Of all the comments made in the midst of a doctrinal disagreement, (the 1844/sanctuary doctrine, this quarter’s Sabbath School topic, perhaps the biggest one of all) ones like this puzzle me most:"If you don’t believe the doctrine as traditionally held, it might be best—more honest even—just to leave the church…go someplace which is more closely aligned with ’your’ beliefs." (For examples, see the Adventist Review, July 26, 2001, 28; Nov. 28, 2002, 13; July 24, 2003, 29; and April 28, 2005, 17.)

At face value, such comments, seemingly made to strengthen and unify, may generate some sympathy, for it would indeed seem odd to find a Seventh-day Adventist who didn’t think the Sabbath, or Second Coming (or maybe even the existence of God) had meaning. However, I’ve worshiped with people who value the warmth, community, and inclusiveness of our particular congregation far, far more than they do any of the Adventist doctrines; doctrines that they often can’t even define—let alone defend.

Embedded in the pleas that we hold doctrines identically, I sense a certain circularity of thought, though. It is as if, for our existence to have meaning, we must be different and have something special (since we exist, what we have must be special and different) therefore don’t challenge what makes us special and different.

But do we really want to limit the definition of an Adventist to include only those who hold firm to a tightly specified set of doctrines? Would it really be wise to make the tie between name and beliefs so close that to know one was an Adventist would be to know everything about the way that person thinks? Can the totality of one’s belief structure really be summed so easily—perhaps like one might "know" the beliefs of a member of the flat earth society?

I confess to a feeling of sadness for those who find safety, or honor, or purity in such specific and complete labelings. For beneath these plaintive calls for everyone to see things in the same way I detect genuine fear: fear of loss of identity; fear of loss of meaning; fear of loss of their "special" place in the sight of God. Such fears, however, as I view the matter, are grounded in a misunderstanding of how God measures our true worth. God values us because he created us, and more, because he has redeemed us. Everything else is the devising and the dividing of men.

This is not to suggest that our belief structures should not bring us comfort and hope. Clearly, they do and they should. But we believe as we do because of what makes sense to us. And, being quite different from each other, we don’t all make sense of things in the same ways. Reality exists of course, and our human minds are capable of contemplating it. This ability, however, is no guarantee of the rightness of our conclusions. (Yes—feel blessed by God with the truth you believe you comprehend. But do not imagine that God blesses all—or reaches all—in exactly the same way.)

I find it no small irony that Adventist evangelism is predicated on a person’s ability and willingness to challenge his own belief systems, but once "in the fold" it seems he is expected to cease the very process that brought him there in the first place. Also ironic to me is the absolute certainty with which some hold a doctrine (the investigative judgment), which so easily lends itself to UNcertainty (of salvation) among those who hold it. (This is an uncertainty that some have likened to that generated by the Roman Catholic doctrine of purgatory.)

Growth and reformation, it seems to me, is more likely to happen when courageous believers are willing to challenge the status quo wherever they find it and strike out into theological territory thought by majorities to be untenable—if not into outright heresy.

Interestingly, Seventh-day Adventism’s prophet and one if its founders seemed to recognize this very dynamic when she counseled, "There is no excuse for anyone taking the position that there is no more truth to be revealed, and that all our expositions of Scripture are without an error. The fact that certain doctrines have been held as truth for many years by our people, is not a proof that our ideas are infallible.…" (Ellen White, Counsels to Writers and Editors, 35.) However, in addition to giving this wise counsel, Ellen White also was an emphatic believer in one such "certain doctrine," which we Adventists call the sanctuary doctrine or the investigative judgment. (For multiple references; see, for instance, the Great Controversy, chaps. 23, 24, and 28; and Evangelism, 224.) This serves well to illustrate what a delicate and awkward dance is the corporate pursuit of truth.

The tension thus generated also illustrates well for me why I take seriously the fact that I am an Adventist. Accepting that label obligates me to the process of wrestling with truth in ways that both remain loyal to the work and struggles of our spiritual forefathers, while at the same time remaining true to the vision of truth as perceived in my own conscience. Loyalty to the people and the process of early Adventism, however, need not obligate me to their every conclusion—as they themselves often demonstrated. Thus, the task of being an Adventist is, in large measure, to participate respectfully in an ongoing quest for ever broader and deeper understandings of truth, but undertaken with a humility that recognizes our fallibility and yet honors our God.

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