Clear Winter Nights: A Journey into Truth, Doubt, and What Comes After

by Trevin K. Wax

“It is about your dad.” She was right. Dr. Coleman bothered Chris, but it was his father’s deception and hypocrisy that had forced Chris into a sea of doubt. And here he was now, kicking and struggling toward the surface, drowning in his questions. If his father could fake his faith so well all those years, maybe the faith itself was false.

“Your grandfather’s something of a legend around town,” Ron said, turning to Chris. “Ah, come on now,” Gil said. “No, really! There isn’t a week that goes by that someone doesn’t ask me, ‘What would Pastor Gil say?’ ” “They oughta know by now what I’d say: ‘Go see what God says.’ ” Gil put his hand on the worn black Bible sitting on top of the coffee table next to his recliner. “I don’t understand why anyone cares what old Gil has to say. All I do is point people to what’s in here. That’s a lot more reliable than offering my measly old opinion.” Gil chuckled. Chris liked the thought of his granddad being the wise old sage of Lewisville, but he immediately sensed the spiritual distance between them. Yep, the old faithful pastor with his scoundrel of a son and doubting-Thomas grandson.

“Deep conversations are the only ones worth having. The world is so full of meaningless drivel there’s no need to add to it.”

“If you ban politics and religion from polite conversation, you might as well go on and warn people they’re going to be bored stiff.”

I just worry that nowadays freedom of speech means freedom from speech. Like the freedom to talk about everything means we don’t talk about anything … of substance, that is. Don’t talk about death. Too morbid. Don’t talk about sex. Too indelicate. Don’t talk about politics. Too controversial. Don’t talk about religion. Too off-putting. If you ask me, ‘polite conversation’ is a good way to shut down interesting conversation altogether.”

He sensed a little root of bitterness digging down into his heart. He plucked it out before saying anything more. Your very existence is only because of grace, he told himself. To be is to be graced. Within a few seconds, the resentment was gone and his joy was back.

“You weren’t a Christian yet? I thought all that happened early.” “Not early enough.” Gil sighed. “I was nineteen. Your grandmother is the one who converted early. I always did envy those extra years she had with King Jesus.” “How old was she?” “Maybe seven or eight. She never did have a strong memory of the moment.” “Did that bother her any?” “Not really. She liked to say, ‘You don’t have to know the precise moment the sun came up to see it shining.’ ”

“I suggest we pray before we eat.” Chris grinned and poked Gil’s shoulder. “You’ve already been munching on the crackers.” “Nothing wrong with that! Best way to express your gratitude to the Lord is to jump right in and start eating.” “You don’t say?” “Of course. Kids don’t say thank you before they open presents on Christmas, do they?” Gil laughed.

We got to talking about his faith. And I noticed right away how different his view was, compared to mine. I was focused on cleaning myself up and making myself good enough for God, good enough for Frances, good enough for the world. But Anthony didn’t talk like that. He kept talking about God being good. About Christ being good enough. About how he wanted to live for God because of what God had done for him. My focus was all on me. His focus was all on God.”

I realized all this talk about trusting Jesus and being a true child of God meant that whatever God said about His Son, He could say about me. He loved me—Gilbert Walker! Not because I was smart or special or had great talents or gifts. It wasn’t because I was living the ‘good Christian life’ I was trying so hard to get right. He just looked at me and loved me. He delighted in me like a father delighting in his children. It suddenly all made sense.” Gil felt his eyes moistening, but his voice sounded stronger than it had all evening. “And I saw how deep my sin was. How foolish I was to try and fix myself. How silly my attempts at being a good man looked compared to King Jesus. And then I saw grace. I could look through Jesus’s righteousness and hear God say, ‘You are My beloved son, Gil. In you I am well pleased.’ And here I hadn’t even done anything. Hadn’t lived right. Hadn’t loved right. Hadn’t even had the right motive for going to church and reading my Bible. But He loved me anyway. Loved me when I was prideful and self-righteous and using people. Loved me when I was trying my best to earn His approval.” Gil’s voice cracked, but he quickly recovered. “And the tears started just rolling down my cheeks. I knelt down by my bed, confessed every sin I could think of, and I just said over and over again, ‘Thank You, Jesus. I’m Yours, Jesus. Whatever You want, Jesus.’ And in the back of my mind, I heard God’s voice clear as day, like an echo in a canyon: ‘I delight in you, G...

Your intellectual growth depends on becoming more closed-minded, just as long as your mind is closing in on the truth.”

“Truth is not a formula,” Gil said, “a moral code that can be discovered in the religions of the world. Truth is a Person. And knowing the truth means knowing God, which brings us back to the point of theology, anyway.”

“Do you think any practicing Jew, Christian, or Muslim would be okay with how you just described those events? What you’ve just done, my boy, is given me three holy days with a twenty-first-century multifaith spin. In the process, you’ve failed to be true to any one of them.

“If that’s what religion is all about—ethics. But that’s a pretty big ‘if,’ I think. My friend Tim, who doesn’t believe in God, would be offended.” “You have a friend who is an atheist?” Chris was surprised. “Several, actually,” Gil replied. “Although I’m not sure they’d all say they’re atheists. Some would rather say they’re agnostic about the existence of God. Truth be told, the only thing my atheist friends are sure about is that they don’t like the God they don’t believe in.” “But why would they be offended at what I said? That religion is about ethics?” Chris was genuinely curious. “Because they have no religion. But they still believe in ethics. You see, when you reduce religion to ethics, you insult the nonreligious, ethical people in the world,” Gil said. “People like Tim.” “I don’t mean to insult anyone, Gramps.” “But that’s what happens when you shrink Christianity down to mere religion. And then you shrink religion down to a system of morals. Are you sure that your ‘if’ doesn’t require a larger leap of faith than mine?”

“What if Christianity is bigger than ethics?” Gil asked. “What if it’s not about good people getting better but about dead people coming to life? What if it’s not about man seeking God but God seeking man? What if it’s not about how people view God but how God views us? What if Christianity isn’t about you and me and everyone else in the first place? Those are the questions I hope you ask. They’re worth wrestling with.”

make sure you don’t use scholarship as a way of masking your doubts, of defending yourself against the Bible, of distancing yourself from God’s claim on your life.”

“You were a great husband,” Chris said. “I’m proud of you. Never seen another man love a woman quite like that.” “Oh, I was a rotten husband a lot of the time, but I did love her. That much is for sure.”

What if Gramps is right and Dr. Coleman is wrong? What if having an open mind is a mistake if it means we’re failing to close our minds around something that is true? But then if Christianity is true, why does it produce so much bigotry, so much hatred even? He thought about Luke and Cami, Ashley, his mom. They’ve got it all together. They know what they believe, and they think it will change the world. I want to believe again. I want to be like them. But I don’t want blind belief. And I don’t want a faith that is us-against-them. I don’t want to be a hypocrite like Dad. Better to let down Mom or Grandpa by telling the truth than by faking my faith.

Oh, God, he sighed. He wasn’t swearing. Nor was he praying. It was something in between. Never before had God seemed so distant.

But that was a long time ago. It was winter now. There were no sounds of life outside. And Chris couldn’t detect any signs of life in his own heart. The world seemed dead to him and he to the world. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the cracks staring back at him, mirroring the foundations of his faith. For some reason, the reminder of the joy he had known as a boy made him weary. Whatever wonder he had experienced in that house a decade earlier was now buried beneath winter’s fury. He felt a deep sense of loss, quieter than words, drier than tears.

The revelations of his father’s multiple affairs, which he had learned about years later, had turned his world upside down. He’d been lied to, straight in the face, by his saint of a father. He’d always assumed his father was being forced out of the house, when in reality, his mother was being abandoned for one of his dad’s many on-the-side women. The horror of the situation was still fresh—not only his father’s betrayal and hypocrisy but also the fact that Chris had spent so many years in the dark.

Chris realized what “Third” stood for. Third Baptist—the church his granddad had been pastor of for forty years. Gil once told him the history of this small church with a name so ordinary. “It’s not to be confused with the historic First Baptist downtown,” he’d said. “Where is Second Baptist?” Chris had asked. “No Second Baptist in Lewisville, at least by that name. The official Second Baptist church is Mount Zion.” Gil was referring to a well-known African American congregation. “You see, the good folks that planted Third Baptist on the west side of town didn’t want to name theirs Second and somehow slight their black brothers and sisters.” “So that’s why!” “Naming it Third also made it less likely there would be another,” Gil had said. It made sense. Three Baptist churches provided plenty of choices for a town that barely numbered 1,000 residents and only 250 Baptists. A fourth Baptist church in a town as small as Lewisville was unthinkable.

Gil never boasted of numbers, or anything else for that matter, but Chris’s mother had told him that, while he was pastor, Third Baptist had twice as many members as First. They weren’t big numbers compared to a city church—only 125 or so. But Gil’s leadership of a church that size in a town as small as Lewisville, not to mention his lengthy tenure as pastor, had solidified his reputation in town as a sort of sage. The whole county esteemed him. At one point, Chris found out, he was urged to run for mayor, but he declined, saying his business was with God’s people.

Chris didn’t remember much about Third Baptist as a kid. But in hearing his mom and grandparents reminisce and tell stories, he was impressed by how well the people knew one another. Really knew one another. Struggles were out in the open. Sin was dealt with privately and publicly. These people loved one another, and their love was tough. There were grudges and catfights and all the kinds of things you expect wherever people live. But through all the stories, Chris could sense the genuine love these people had for one another. It was a stark contrast with Chris’s church experience in the city. In the churches Chris had belonged to, “Love one another” meant “Stay on the surface.” Avoid conflict at all cost. So church was full of nice-looking ...

“You may feel alive when you go with the flow, but any old dead thing can float downstream.”

2 Corinthians 4:6 referenced in parentheses and then this: “The world says, ‘Be true to yourself.’ King Jesus says, ‘Be true to your future self.’ ”

“Nothing like drinking from the deep wells of those who have gone before us. It’s nice to think that the same God who conquered and won my heart so many years ago has been wooing people for thousands of years.”

“You’re a Christian—a follower of Christ,” Gil said. “At least in name, and I hope in your heart.” Chris sensed Gil’s pastoral concern in his tone of voice,

“That’s a mighty big statement, if you ask me. To say no religion is better than another. To say all religions are equal. You know, that’s a belief too. And I bet whoever says something like that probably believes that idea is better than yours or mine.” “I’m confused.” “My point is this: You don’t lose the attitude of superiority by saying no religion is superior. You get even more reason to feel superior. Now you’re standing over against all the religions of the world, saying none is better than another.”

“Don’t you find it just a wee bit prejudiced to say that we’re the only ones who’ve figured out all religions are the same? All the while, there are poor, mindless Christians or Muslims or Buddhists or Hindus across the world still groping around in the dark. Poor souls. They think their religions are better.” Gil winked at Chris. “So, what are you saying? That there’s no way around it? Okay, then. Maybe I do think Christianity is better. But that still doesn’t sit well with me.” “That’s because you’re thinking of following Christ as if it’s a preference. Like having a favorite color or something. Trying to push your favorite color on someone else would make anyone uncomfortable. But at the end of the day, we don’t believe the gospel because it’s helpful. Or because it’s prettier. Or because it’s our upbringing. We believe the gospel because it’s true. Not just a preference but true. Truth about the way the world works.”

Can someone be a follower of Jesus Christ and not ever make disciples?”

evangelism is about changing from one religion to another too, right?” “Evangelism is making a statement about the way the world is,” Gil said. “Then you call people to bring their lives in line with that reality.” “Why not leave well enough alone? Let people think what they want? It still seems arrogant.” “Frankly, I think it’s more arrogant to be against evangelism.” “Why is that?” “Whoever says we should just keep our faith to ourselves and not evangelize—they’re really saying we ought to follow their instructions and not King Jesus. That is the height of arrogance, in my mind. Trying to be over Him.”

Love can’t stop talking about the beloved. Fix the worship problem, and evangelism starts coming naturally.”

“People may think we Christians are intolerant, exclusivist, and arrogant. But don’t ever let go of the fact that Christianity is radically inclusive.” “Inclusive?” “Of course. King Jesus commissioned us to call all people everywhere to repentance and faith. People from every tongue, tribe, and nation. People of every color, ethnicity, and background. People from every religion. We evangelize because the call to salvation is inclusive.” “So you’re saying I should call my Buddhist friend to trust in Christ because I’m inclusive?” Chris’s smirk looked like a younger variation of Gil’s. “That’s right,” Gil said softly. “At the end of the day, the narrow-minded, prejudiced Christian is the one who looks at a Buddhist friend and stays quiet about Jesus. When you stay silent, what you’re saying is, ‘Jesus isn’t for you.’ ”

To say all religions are the same is disrespectful. Buddhists know they’re not Christians. Christians know they’re not Muslims. Never downplay the differences between these faiths.”

“We sure look like a hopeless lot, don’t we? A bungling bunch of believers. It’s only through grace we’ve made it two thousand years. Heresy threatening us from inside the walls, persecution from outside. Compromise with powers and principalities. Damaging our witness. Diluting our influence. And still we venture on, this disheveled bride, this disabled body, this unruly flock. Christ hasn’t given up on us yet.”

“You want to criticize Christian hypocrisy by cutting off the branch of Christian morality. Here’s the big question. Where do you get the right to judge Christians in the past? Where do you get the right to judge people like your dad?” “I am not judging.” “But you are. And that sense of righteous indignation—I love that about you—it comes from your Christian faith. Your ideals are rooted in a Christian view of how the world should run. And when you see Christians failing to live up to those ideals, you get upset.” “So you’re saying my criticism of the church is Christian criticism?” “Yes. Christianity gives you the ideal—what the church should be. It also gives you the doctrine that explains the reality—original sin. That’s why the church fails to be all it should be. Once you hold together the ideals of Christianity with the reality of human fallen-ness … well, let me just say that your critique of Christian history is based on a Christian view of justice. Sounds to me like you’re establishing the truth of Christianity at the same time you’re critiquing it.”

once you understand King Jesus’s teaching on sexuality, you see that all of us are sexual sinners. We’re all sinful. That’s why He came to die. He died to save lustful, self-centered, homosexual, heterosexual, whatever other kind of sexual sinners. And He came to transform us. Our hearts. Our minds. Our behavior.”

“Chris, why would you ever think you can’t be a friend to a sinner? Jesus is the mighty Friend of sinners to us. Why would we not be the friends of sinners?” Chris nodded. “You are sensing the tension every Christian feels. Love the sinner, hate the sin. Loving your neighbor without approving of everything your neighbor does,” Gil said. “All of us are forced into that position one way or another—no matter the sin.” Gil continued, “When you think about it, that’s the war we fight ourselves. We love ourselves—have no trouble with that at all—and yet, as Christians, we don’t condone our own behavior half the time. Like Paul, we wrestle and realize what wretched people we are, before arriving at the throne of grace and saying, ‘Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ ”

“This is the Christian life,” he said. “It’s war, Chris.” “But it’s so hard.” “Indeed. I’ve been living for King Jesus for sixty years now, and the mountains are only steeper and the valleys are even deeper.

“There are only two ways to resolve the pressure you’re feeling about being a hypocrite. You can do away with the ideal. Stop fighting your sin and abandon your faith. Or you can admit your failures. Strive in the power of the Holy Spirit and look to Jesus. Some people want to resolve hypocrisy by lowering the ideal. But instead, we ought to take the hand of Christ and move higher.”

“He says he was born this way. That he’s had these feelings for as long as he can remember.” “Don’t discount his testimony about that,” Gil said. “So you agree it’s not a choice?” “Oh, he’s making choices, all right. But to him it probably feels more complicated than that.” “He said he never woke up and decided he wanted to be this way.” “I’m sure that’s true. No one ever woke up and decided, ‘I want to have a bad temper.’ Or ‘I want to be addicted to pornography.’ You don’t always choose your temptations, but you do choose your behavior.”

think about what we’re saying about human beings if we define ourselves by whatever sexual urges we have. Is that all we are? Are we nothing more than our sexual temptations? Is that the defining thing about us?” “What do you mean?” “Let’s say you get married,” Gil said. Chris immediately thought of Ashley, and his heart leaped and sunk at the same time. “Now, when you get married,” Gil went on, “you may find that you’re still attracted to other women. Women you’re not married to. Does this mean you ought to call yourself a polygamist?” “Hope not,” Chris said. He managed a smile. “ ‘Hope not’? Of course not! And would you consider me a bigot or hateful if I as a Christian pastor were to tell you not to act on those desires? If I were to say, ‘Stay faithful to your wife’?” “No.” Again Chris thought of his father. “Exactly. We are not defined by our temptations. We are defined by our redemption.” “But Chase says he has to be this way. Otherwise, he’s not being true to who he is.” “That’s because he sees his desires at the core of his being. But Jesus never says be true to yourself. Jesus says to be true—” “To your future self,”

A Christian is not defined by the sins of the past or the struggles of the present but by the vision of the future.”

I know there are people who think I’m telling them not to be true to themselves. And they’re right. The Christian preacher tells people all day long, ‘Don’t be true to yourself. The self you’d be true to is rotten to the core.’ Authenticity isn’t accepting your sins. It’s admitting your sins and then being true to the person King Jesus has declared you to be.”

“I know I don’t need to have every last little thing figured out if I’m going to stick it out as a follower of Jesus. But God has seemed so distant lately. My heart has been so cold.” He stood still at the sink, looking out the window at the backyard. From the table, Gil said with a curious intensity in his voice, “But there’s an ember in your heart that flames up whenever it’s about Jesus, doesn’t it?”

Gil shuffled toward his desk in the corner. He sat down in the chair, put his head in his hands, and began to weep. He was not mourning his wife, his illness, or his loneliness. This time he was bearing the sorrow of his grandson.

Jeremiah 31. ‘For I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.’ Isn’t that a glorious promise? That God won’t ever bring up our sin again? Takes a lifetime of determination to get that truth planted deep in your heart. We commit to memory. God commits to forgetfulness.”

“I really regret not having been a better father to your dad.” Chris was taken aback. “What do you mean?” “Just what I said.” “No way,” Chris said. “No way I’m accepting that Dad turned out the way he did because you were a bad father. You can be proud of Aunt Ruth. Even if Dad—” “I can’t take credit for Ruth,” Gil said. “She’s a jewel because of Frances. And because God is gracious.” “I don’t think she’d say that. She’d give you credit too.” “It’s only by grace that any kid ever turns out all right.”

I still regret some things I did and some things I didn’t do. Early on, I had my priorities all mixed up. I would often let ministry become my idol and neglect my family much more than I should. I cheated them in that regard. Failed to see them as my primary ministry.” “That’s nothing compared to Dad,” Chris said. “He doesn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as you.” “Sin is sin, Chris,” Gil said. “We’re all in the same sentence. And my regrets are my regrets. But thank you for your kindness.”