It occurred to me awhile back that at least a few people I know are wondering why, all of a sudden, I’m spouting Christian dogma and platitudes, when, at one time, it was quite the opposite. During the last half-century or so, I’ve run the gamut of believing but not understanding what I was believing to doubting and questioning, then back to believing, though I still didn’t understand why. I made the decision at that particular time that, even if I did believe, I was not worthy to trouble God for anything, let alone a request for more clarity and enlightenment.
This last time around, I decided it was time to find out why I thought certain things were so and I made a vow to do all I could possibly think of to increase in a faith that I had neglected for far too long. It was time for me to drag that pan of faith from the back of the stove where it had just stayed warm onto an active burner that would set it to boiling. And it hasn’t stopped since, nor have I moved that kettle of faith back to where it simmered for so long.
In a previous blog, I described how, as a child growing up in a more specific and ritualistic denomination, wherein I was told what to do, when to do it, what to say, and when to say it. But the list of DO NOT DO’S was much longer, and it was in its shadow that I, and many other children of that era, lived for a large part of our lives. In time, some of us left that faith altogether, while others continued to practice for reasons known only to them. Of those who left to try on different spiritual hats, the reasons they cited almost always dealt with a feeling of oppression and the specter of guilt ever lurking in their minds.
I remember that guilt well, but I can honestly say that it never felt oppressive. My big problem was that I wanted to know WHY I’d been raised that way, in the form of some sort of explanation as to who God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit were and why it was so important to worship them and maintain an eternal allegiance to them. Still, I’d get the same answers every time: it’s one of God’s mysteries, or, the priests will explain it to us, or, we just have to say our prayers and believe. And there again was the rub: believe what and why?
Which is the reason I embarked on this latest journey of spiritual discovery, enhancement, and clarification of all the truths inherent to what I already knew and sort-of believed to all that is contained in the Holy Bible. I’ve gone from not understanding any of it to actively seeking clarification and explication of many of the more difficult passages that all focus on one main event in every Christian’s belief system: the death of Jesus Christ on the cross where he paid the ransom for our sins and reconciled us to the Father for all time.
At this late date, I doubt I’ll have time to become a Biblical expert. But one thing I’ve learned is that this book is not merely two covers between which exist hundreds of pages of history, all of which points ultimately to the Cross. It is a living active thing. It is God speaking to us TODAY. And the more of it I read, the more I want to read. And despite the fact that I’ve read it through four times now, and am embarking on my fifth reading, I long to return to it again and again, always waiting for some new truth to jump out at me.
Aside from it’s abundance of truth dear to all devout Christians, the Bible has also been proclaimed as one of the most poetical and lyrical collection of books ever written. I’ve found that the best way to see this is by reading it out loud. The meter and lyricism flow, and it has a steady rhythm that also points to the story’s continuity. And here’s another pretty remarkable thing: no matter which page you put your finger on, there will be something on that page and in that text that connects the entire salvation story together. And although there is a beginning, with the book of Genesis, and an ending, in the book of Revelation, the narrative really has no beginning or end, much like God himself...You can pick it up anywhere and find yourself never having left the path that leads to him.
It’s sort of like a favorite soap opera where you can leave off for a few days and then just jump right back in without having missed much. The difference, however, between a daytime drama and the Holy Bible is this: you can abandon it altogether and not return to it for years. Yet, the minute you reopen it, you are drawn right back in to a story that leads right back to the same place each and every time: a cross on a lonely hill where, once long ago, a man died so that we would all have the chance one day to read his story, one that includes each and every one of us...if we choose to believe.
Looking forward to reading these
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