No heritage left behind? Post-"conversion" thoughts

My first book "Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter" has undergone a slight makeover recently. I finally got around to correcting the grammatical errors that aren't uncommon for a first-time, self-published author's debut. This meant re-reading the entire manuscript with fresher eyes, and as I did so, I realized a few things. Mainly, I don't quite have the same strong beliefs as I did when I first wrote it. I'm also more confident in other beliefs that I was still unsure about at publication time.

Considering the book is barely two years old, it surprises me how much has changed since then. But living at seminary will do that to you. As a "baby Christian" explaining how my spiritual turnabout happened, I wrote as if I was trying to convince myself that Christianity was the ultimate fulfillment of Judaism. This is what my new Christian friends told me, and it made me feel slightly better about myself. I didn't have to compromise as much as I thought. Christianity and Judaism cross paths with each other in history: no one can argue that. The change would not be as radical if, say, I was going from Judaism to Hinduism.

But the "Jewish Christian" or "Hebrew Christian" label never sat well with me. In fact, I didn't really understand why it was so important to hold on to something -- anything -- Jewish in the first place. Never in my life have I ever been a "religious Jew." I suppose it had more to do with appeasing my family and remaining Jewish friends; I didn't want them thinking I went completely off the deep end.

Then seminary happened. My immersion into Christian culture has been, shall we say, not so graceful. "Christian-ese" language, and pretty much everything having to do with Christian culture, drove me nuts. And that makes sense, considering I spent most of my life making fun of it. Now I'm a Christian, and I'm supposed to forget how it made me feel to hear people talk about me being a "non-believer," as if I didn't believe in anything, and hearing phrases like "bathed in the blood," which just sounds cult-ish and creepy to people outside the church? This language was so off-putting to me then, and it still is now. In addition to not knowing what any of it meant, it also implied an air of exclusivity: "First you join our club, then we'll let you know what we're talking about."

Okay, so it's not like Jewish culture doesn't have its own "air of exclusivity," with words like "kvetch" that sound like a sneeze to gentile ears. What can I say? I know I'm biased.

I started to long for my Jewish culture again -- because there's more spice and history in words like "chutzpah" than in any other "ism" I've heard in church (personal opinion). Quite honestly, I miss having Jewish friends: to joke with, to commiserate with, to bond with. But to miss the culture is to ultimately miss the religion itself: something I didn't completely internalize until my father got really sick this summer, and I had to fly back to Ohio. It felt like a metaphorical return to my roots: something I owed to myself after trying to assimilate in foreign territory for so long.

Long story short: it just isn't that easy.

Some of my Christian friends at seminary will still try to convince me I can have it both ways: they try to tell me I'm a "completed Jew." I've been called a heretic for strongly disagreeing with that wording. Only those who have grown up Jewish, or studied the religion immensely, can understand just how much one gives up when they decide to embrace Christianity. I don't regret this decision at all, because I love the Christian theology of God becoming man so he can relate to me on my level. I love that so much, I am now willing to accept that such a theology is incompatible with Jewish theology. Maintaining a love for Jewish culture and being a descendant of Jewish heritage are one thing, but spiritually speaking, I know I cut myself off.

It's irrelevant to me that Jesus didn't intend to create another religion when he started his ministry. Judaism and Christianity evolved in separate directions anyway, and that is the reality we must work with.

It's not enough to convince a Jewish person that Jesus is the real Messiah: the Jewish teachings about sin are different from Christianity's, as are the doctrines about the afterlife, suffering, etc. It makes me angry how "Messianic Jews" (in my experience, the people who use this title are actually full-blooded gentiles who "have a heart" for Judaism) dismiss all that, as if it's all so simple. It's not. Theology -- any theology -- is already messy, but combining two religions as one is even messier. Not to mention impossible.

Of course, people who disagree are free to believe what they want. I just have to put my foot down when it comes to the evangelism tactic that Jews can become Christian and not lose Judaism. Yes, talk about Jesus' Jewish ancestry and what he set out to do, but couching Christianity in Jewish terms is deceptive, plain and simple.

I still wonder about the "What is a Jew" debate, and how much of Judaism, if anything, I can still claim as my own. But that doesn't mean I can't still appreciate it for what it is, and "visit" my roots by rereading my collection of Jewish books. It feels good to be somewhat more at peace with what I believe, even if complete contentment is highly unlikely in this life. Such is the summary of every conversion story: you can't ever leave your heritage behind.