I was born into the Jewish faith, but I started identifying myself as agnostic once I entered college. Judaism, while offering an interesting history, tightly knit community and great food, didn't answer any of my deepest questions. Why am I here? Where am I going? What was at the Beginning? What is at the End?
I addressed these annoying curiosities by getting a girlfriend, skipping classes and enjoying life.
But curiosity resurfaced time and time again. I was distraught.
The workings of the world were obviously broken, so how could people ride the cycling trivialities of day-to-day life without striving for something better? Even worse, people seemed to go to great lengths to avoid a serious discussion about what "better" means.
When my cousin called me out of the blue to tell me he had converted to Christianity, my immediate thought was, "Great. We have a crazy in the family now."
I did not consider his newfound faith something worthwhile, despite my own struggle with meaning and purpose.
My cousin told me about a book he read that opened his mind to Christianity. How cool, I thought - I would love to read the book that brainwashed my cousin.
I spent two weeks reading Lee Strobel's "The Case for Christ," and I realized two things. One was that I had always envisioned Christians throwing their hands in the air and shouting "Praise Jesus" like a bunch of brainless cartoon characters. After reading interviews with brilliant academics who fervently believed in Christ as the Son of God and savior of the world, I was forced to surrender my self-righteous belief that the nonreligious use their brains more effectively than the faithful.
I also realized I had spent a life preaching about what I don't believe. I thrived on questioning the beliefs of others, which is how I practiced the belief that my existence was blessed by me alone.
I still believed, and I still preached, just like any religious person.
I asked Christ into my life through the Holy Spirit at 10:40 p.m. on a bus in Washington, D.C. Looking back, I realize I always believed in something; I just wasn't sure what that something was until a strange moment late one night in our nation's capital.
There was a time when I was the first to combat the benefit - and even the necessity - of religion. I disregarded the faith I was born into, and it took me far too long to realize my choice to ignore and argue religion was time wasted.
I finally realized preaching against preaching would not fill the holes in my life, and I became a believer.
There can be no privilege for those who demand attention for the endless task of undoing belief. Belief is tied to our very being; when it unravels, so do we.
One of my favorite people in the New Testament is the father of a sick boy, who comes to Jesus for help. He expresses disbelief that his son can be healed. His cry to Jesus is, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"
Americans should spend their precious time expressing and pursuing what they believe rather than enabling the destruction of belief.
Michael Belle is a political science graduate student. His column appears on Wednesdays.
