In the months following Matt's death I set out to find meaning and purpose for why I was still alive. Never before had I really wrestled with the question of whether there was a God, but took it for granted that if there was, He didn't care about me. If all is meaningless, then what could possibly motivate me to make any choice that didn't enhance pleasure and minimize pain? And at 17 years of age, how could I conceptualize anything but immediate gratification? Over the next year, I found myself adopting this as my sole working philosophy for determining right and wrong- "If it feels good, do it".
The alternative to this self-gratification, seemed to be some obligation or commitment to a God who created me and cared for me. I knew instinctively that the outcome of this question would significantly impact how I should then live the rest of my life. Both paths seemed to have their pluses and minuses at the time, but I felt that I must know for sure, to maintain my sanity. I knew that I didn't want to live inconsistently with what I believed.
I didn't grow up going to church, or having any affinity for spiritual concepts. I cannot remember, as a child, very many people that struck me as sincerely having faith of any kind - let alone accompanying those beliefs with consistent lives. Perhaps my grandparents and great-grandparents had some religious affiliation, but that seemed far removed from my modern world. To be fair, if there were people around me who truly relied upon their faith on a day-to-day basis, they hadn't gone out of their way to discuss it with me.
As a teenager, I began to come into contact with a few people that clearly defined themselves as 'Christians'. I had a teacher in High School that I later came to realize was a sincere believer. She must have felt constrained in her position from being overt with her beliefs, since her influence in this area was always quite low-key and moderate. I had the wonderful opportunity to study writing and literature with her in a one-on-one situation for multiple years. One year, she gave me instruction in the subject of 'World Literature'. We actually read segments from the Penteteuch, in addition to gaining exposure to literature from a wide variety of other cultures and time periods (The Sumerian "Epic of Gilgamesh", Omar Khayyam's "The Rubaiyat", along with poetry and writings of Greece, the Far East, and Africa). It was a fantastic experience, but didn't cause me any great upheavals, as far as my spiritual outlook. Our readings from the Jewish Old Testament probably left me more confused about the Judeo-Christian God than anything else.
I also had a Boy Scout leader who was a professing "Born Again Christian", but his zeal and enthusiasm were, frankly, off-putting. The guys in my Troop also used to joke about this single, 30 something, man being a closet homosexual, so I was probably hesitant to seek special attention from him in terms of asking him private questions about his beliefs. Most importantly, however, I never comprehended what he was trying to communicate about how and why he followed Jesus. He used technical terms to describe God and his system of beliefs that were devoid of any meaning for me. He never tried to contextualize his message or simplify his concepts so that I might have a chance at comprehending. This language barrier became one of the primary struggles in my search for truth.
A third person I met in H.S. that professed to be a Christian was a cute red-headed girl that a buddy introduced me to one night after a Lincoln High football game. She was fun, outgoing, and easy to talk to, in addition to being attractive. I found out in the following months that she was very passionate about her belief in God, and that she read the Bible regularly. She spoke of Jesus as one might a dear friend, and there was no doubt in my mind that she was sincere, even though I thought her misguided or eccentric.
I considered myself a teen aged intellectual, and would try to challenge this girl's beliefs with questions, semantics, and philosophical riddles. Somehow, she took it all in stride. If she didn't know the answer, she honestly told me, but said she'd try to find out more relating to my questions. There was also a confidence on her part that she didn't need to have all the answers. She maintained a quiet assurance on the 'sine qua non', what she viewed as most essential to her faith. This girl was refreshing, intoxicating, and utterly frightening to me. At times, I would try to push her friendship away, because of what she represented to me. Other times, I would try to cause her to compromise, somehow rationalizing that she was wasting her life and that it was my job to make her see that.
Following my accident, the red-haired girl called to let me know that I was in her prayers. It was around this time that I told her that I was fully committing myself to my simple philosophy of seeking pleasure, and avoiding pain. We probably only talked a handful of times the rest of that school year, I think I was trying to avoid her. However, when I needed a date to to my work's Christmas party at the last minute, for some reason she agreed to accompany me. Most importantly though, we didn't come to any agreements over my faith issues. After I graduated (barely) that following June, she quietly went off to California for the summer, and I didn't imagine I'd ever see her again.
Another person that affected my thinking on spiritual things at this time in my life was my dad's 2nd wife. She was a really nice person, and always went out of her way to make me feel special. I was a teenager when my dad married her. As a gesture of our new life together as a family, she volunteered to help me decorate my bedroom in their new house. She got me this cool, funky black-and-white wall paper, which she then helped me hang. We painted one wall jet black, and she bought me some cool black furniture to complete the look. My room became a sanctuary for me in a world of chaos.
One thing that I found interesting about my step-mom, she unabashedly called herself a 'witch', and she usually followed that statement with a tongue-in-cheek cackle. What she meant was that she was a follower of Wicca, and she was very devoted to New Age spiritual teachings. She eventually became an ordained priestess in their organization.
My step-mom would often insist on cooking me a decent breakfast before heading out to school. We would spend an hour or so drinking coffee and talking, being the only two awake in the house- and I craved the attention. One specific conversation sticks out in my mind, and it must have followed a recent discussion with the cute red-headed girl. I asked the witch what she thought about Jesus Christ. My step-mom replied something to this effect, "Jesus was a great teacher who showed us the essence of God. Jesus attained his perfect state of Karma, and showed us how to become gods, just like he did. Most people misunderstand his words and intent, which is unfortunate. You could probably learn something from him, as well as other mystics who came before and after."
I left for school that morning with a renewed sense of interest in Jesus. The witch had a unique perspective that I hadn't heard before. If Jesus could become a god, maybe I could too? I needed to understand more about him, what he taught, what he really believed, and how he lived. This line of thinking sent me on the trail of finding out who Jesus really was. I will pick it up from there in my next installment...
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