I would love to be an Atheist. To rid my life of the complications that come with faith. It would be easier to take responsibility for my past, and my present, rather than using something divine as an easy go-to in deflection; to hold myself fully accountable for my actions. No fate, no predestination, and no angels or demons to sway me. There would merely be the path I have chosen and my feet to lead the way. Unfortunately, my experiences, my spirit, and most importantly my mind, cannot abandon all I have come to understand. No matter what has come to be, I just can't shake Jesus.
I know I believe in God. I have sensed Him in Spirit and I have tried to see Him in the Light. Despite everything I have learned, and all I realize I am unable to know, I cannot ignore my own witness. No matter how I have struggled to put such things behind me, they seem inescapable. The further I try to walk away, the louder they call out to me. I see no vision, no ghostly expression, it is all within my mind and soul. I know it is real, for me. There is a connection that, so far, has no end. I tend to view Jesus as an archetype, the original foundation which Christian history, and dogma, views as authoritative. He is a Divine reference point for those who were born in a certain place and a certain time. As with Buddha, or Mohammed, mankind seems to need a figurehead to look towards for guidance. We create this "image" to clarify, to validate and to moderate us. Mankind, of course, has never been afraid to follow something that holds promise, despite any realization of the damage it can and will do. There is something off-putting about it.
I'm not much for religion. I believe that God hates religion. While I will concede it does good for many, I will also argue it does many no good. Often the very centre of religious thought can drive a person to insanity. Sometimes great men of God, born-again and bubbly, will take to arms, striking down their supposed enemy in some personal, or esoteric, pseudo-Jihad. So many people have fallen in the name of god that it can be hard to believe He is there at all, let alone listening, responding and interacting with the human race. I can't help but wonder if He ever intercedes at all, considering His "from a distance" approach to mankind. Historical proof of Jesus aside, is He with us at all?
There have been times I have failed to understand my need to keep Jesus in my life. He is etched in my makeup, at least it would seem so. I do not believe I have a choice. I am His servant, having been born to a Christian experience rather than a Jewish one, or a Sikh one. It is almost as if I am supposed to trust that God placed me in my reality, versus another, and it is against this setting that my life is measured. How does one measure? How can one be sure there is something more? How can one confirm that God is working in the life they lead? Is there a way to affirm all this praying, and doing, means anything at all? Is this all just hyperbole? Are we out of our minds? Why do we, as a people, continue to question and continue to ponder despite silence from heaven above? How can we be sure? For this labelled sinner, the answer is simple:
The proof is in the pudding.
"Real life isn't always going to be perfect or go our way, but the recurring acknowledgement of what is working in our lives can help us not only to survive but surmount our difficulties.” (Sarah Ban Breathnach, American writer)
In June of 1995, five months after a suicide attempt, I was contacted by the Catholic Diocese of London, Ontario regarding a Near Death Experience. From what I understood, one of the health care workers from my time of recuperation had contacted the Church in order to share my story of survival. A Priest contacted me and asked for an interview regarding what had happened. He was primarily interested in the phenomena I experienced and the lack of effect to my physical shell. I have to admit I was more than interested in this turn of events. I myself wished greater understanding, and clarity, and agreed to meet in the hopes I would finally have a few answers and some spiritual resolution. He was miracle hunting.
There was never any question that something strange had happened to me that night. No matter how anyone tried to rationalize, or minimize, the event, I just could not find their conclusions acceptable. So much was unexplained. Not one person, in all these years, has been able to explicate the events, or lack thereof. While I have learned that there are some things we are not meant to understand, still, when science can tell us the age of a maggot on a corpse and therefore conclude time of death, one would assume it should be more than able to define my experience or, minimally, confirm what did or did not happen to me that night and into the next day.
The Priest started with the physical evidence. I told him about the Valium and how I made sure to take them on an empty stomach. I explained how I dropped all 100 x 10 mg little blue buttons as if they were Tic Tacs. We discussed the 15 hours I spent in the cold. From 9 p.m. on Sunday, the 19th of February, until around noon the next day, I laid in the snow, exposed to the winter and -7 degrees Celsius. I noted the lack of covering I took with me into the dark. He questioned me with great interest, focusing on the absence of consequence to me physically. No frostbite, not even a little frost burn was found upon my body at its discovery, or later at the hospital. Although it took me two days to wake up, no evidence of any other side effect, from the Valium or the act, could be found. It was almost as if I had done nothing at all. We talked about the tunnel and we talked about the light. I explained the two figures cloaked in the bright. I explained how one left its place and took me to safety. He seemed unsurprised when I revealed the words spoken to me. He told me how common they were in these phenomena. I watched him write it down word for word: "You cannot come, it is not your time." At the time, I had no idea about the Near Death Experience, but I learned quickly that these types of occurrences happen with great frequency. He informed me that my experience, including what he called "interference healing", were not uncommon throughout history and our modern world.
Although we later decided not to continue with this exploration ( I am not Catholic), the initial investigation did act as a catalyst for my critical study of Christianity. While that Priest passed away in 2007, and despite never seeing him again, that initial meeting changed my way of thinking. He revealed to me a great opportunity. He told me that my example could stand for others to gain strength from, and like with the figures in my NDE, most often it is not about the who, or how, but rather, the why. Anything else would be up to me. Again, it is almost as if I am supposed to trust that God placed me in my experience and it is my experience by which my life is evaluated. Maybe all my questions had already been answered. Maybe it was Him. Most days I feel like I'm swimming in pudding. Sometimes I discover Jesus trying to pull me under. For me, the only proof I need of something more is my continuing existence. I should have been dead years ago. I thrive. Although I may have not been led, through Divine intercession, to a specific faith structure, I still continue to look for Jesus at the bottom of every cup. My interaction is not mere words or clanging cymbals.
I am painfully aware of my human imperfection. I am still all I have ever been, but I am not buried in who I am not. I still get angry, I still screw up. I hate. I still doubt and question and, many days, even curse God in heaven. Jesus, most often, pisses me off. I get incensed when He seems to ignore what His followers are saying and doing to those not included in His kingdom. In all my years, I have never witnessed any form of Divine Justice. I look around and see how Christianity, and almost all forms of religion, cause more conflicts than they solve. I do not understand why something so omnipotent doesn't just fix all the problems instead of letting them linger, century after century.
For years, I went looking for answers in other directions. I tried to find my way by getting away from Jesus and all that Christianity entails. In the end, I did not need to. Jesus' example, His message, was underlying in almost every other faith or belief system. The universal truths were wrapped in cultural perspective, but they relayed the same substance. The Priest was correct. I did not need to go looking elsewhere when the answers were right in front of me. Why would anyone beg on a street corner if they have money in the bank? Why would anyone buy a dozen roses if they have 12 bushes blooming in their very own front yard? All the time, what I was looking for I had already found. It is this example and His true message I cannot escape. These simple ideas represent the epitome of grace and mercy. It is because of when and where I was born that He is my messenger, even though so many other faiths, at base, teach the same things. It is so simple, like God's love for us. It is not conditioned. It does not hold favour. It has nothing to do with religion.
Jesus came to abolish religion. He came to set us free, not restrict us. Just because someone goes to Church, or they claim to be born again, or even read the Bible, doesn’t make them a Christian. Just because someone believes they see does not mean they have seen the whole picture. Believing you have vision does not always make it so. People should know you are a child of God by your actions, your "fruit of the spirit," not by your claims or labels or formulas. Just because you bought a leather jacket on the weekend does not automatically make you a member of the Hell's Angels.
Religion can be destructive. Religion is often dubious. It tends to feed those it merits as saved, while everyone else goes hungry. It is exclusive. It does not preach what it practices. Religion is like trying to dress someone who has been cremated; there is not a lot to work with. Why wax a rotten apple? Why put lipstick on a pig? It is behavior modification. An opiate for the masses. An invention.
"Out of intense complexities intense simplicities emerge." (Winston Churchill)
Every day that I wake up, I recognize how fortunate I am to have this life, thorns and all. I still sin. I still hurt. I most certainly have hate. I am still just some lost soul trying desperately to make his way. The manner, in my mind, through which I achieved a relationship with God was by letting go of religion, in all its forms, and embracing the only message that qualifies as legitimate from a loving, benevolent God. All is well. God is not a reward for the worthy, but rather He is hope for the unworthy. We all, most certainly, are that.
Still, I am not a Christian. Then again, neither was Jesus.
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