Hindsight

I find it interesting that whenever I look back at certain aspects and events in my life, much of it seems more simplistic as time passes. Some may say that the memory fades, while others lean toward the adage of hindsight. Personally, I'm thinking it has everything to do with our incorrect assumption of how bad things really were to begin with. Do I simply make things worse for myself? If that is the case, then have I experienced heartache and pain for the purpose of gaining sympathy? Humans certainly do thrive on getting attention. The news seems filled with attention-seekers, often trumping those simple yet meaningful stories that offer a glimmer of hope toward humanity. As for me, when taking a glimpse back at certain events, as troubling as they were at the time, I am actually glad I faced them. Just try convincing the younger me that I would feel that way at the time.

I hear it more times than not that everyone has a story to tell. I believe that with all my heart. I have faced pain and tragedy, much like you have, as well as your neighbors, friends, family, and coworkers. We all happen to be on the same journey and will lose loved ones along the way, get fired from a job, crash a car, and have plenty of other unfortunate incidents. Anyone could write a book about his or her journey, and yet most do not. What is the big difference between you and the author on the shelf at your favorite bookstore? It would be the drive to get the words down. Authors have the same amount of time, worries, problems, and situations that you and I do. The only difference is that they have dedicated a little more time and effort.

The last thing I ever thought I would be doing would be writing a book. To me, my life has been rather simplistic and no different than many other uninteresting people. It was, perhaps, many of the recent events I had to face that would spark an interest and need to write. I knew from the start that this venture was not going to be a theological breakthrough or the newest self-help book. But aside from the mundane details of my uninteresting life, I think there happens to be a bigger topic lying in wait. The one point I intend to stress here is that this account is personal. I have found that there are too many people attempting to be self-appointed scholars and sell the gullible masses' books that indicate how the author has figured it all out and is gliding through life now on easy street. Please allow me to inform you that the best thing you can do is to avoid anyone that claims he or she has found the answers you have been looking for. There is neither a single question, a single answer, or a magic gimmick that can fulfill whatever it is you are looking for.

If you frequent a large bookstore chain, like Barnes and Noble, you would see that one of the largest sections is found to be the one designated for Christians. Perhaps no other group out there actually believes they have the keys to ultimate truth than the Christians. I can say that because I was one. Looking back, I had the biggest ego when I walked around with my shoulders broad and wide, thinking I was a bit more special than others. It can't be helped. By their own doctrines, they are the only ones that G_d loves. The bookcases devoted to these big spenders are filled with self-help styles and mystery answers. Christians are ever-seeking answers to the questions that keep generating in their heads. Many authors have responded to help quench the never-ending thirst for truth. It is this dependency upon new information that promises to get the reader closer to G_d that entices people to eat it up. Hungry people will eat anything you put in front of them. Christians await the next spectacular, all-revealing novel because they desire to fulfill a need for truth. Unfortunately, the truth is never offered to them. They continue to seek the answers, continue to buy the books, and remain glued to the televangelist. Any trinket offered for a small love-gift is held in such high regard, as if it holds magical power. You should know. You have done it too.

The dealings I have had over the last few years were, to say the least, life-altering. The little revelations I discovered, and the ones I dismissed, were completely unprepared for. The religion I had devoted so much of my time, effort, and spare time toward would rear its head toward me and my family. I sat back and watched similar attacks happen many times throughout my years in the church. If you have ever seen it happen before, then you know church-style justice is relatively swift, relentless, and quite thorough. What you might not be familiar with is the destructive wake it leaves, especially toward those it is directed against.

My intentions are not to systematically destroy the institution of the Christian church. I am under no delusion that I could possibly hurt, dismantle, or change the flawed institution. You may sense in my tone that I look at the church now as a product of a well-orchestrated, anti-Semitic power craze by Constantine. Perhaps nothing would give me more pleasure than to watch the entire conglomerate collapse and get sold off and the money that it bilked people for centuries would be turned into doing good. I have come across many people that claim that I simply do not understand what really happened. Over the last four years, I have faced incredible criticism for my journey and beliefs. These attacks have no effect on me anymore as I have heard them all. If there is simply one thing that I will try to impress upon you, it is that the very religion that people uphold as truth will easily take a person down who begins to become too wise. Do not fret. There will be no white-haired, blue-eyed fanatic wearing a robe coming to your house if you cause a stir.

Instead, you will be approached by those whom you trusted and called your brother or sister. The universal catchphrase you learn in church is that you are not just friends as you are family now. How long you are part of that family depends upon how long you don't rock the boat. Don't ask too many questions, don't push any boundaries, don't show too much weakness, and whatever you do, don't show too much strength or aptitude. You will know the sights are upon you when they begin to smile and greet you more frequently. This is the standard operating procedure to keep you at bay while your future at that congregation is discussed. Not only will your friends and newfound family execute you, they will do it wearing smiles. Just know this: it's for your own benefit because they love you so much.

My journey is not the only one to follow along similar lines. At the time I was facing my personal battles with the church, I thought I was the only one ever to go through it. To my surprise, dozens and dozens have had the same happen to them. Oddly enough, one of the greatest lessons I have learned was that people and other beliefs exist outside of the world we built for ourselves. I, like many before me, built a world of familiarity around my life. Having torn those barricades down, I have become keenly aware of the very things I have been searching for all my life. These things are not similar to typing a few words into Google and expecting good results. When the barricades of your mind are erected, you don't even know what to look for.

The church loves its celebrity heroes—well, some of them. While most won't accept the deviants such as Alice Cooper or Criss Angel, they did embrace people like Reggie White. He was known as the Minister of Pain on the field, and once he said a few things from the pulpit, he inflicted pain to his congregation. The gossip and rumors spread quick that Reggie did or said something that was labeled as crazy. He was deceived, lost, and never really saved (like us). What did he say? He simply discovered, like I did many years later, that Christianity was a farce. Unfortunately, Reggie passed soon thereafter. This simply drives home the point that the church does not like to talk about those that escaped the lies, deception, and silly doctrines. It's easier and less embarrassing to make a public statement declaring that you had a wolf in the congregation, and leadership took care of the problem.

Analytically Minded

Until I joined the army, I was another one of those woodsy types. I wasn't all that fond of high school, and it reflected in my grades. I was a straight-D student for the most part. Advanced training, which followed basic training, was where I had to begin to apply myself to absorb teaching. I was groomed to be an analyst, which was, for the most part, useless during the first few years as I spent most of my time in tactical units, which were often deployed. I learned hands-on how to comb through intelligence reports, media, and civilian gossip in order to gather an overall picture as to any hostile activities. I'll spare you the drudgery of all the places I had the privilege to plant my feet. Each new place and circumstance added to my overall ability to observe, analyze, and make a decision. It has been this analytical training and experience that I have carried to this very day. Rarely do I accept anything I hear or see as a fact without investigating further and gathering multiple sources. This process was not, however, flawless when it came to my choices in religion. As you will see as my venture materializes, I made some pretty stupid and hasty mistakes.

I suppose there is an aura that surrounds religions, especially Christianity. I had always looked at, whether positively or negatively, the Christian church on the local level in a high regard. Even when I was turned off to the ploys of the church as a kid, I still held the pastor in high esteem. I would eventually learn that such a position is quite addictive. Imagine being in a position that, regardless of whether people liked you or hated you, they still maintained a deep respect for you. As a matter of fact, people will hold the pastor in high regard even as they insert the dagger into his or her back. The image of the television pastor shows someone that has the spotlight on them and commands the respect of the congregation. That single, solitary pastor has complete control over his or her church, or so it seems. There is usually much more to running a church than one pastor, although it can be done. Oftentimes, there is a board or some form operating things from closed doors. Of course, the bigger the church is, there can be multiple boards and many levels forming the leadership structure. The more complicated the structure gets, the more difficult it is to cause a problem in the church. When there is a rather simple structure in place, then the whole thing can come down and claim many casualties.

Frankly, I knew little about the structure when I attended church. I had no aspirations to do anything more than give an hour, maybe two, on a Sunday and get the hell out of the doors before I was roped into some group or project. Eventually I would recognize those members that thought the same way. There would be times where I couldn't make it down the pulpit fast enough to catch someone I wanted to annoy with either a project or guilt into attending some form of meeting. I would also eventually learn that people, in general, have a very difficult time saying no to a man of the cloth. Having zero interest in spending more than ninety minutes a week in a church kept things simple and easy. In addition, we made it to the local diner before the crowds arrived. The last thing I wanted in my life was to have to stand in line waiting for my Sunday breakfast.

The Dream

I awoke one morning with that lingering memory of a dream. Only really vivid dreams are remembered come morning, and this was one of them. A dream of attending a Bible school was all I remembered, but it was a shock enough, especially for that period of my life. We had just started going to church as a new little family. I hadn't stepped into a church, voluntarily, for quite a number of years, but with a new family and the prompting by a good friend, I drug my wife and our two little girls along. We were enjoying our time at a little Methodist church at the shore in New Jersey, but more particularly in the pastor's animated and passionate delivery of his sermons; they always cut to the heart. One day, by mere chance, the pastor and I crossed paths and decided to get some lunch. We couldn't have been more different, with completely unique backgrounds, but we shared so many similarities. Sitting down at a tiny bayside restaurant on the Barnegat Bay, we stumbled over each other at the same time trying to get what we had to say out first. He relented and graciously allowed me to begin fresh and uninterrupted.

"I had a dream last night, Dale, and it was totally unexpected," I quipped. "I had a premonition of sorts to go to Bible school."

His jaw, now bouncing off the tabletop, was set back in place, and then a reddish hue enveloped over his entire face.

"I can't believe this," he muttered. "I had the same dream." It turns out our "chance" encounter was not by chance at all, but each one seeking out the other to reveal this premonition. What are the odds?

As we dug through our typical Jersey Shore fare, New England clam chowder, we alternated eating with speaking, taking turns to exchange the insights to this revelation, of sorts.

Dale revealed that he felt so strongly about our shared experience that he indicated that the church was willing to pay for it; they just didn't know it yet. "I'm taking this to the board at our next meeting, and I'm positive they will agree."

That kind of news was good for me as we were just one step away from being homeless, which was more imminent than I could have ever imagined at the time. Dale had more vision than I did, even revealing a new position he must have created in his head at the moment.

"Student pastor, seriously?" I belted out. Well, that was pretty unexpected. Not one bit of reality ever crossed my mind, like the fact that, at the time, I had little more knowledge of the Bible than a Sunday school student. Sure, I was raised in the church, even confirmed as a young teen, but that didn't mean I picked up a Bible again, except to clean a shelf once in a while.

As Dale predicted, the church board unanimously passed his unique request and promptly enrolled me in a correspondence- based study program. Their approvals didn't stop with simply paying for my classes; they also addressed the issue of establishing a student laity pastor position to be filled immediately by me. It was quickly explained that no longer would they put a call out to their conference to provide a warm body for sermon duties when Dale went on vacation or took ill; I would be the man at the pulpit in those times. They still had another chip to play, and one that would really knocked our socks off.

Quandary

Many people were punch-drunk on the millennium craze taking place on the cusp of 1999 becoming the year 2000, but not me. I was staring blankly at my accumulated possessions that now defined me. It was as if my life had emerged from my dreams—the house, two new cars, a young family, and the world at my feet. It had not been that long before when I could not have imagined any of it being possible. Upon leaving a brilliant six-year stint with the army, I found myself readjusting to civilian life in 1996, with nothing to show except the cliché rack of medals and ribbons and a healthy dose of self-discipline. None of which really matters much in the civilian world, with perhaps the exception of discipline. I felt somehow that I lacked all the simple joys that young adults like me were already living. The dream of a place to call home and a heart and soul to share it with seemed as likely as winning the Powerball lottery, especially finding the right woman. Eventually I would learn, through being a pastor, that this is a common concern. Fast-forward briefly, and as if by magic, I had everything I thought I'd never have.

A chance opportunity led me to call an old girlfriend, Jennifer, who was once again available. She was in the final steps of escaping from a horrible marriage. Along with my old flame came a little girl, Samantha, just a year old and already desperately seeking a father figure. I suppose, looking back, that little one-year-old sealed the deal first, having uttered that incredible heart-melting word dada. I certainly never thought things would fall into place so quickly nor bring the stork to my door so quickly. Next came the humble house, followed closely by the brand-new cars. How quickly it all arrived, with apparently so little effort on my part.