This reflection was originally published on Medium under the “Even Here” publication.
Read it there → Even Here
For a long time, I thought the path of faith meant choosing a theological system and sticking with it, like picking a team. Evangelical or mainline? Reformed or Arminian? Conservative or progressive?
But recently, my journey has taken a different shape. Instead of asking which system do I belong to, I found myself asking what do I actually believe? And only then, if at all, what framework does this align with?
It’s not that systems are wrong. They can provide structure, vocabulary, and depth. But I’ve learned that beginning with a label sometimes gets in the way of honest belief. And when I stopped trying to conform to a category, something unexpected happened: my faith became more alive, more relational, and strangely, more rooted.
🧭 From Apologetics to Unsettling Questions
I used to be drawn to apologetics. I wanted to be able to defend Christianity, not just to others, but if I’m honest, to myself. I needed to know that believing in the truth of Christianity was rational, defensible, right.
At the time, all I really knew was my tradition. I didn’t question much because I didn’t know there were alternatives. But then I began encountering different theological frameworks — Calvinist and Arminian, Pentecostal and cessationist, sacramental and symbolic. And I was shaken. Is my tradition the right one? Should I change traditions?
⚖️ The Pressure to Choose a Side
I remember when it all began. I had started to question not just how to defend Christianity, but whether it was true. What made people reject it? Was their rejection always irrational? Or could it be honest?
So I did what any thinking person might do. I started categorizing. Conservative vs progressive. Traditional vs charismatic. Calvinist vs Arminian. It felt like I had to choose. And when I didn’t resonate with any of them fully, I felt bad. Like I was indecisive or uncommitted. Was I supposed to take a side?
🌿 Learning to Stay in the Middle
Eventually, I found myself somewhere in the middle. It wasn’t a place of indecision but of tension. There were some things I was quite sure of — Christ at the center, Scripture as sacred, grace as the heartbeat of the gospel.
But there was so much else I wasn’t sure about. And I found myself asking: What should I do about those uncertainties?
While sitting with that question, other questions emerged — What if I’m not supposed to resolve all of it? What if the middle, the tension, the uneasiness isn’t a problem to fix but a space to live in?
Would that really be such a bad thing?
😟 The Fear and the Presence
Still, the fear is real. Am I drifting? Is this even allowed? Am I alone in this?
And one of the deeper fears, one I don’t always name, is the fear of getting into heresy. What if, in letting go of old frameworks, I wander into falsehood? What if I misinterpret something essential and end up believing the wrong things about God?
That fear has kept me cautious. And that caution isn’t always bad. It has made me seek wise counsel, read widely, test things against Scripture, and pray with sincerity. But I’m also learning that the antidote to heresy isn’t clinging to a system — it’s staying close to Christ.
I used to think faith meant standing firm on clear answers. Now I’m beginning to see it as staying rooted in relationship. Even when the answers are incomplete.
What I’m finding is that God is still here. Maybe more present than before. I don’t feel the pressure to perform certainty. I can bring my questions, my tension, my longing, and I can be honest.
And somehow, that honesty has made space for a more authentic kind of trust.
✨ Conclusion
These days, I’m less interested in fitting into a category and more drawn to a faith that is faithful, not formulaic. I still learn from different traditions. I’ve found beauty in parts of each. But I no longer ask, “Is this the right camp?” or “What system do I belong to?”
I now ask, “Who is the God I’m learning to walk with, worship, and trust — even in the tension?”
“What kind of life does that relationship invite me into?”
“And does this framework, whatever it is, help me love God more deeply, live more truthfully, and follow Christ more fully?”
It’s not a clean system. But maybe that’s what makes it a living one. A theology not built from the top down, but from the inside out. From faith that listens before it defines, and loves before it categorizes.