts, we have often missed the mark. But Jesus invites us into something radical: a love that transcends walls. “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28)
We are called to break the cycles of division and scapegoating. Throughout time, people have looked for someone to blame—whether it was the “other” group, the outsiders, or even their own brothers and sisters in faith. But Jesus, the ultimate scapegoat, broke that system once and for all. His unity with the Father is meant to be the model for our unity with one another. This unity is not just an abstract ideal but a deep, organic connection—like the vine and the branches. "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." (John 15:5) We were never meant to be separate from God or from each other. True life is found in remaining deeply rooted in Christ and in the love that binds us together.
Unity doesn’t mean we avoid difficult conversations or pretend that deep differences don’t exist. It means we approach those conversations with humility, love, and a commitment to remain in relationship. It means we recognize the grace we’ve received and let it flow outward, not as a tool for judgment, but as a bridge to healing and reconciliation. It means recognizing that, in the end, we belong to each other because we all are "in Christ." Paul uses the phrase "in Christ" (en Christo) extensively throughout his letters, making it one of the defining themes of his theology. He employs it over 80 times in various contexts, emphasizing union with Christ, identity in Christ, and the transformation that comes through this relationship.
So, what does this unity look like in practice? It looks like choosing love over being right. It looks like embracing mystery rather than demanding certainty. It looks like being willing to sit at the same table with those we don’t understand, just as Jesus did over and over again. And most of all, it looks like holding onto the promise that, no matter what threatens to divide us, the love of Christ will always be the force that binds us together.
The Incarnation: The Divine Plot Twist We Didn’t See Coming
For some reason, the Incarnation doesn’t always get the spotlight it deserves in Christian discussions, but once you dive into it, you realize—it’s the plot twist that changes everything. We all know Jesus is God-in-the-flesh, fully divine and fully human, and yes, that’s a mind-bender. But here’s where it gets even more thrilling: the first Incarnation wasn’t just Jesus—it was creation itself.
Remember how John’s Gospel opens: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:1,14) We often skip ahead to Jesus, but that moment when Spirit and Matter first merged? That was the original Incarnation, when God infused creation with divine presence. “For in Christ all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible.” (Colossians 1:16) It means the entire universe is infused with the presence of Christ—trees, rivers, animals, and yes, even you.
What does this mean? It means we aren’t separate from God—we never were. “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” (Colossians 1:17) It means the material world isn’t some broken thing to escape from but something inherently sacred. And most mind-blowingly, it means that our journey isn’t about climbing some spiritual ladder to get to God—it’s about waking up to the God who is already here.
This isn’t just a theological footnote—it’s the heart of the story. The Incarnation means that God is not distant—God is intimately involved in every moment of our lives. Just as He walked among us in the person of Jesus, He continues to be present in our joys and struggles. Consider the way Jesus reached out to the outcasts, healed the broken, and calmed the storms—both on the sea and in people’s hearts. “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20) This is the promise of the Incarnation: God is not watching from a distance but living among us, within us, and through us. “The kingdom of God is within you.” (Luke 17:21) It means that your very existence is proof that divinity is within reach, closer than your own breath. And if that doesn’t excite you, just wait—it only gets better.
Conclusion: A Faith Worth Holding Onto
Christianity is not about rigid doctrinal adherence or theological perfection—it is about love, transformation, and unity. It is a faith that acknowledges suffering but does not succumb to despair. It is a faith that calls us to relationship, to community, and to a deeper understanding of ourselves and God.
Yes, there are difficult doctrines, and yes, interpretations vary. But at its core, Christianity offers something profoundly hopeful: a God who loves beyond measure, a Christ who walks with us in suffering, and a Spirit that unites us in an eternal embrace. No matter what doubts arise or challenges emerge, the promise of resurrection remains: darkness does not last forever, and love will always have the final word.
"Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning" (Psalm 30:5).
