I have wanted to write this for quite some time. Whenever I’d think about it though, I would make up some excuse to not write it. The excuses & thoughts ran from, “No one cares what you think,” to “Religion is a private matter,” to “What do you really hope to accomplish by telling people about this?” There were a few more excuses, but you get the point.
Nevertheless, here I am writing, which means I have finally made a decision. I have decided to write this and share it with my friends because I want you to know the real me, and I want you to know that I believe there is real, genuine hope in this life. Plus, I like to write, and as I said above, I have wanted to get this down on paper for a long time. Finally, with three broken ribs, I have some time on my hands. It’s not easy typing with broken ribs, but it is not as hard as I thought it was going to be.
I’m fairly certain that at least a few of you have heard this story, or parts of it, but now I want the whole story in one document.
So what is this story I’m prattling on about? Well, certainly since I used the word, “religion” above, you should be clued in. So, if you have some time, sit back, relax and give this a once over. I’m open to feedback, but it is not necessary. I’m not trying to convert anyone to my point of view, but if you wish to discuss things, then by all means – leave a comment or mail me.
In May of 1988, I made some friends when I started a new job. A few of them were Christians. I liked these new friends, and I listened to what they had to say about Jesus and God and the Scriptures. They provided me with books and materials that challenged me both intellectually and spiritually. I was raised a Catholic, but by 1988, I had strayed from those roots and had become one of those guys that says, “Religion is a personal thing, and besides, no one really knows what the truth is.” Further, I assumed that as long as my good works tipped the scales more than the bad things I had done, I would be allowed into heaven – if there really was such a place. Yet, these new friends were very confident a person could not only know there is a God, but could also have a close, personal relationship with God and be assured of spending eternity with God. To make a long story a bit shorter, they finally won me over and I agreed that I wanted what they had. They told me I had to make a prayer – that I had to ask God to save me, and that I had to believe in Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection for the forgiveness of my sins. In May of 1988, I made that prayer.
For the next twelve years, I lived the life of a Christian. We found a church that believed the Bible was God’s inspired Word, got baptized, and we attended regularly. We gave money to various ministries, and even began our own ministry where we got into concert production and band management. We brought in some of the heaviest bands in the land (bands populated with Christians) and saw a number of people converted to Christianity as well as Christians rededicating their lives back to Christianity.
And then I fell away. Not only did I fall away, but I became somewhat militant about it and even tried to refute Christianity. I don’t mean I was hostile (not to their faces anyway) but I would deliberately start debates with Christians on internet forums, in person, or via e-mail – just to see if I could get them to doubt. In trying to analyze why this happened, I can come up with a few things. The pain and suffering visible all around me caused me to doubt and question my faith. And my fellow Christians – I thought most of them were far from genuine. Within every community of believers there are hypocrites and liars and people trying to take advantage of other people. I let this cause me to doubt God’s power to effect real, genuine change in people that say they believe. Additionally, I felt the same lack of power within me. Why wasn’t it easier for me to follow in Christ’s footsteps? Why did it seem like such a battle? My solution? Chuck the whole thing. I mean, why fight a losing battle? I quit praying and began to seriously doubt what I had learned over the years regarding Christianity. I did not become an atheist. I considered that position, but it just did not seem logical to me – a person with a very limited view of a gigantic universe, to sit here on my infinitesimal, insignificant dot in space and declare, “There is no God.” I considered myself an agnostic, but one with a heavy lean towards atheism.
So that was my life until 2010. Well, I left out the excessive use of alcohol, the cursing, hatred for people that I felt wronged me, and all the other things that go along with being a guy angry at God and with himself for failing to live up to the standards I believed God had set for me. There were many times over those years of unbelief that I felt the need to pray, but I did not know whom to pray to. Occasionally, I would even think to myself how much I missed Jesus. I wanted Him to be true, but I just couldn’t believe it anymore. I remember my wife asking me, “Are you sure you want to just walk away from all this? Your faith has been very important to you.”
For several years, I reveled in my new-found “freedom.” I was no longer obligated to a church or giving to a church or worried about “performing” should some of my church friends see me in public. Sin became subjective, and fun became my objective. I started to drink whisky a bit too much. I was going through a large bottle of Jameson every two weeks and wanted to party with anyone that would join me.
And then lightning struck.
A series of vexing problems came at me all at once. Those closest to me know what problems I am referring to, but I will leave the details a mystery here in this little essay. Suffice it to say that these problems shook me up pretty well. For those of you that just can’t go on without knowing more, let me just say this much – these problems had nothing to do with marital infidelity. My wife remains my angel and best friend.
These problems became such a heavy burden that one day I found myself praying. I was hurting inside and grasping for something – anything. So I prayed. And then I dug out one of my old Bibles and began to read John’s gospel. And then I read the book of Acts. At first, I hid the fact that I was reading the Bible again. I think I was embarrassed to admit that I needed some help to get me through the problems I was experiencing at the time. I kept reading. I read John’s gospel again. I read all four gospels, and then Acts again. Then I started reading through the epistles. I prayed – with fervor and conviction I’d never had in the past.
Things started to slowly get better, but I didn’t know what to do about God. Things started happening that were obvious answers to prayers I had been making, yet, I felt as if I couldn’t just suddenly declare, “Guess what everyone! I think I believe in God again!” I felt like an idiot. I had declared myself a Christian in the past, chucked it and moved on to making fun of Christians and being totally hostile to the church (any church), and now I was going to declare myself a Christian again? No, I needed some time to just heal – some time to get used to the idea. I prayed for healing and patience. I continued to read Scripture, and pulled out some of my favorite books I’d somehow managed to save from my previous run at being a Christian. I reread Phillip Yancey’s “The Jesus I Never Knew,” C.S. Lewis’ “Mere Christianity,” Swindoll’s “The Grace Awakening.” I even made some new purchases of classic books I’d never read by A.W. Tozer, A.B. Simpson, R.A. Torrey along with newer books that had not been around back in my first try, like Lee Strobel’s “The Case For Christ,” and “The Case For Faith,” and “The Case For A Creator.”
At some point I told my wife about all of this. She told me that she had never quit believing, and that she still regularly prayed. We started praying together – every evening from that day forward. But still, I wanted to take things slow and be sure that what I was experiencing was genuine. I had made a fool of myself, pushed away old friends, caused people to doubt their faith and God’s power, and now I was looking at doing another 180.
Eventually, I felt like I needed to go to back to church. I felt a need to worship in a more formal setting with other Christians. But I didn’t know where to go. As I said above, I was raised in Catholicism – so was my wife – but we had attended protestant churches ever since 1988. I needed some place quiet, some place where I wouldn’t be jumped on and asked to join up and start tithing and get baptized and all that stuff some denominations want to hang on you. One day I said to my wife, “I think I’m going to go to Catholic mass this afternoon.” She replied, “I’ll go with you.” I knew that the Catholics would leave us alone, and to their everlasting credit – they did. People were friendly enough, though it is different in protestant circles. But it was quiet and brought back warm memories of childhood. Most of all, I could just sit there and heal.
I know why Protestants split off from Catholicism, and theologically speaking, I am more protestant than catholic. Yet, this time around, that stuff just doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to. One thing I have learned over the past few years is just how imperfect I am. I am a deeply flawed individual, and it is only by God’s grace that I have managed to make it this far, or to have kept so many wonderful, understanding friends.
Which brings me back to one of the excuses I used to quit believing – do you remember? I believe I made the point that hypocrites and liars and greedy people were one of the big reasons I walked away from Christianity. Now I realize that I have been all those things in my life. The church, as Scripture calls it, is “The Body of Christ.” That body is made up of sick people needing the ultimate healer. He heals using a soothing balm made with a generous portion of the oil of grace.
So, as I said back at the beginning, I write this for you, my friends. I want you to know where I’m coming from, and why you may have noticed things are different with me now. They are different, but please know that no matter your views on things, I still want to be your friend. Please do not be afraid to be yourself around me. Please speak your mind and continue to offer me a drink of good whisky or a glass of good wine or beer should we happen to get together. Do not expect me to preach at you, though if you wish to discuss the church, theology, spiritual things, feel free – I love to talk about those things, but I usually will not bring them up. The only thing I ever say anymore to people that are seeking is just to tell them to pray – sincerely pray – ask God to reveal the truth. Then read John’s gospel. The rest is out of my hands.
I’m still not sure what I’m going to do about a church home. There are a few in the Jacksonville area that interest me, but they are too much of a drive. I’m not worried about it. No building can hold God, but I do like to fellowship with other believers.
So, that is my story. I hope it clears things up for some of you that have wondered. I am sorry to those of you that find this development disappointing – I hope that we can remain friends.
