How faith becomes a weapon: 'If I can't understand it, it's not Christian'

Indianapolis Star

9 hours ago

(Editor's note: This is an excerpt from "The Light In Our Eyes" by Nicholas McDonald Copyright © 2025 by Nicholas McDonald. Published by Multnomah, an imprint of Penguin Random House Christian Publishing Group LLC. Used by permission.)
My first job in a church was on the south side of Indianapolis in a little trailer park village. I liked the village and the people in it, but truth be told, the church I worked at gave me the willies.
My first day on the job, I walked into the sanctuary and saw a giant American flag on stage. I thought maybe it was a temporary placement, but it turns out the flag was part of the church's worship service, right alongside the pulpit and the choir. The pastor sat me down and said that I was to use only the King James Bible and that I needed to be teachable. I asked why the King James Version of the Bible was so important, since King James lived 1,500 years after Jesus' disciples in continental Europe. He explained to me that God works just like we expect Him to, and if He doesn't, He can't be God. I told him it didn't make sense to me why Jesus would have had 12 Jewish disciples in His lifetime and then a 13th White one named King James 1,500 years later so he could write the true Bible for us. The pastor said all that didn't matter and told me to stop asking questions.
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I learned a lot after that, and I tried to be teachable. I learned that America was going to hell in a handbasket, and I learned southern gospel songs, crooning about wanting to leave this ol' world to go off to heaven far, far, far away. At the end of every service, the pastor had everyone close their eyes and raise their hands if they wanted to accept Jesus as their Savior. He said, 'I see that hand' many times each Sunday, which was impressive at first, but then it was confusing because the same people were at church every week. The math didn't exactly add up.
In the meantime, I was working with a youth group of 40 to 50 low- income students from the trailer park. I asked the pastor if we could start a reading program for the kids in the church or think about building a skate park so they'd have something to do after school. The pastor said that I was focusing too much on social things and that all I needed to do was preach the Bible, get the kids saved, and go home.
'But here is another thing,' I said. 'They don't really understand the King James Bible.'
'Well, they used to,' he said.
'But they don't,' I said.
'Well, they should!' he said.
'So what do you want me to do about that?' I asked. 'Do you want me to start a tutoring program so I can teach them how to read 17th-century English?'
I'm not saying I was being an angel. Also, I don't think the folks who went to the church were bad people, because at least one of them found a way to start a food pantry, even if it was against the church's theology about getting saved. But after a few months, it became clear my wife and I couldn't stay. Stories of abuse, perversion, and coverup from the leadership came leaking out. We experienced this abuse in various ways (I won't go into them for our privacy), all of which have lingering effects on our lives today. The pastor gave himself and others a pass on these behaviors, however, because our church was based on God's 'grace.' I liked God's grace and all, but I was confused by the way the pastor used that word. To him it seemed to mean a lot of things, like how the pastor could be in charge of people's lives, hire sexual predators if he thought they'd help his ministry, and take financial advantage of young couples. Grace was flexible that way, and grace seemed to be working out pretty well for him, although it wasn't working out so well for the trailer park community.
I couldn't understand a faith that looked so little like Jesus' life on earth, all in the name of 'grace.' It was hard for me to picture a lot of hungry and sick people sitting around Jesus and Him saying, 'We're not going to focus on your worldly needs, but anyway, who wants to be a follower of mine? I see that hand.' They would raise their hands, and Jesus would send them back to their normal lives, because now they could leave this ol' world someday and go far, far, far away to heaven.
Up until this point, I didn't think I cared about theology. But at this church I saw that bad theology can be a weapon. It can destroy people's lives. It can abuse people. It can justify all kinds of ugly things. The more I spent time in this church, the more it seemed like Worldview Camp: We were using Jesus to protect us.
One moment made this all clear to me.
A few months into my time at the church, I was hosting an after-school program and playing some Christian rap for the students. We were interrupted by pounding footsteps from the church offices upstairs. I ran up to see what was the matter, and I was met in the hallway by the pastor, who looked as red as if he'd just swallowed a whole chicken drumstick.
'What is this crap?' he said, gesturing to the radio.
'Oh,' I said. 'It's Christian rap music. Our students listen to rap, and I thought it would be good to introduce them to it.'
'Listen,' he said, pointing his finger at me. 'If I can't understand it, it's not Christian! Turn it off!'
I've thought about that a lot over the years, and it's a pretty good summary of Bully Evangelicalism's theory about life. If we can't understand it, it's not Christian.