Christianity Beyond Crusoe

I'm sure most of you are familiar with the story of Robinson Crusoe—that fictional hero who, as the sole survivor of a nasty shipwreck, managed to live for 28 years on an island before he was rescued by pirates. Apart from the strangely exciting lists of supplies, the detailed descriptions of his efforts to survive, and the accounts of his battles with nature and cannibals, much of this story consists of Crusoe's highly philosophical reflections on the Bible he had saved from the wreck and his relationship with the God who wrote it.

One of the major themes of these reflections is Crusoe's loneliness; he had been, after all, devoid of all human companionship for longer than I've even been alive. But he finds a remarkable truth even in this, writing:

"I gave humble and hearty thanks that God had been pleased to discover to me even that it was possible...that He could fully make up to me the deficiencies of my solitary state, and the want of human society, by His presence, and the communications of His grace to my soul—supporting, comforting, and encouraging me to depend upon His providence here, and hope for His eternal presence hereafter."

This really is amazing. 28 years of solitude, and Crusoe found that God was enough. And he was right: God is enough. If we had no one else in the world, God would be enough. The truth in that is astounding and sure.

But I think there's a problem here—a huge one. In our Western world, the truth that Crusoe found has too often been distorted. It has been taken too far, misapplied to the extent that we read in it a gruesome lie that threatens to destroy our very selves. Perhaps we didn't tear this lie from the musings of this particularly reflective castaway, but, regardless of where we got it, we did paste it exuberantly on the banner of our prideful hearts, holding it up and chanting in excitement as if it was an essential part of what we'd like to call our "identity." We did let it ride along with our ideals of individualism, giving both free reign as if that was how the world was meant to be. And we throw it in the faces of our neighbors and our Lord; we let it blind our eyes until we are convulsing in our own misery.

What is this lie, you ask? It's the idea that Crusoe's Christianity is a model for us as well. It's the idea that the solitary Christian life, the quiet walking with Christ and no one else, is a viable option—the idea that, even though there are thousands of churches we could join and millions of Christians around the globe, it's perfectly okay to ignore them all. It's the idea that following Christ is something we can do on our own.

Don't get me wrong: If we were stranded on an island for years without another human in sight, God would still be enough. Crusoe's Christianity could be a fantastic model for the person who does indeed find himself companionless.

But the thrill of Crusoe's story comes from the fact that this is not how life is supposed to be. We read his story in excitement not because we relate with his plight but because we deeply wonder what will become of a human who is living in a way no human should have to live. And this particular human finds that God is enough. God is enough.

But the presence of Crusoe's angst is a testimony to the fact that his story is not ideal. Yes, God is enough to satisfy us completely. But He created Adam with the astounding assertion that "it is not good for the man to be alone" (Gen. 2:18, NIV 1984). And instead of reminding Adam that he was not alone (for he had indeed the company of God Himself), God made Eve—another human.

What I'm trying to say is that God is enough—He always is enough. But He has given us other people for a reason. He has adopted us into a family. The Christian life can happen in solitude, if it must, but it is meant to happen in community. Somehow everything makes more sense in a place where every person is living with the full knowledge that God is enough and choosing to live in that together.

The early church understood this. They faced persecution so awful that we can scarcely wrap our heads around it. They had to meet in secret. They knew that every gathering they held could be their last. But they did it because they knew something that we have forgotten in our comfortable, technology-mediated lives: that we can't do this thing without our brothers and sisters.

You see, without community—without family—we miss the beautiful opportunity to know and be known. We miss the chance to be known and loved simultaneously. We never get to taste and to practice God's love. We forfeit the chance to teach and be taught. We throw out the idea of the fruit of the Spirit or the gifts of the Spirit. We risk all sorts of heretical interpretations of Scripture. We dive headfirst into a loneliness that will do nothing but destroy us—and all because we got the idea that we can do without the church. We become the eye that says to the hand, "I don't need you" (I Cor. 12:21).

What better lie could the enemy tell? How better to stop the power of the church than to convince its members that they're better off with their heads in the dirt, ignoring one another and trying desperately to live life on their own? We can't live like this. And, really, why would we want to?

A life in a community that humbly and diligently follows its Savior and Lord is the best life we could ever have. Will it be easy? No. Not in the least. The closer you are to people, the more you butt heads. But how else are we going to learn what love is?

What I'm saying, friends, is that God is everything we will ever need. And He adopted us as His children, drawing us into a family that is meant to live out His love in every imaginable way (Eph. 2:19-22; John 13:34-35). We need each other. And there's nothing better. There's really nothing better. It's a blessing to walk through life with a family—with brothers and sisters all relentlessly pursuing more of Christ. Once we've tasted this—once we've spent even a few seconds in a real community—we'll never want to go back to "going it alone."

So let us follow the example so passionately expressed by the early church. Let us dive deep into a community of believers. Let us know and be known in a place that's safe, a place that's really following Christ. Such places do exist! "Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching" (Heb. 10:25, NIV 1984).

It's a difficult call to follow, but we have an opportunity Robinson Crusoe never got. We get to step into a life without masks, a life where we share each other's burdens, and a life where we shout God's praise together at the top of our lungs because we've seen just a glimpse of His great love. Let's do it.