by Dwight Jeffress, Updated Jul 1, 2019
So I wrote on the Validity of Scripture previously, but let's backtrack a little and start this properly with a little background on my Christian experience thus far.
So I wrote on the Validity of Scripture previously, but let's backtrack a little and start this properly with a little background on my Christian experience thus far.
So
this blog was originally started to kind of take some of the
thoughts, ramblings and issues concerning the Church (as a whole),
the Christian life and more importantly looking through the eyes of
one who has taken a journey from Atheism to Organic Christianity
(more on the “organic Church” later).
I
have been a “Christian” for over 20 years. I was an atheist
before that, maybe veering off into Agnosticism once in a while, on a
good day. My family originally was Southern Baptist, from what I
know, there may be some Methodist mixed in there, but I am not sure.
I do know this, we stopped regularly attending church when I was 8
years old, at least that is what I remember. There were multiple
reasons why we stopped going. I know it was a relief for me, because
I really didn't know why I was there, I also, from what I can
remember, didn't know why I had to wear a scratchy suit, a
constricting tie and uncomfortable shiny shoes to a place where
someone droned on an on about something I didn't understand. Yes,
that was my interpretation of the experience at that age.
From
then on after that, I was scared of church and scared of and did not
trust Christians, or in other words anyone who was a church goer and
who proselytized their version of their church. The more passionate
they were about their faith, the more wacko I thought they were. I
always thought they were trying to trick me, or kidnap me off into
some suit wearing legalistic cult thing. I was deathly afraid of my
parents sending me to Vacation Bible School, it was summer and if it
had “School” in it, that was enough to have me not want anything
to do with it.
Really
if it involved dressing up, looking nice and sitting in an
uncomfortable pew for hours on end, I wanted nothing of it. I was
kind of like Huckleberry Finn, in that I spent my summers in cutoff
jean shorts running around my neighborhood in bare feet over gravel,
pavement and mud. Or in front of the TV watching cartoons. I really
loved nature, and mimicking the birds, dogs, cats and squirrels in my
neighborhood. I would also spend a lot of time in my “worlds” I
created and acting them out in the backyard. Those were my fondest
memories of childhood.
In
the late 80's and early 90's I came across several people who tried
to “evangelize” me. Tried to talk to me about Jesus. I always
felt like they wanted something from me, or they wanted something of
me... I felt like they wanted to take away my “freedom” and bind
me in some way, speaking figuratively. Once someone began the
evangelization talk to me, I felt like I was being talked to by a
used car salesman. Really, this is just my interpretation. It was
sneaky, greasy and underhanded. Just my experience.
All
I knew about Jesus was that he was a good guy. There was something
about him being crucified on a cross and buried in a cave, then
magically coming out of that cave, with doves flying around him...
like they did on the Easter morning passion plays. I had seen those
several years in a row.. but really it didn't sink in. Not much did
at that time.... Not only was I clueless, but I was hardheaded too.
That can still apply today at times. Hey, at least I'm honest.
Yes,
I had looked at some churches before, but I had never set foot in one
if I could help it. I had been off and on to some Baptist like
churches. But I never really understood what they were doing or what
they wanted. I once spent the night with a friend, and his family
the next day were going to church, I agreed.. but with great
trepidation and anxiety. It was an Assembly of God church and I was
like 12. That scared the begeebees out of me, their service was much
like what a typical Evangelical service would be like today. Too
much emotion, singing and clapping, holding hands up for this
Asperger kid... I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. I
never went back, nor did I spend the night at his house again.
It
wasn't until I met my future wife, Clare, that I experienced first
hand, or recognized someone who “lived” the Christian life. Now
I will write on this later, but this isn't about being perfect, or
following to the tee a list of rules and regulations. Its about a
tender heart, its about patience, its about love. Those were the
weapons that broke down the cold steel fortifications that were
around my heart. Those were the tender words that debunked my human
secularist arguments, it was that way of “living” that
transformed me and brought me to Christ in 1992. My future wife was
the first “evangelist” that had finally gotten through to me.
Now let's not forget that there were some others who in my life
either who displayed Christ to me, or spoke “tender words”, but I
was just too stubborn, just too cold and really just too angry to
hear what they were saying.
Nevertheless,
I realized Christ had been pursuing me for my entire life, and finally He had gotten though to me the way he gets
through to everyone, by Love.
When
we first started dating, my future wife, then girlfriend, Clare,
asked me several times to go to church with her. I told her I didn't
do things like that. I remember having a conversation, like we
always did about Jesus. I told her, that if God wanted me to go to
Hell, that's His decision and I probably deserve it. I was quite
happy with being damned, if there was a God and if that was what was to
happen to me then so be it. I didn't have a very good view of myself in the
first place. She persisted, at times pleading with me to go to
church. I told her to knock it off, and she then never spoke of it
again.
I'm
not sure what happened over the subsequent months, maybe it was her
loving example. Maybe it was because she didn't bring up to me going
to church with her anymore. Maybe it was people praying for me, or
more likely a combination of all of the above. I finally asked her
one day, “Hey, when you going to church, I would like to go with
you”, and, as miracles would have it, I went to church with her.
The
thing about the Roman Catholic Church, is that it is calm, its
reverent, its peaceful, its orderly and its definitely not crazy
chaotic. At that time that was probably just what I needed. Calm,
orderly, logical. To jump ahead a few months I converted to
Catholicism of my own volition. I did not convert because anyone
told me I had to, it was my choice. And I felt Jesus calling me, in the way I understood at that time. I needed to do it.
I
still remember that specific Day when Jesus “spoke “ to me. No
it wasn't an audible voice, though it certainly could have been if He
wanted it so. It was Midnight Mass, of 1992, I think. It was the
infant narrative in the Gospel of Luke. It was when I heard what
amounted to the Creator and Sovereign Lord of the universe, being born
in a stable with farm animals around and was laid in a feeding
trough. That was what got me. The new born Son of God was wrapped
in old rags, and laid in animal fodder. That's what captured my
attention. I can literally tell, it was like my mind opened and I
could finally see. It was like the blind man in scripture whose
scales fell from his eyes after Jesus removed his blindness and he exclaimed “I can see”. It was
almost like I could see it all fall into place and I finally
understood. That was my conversion, or rather, that was “God
drawing me to Himself”. My future wife lived out her faith in
front of me, she showed me patience, love and a sincere caring. But
it was God who finally called me to Himself and I heard, with tears
streaming down my face. It was that night as we headed back to her
parents house, she was driving, and I told her I wanted to convert to
Roman Catholicism. I will never forget her reaction. It was excited, amazed and shocked. I am surprised she didn't wreck her car. This hard
hardhearted, hot headed, stubborn, angry, human secularist,
atheistic, punk wanted to be baptized and live his life for Jesus.
That in and of itself was a miracle. See those are the miracles that
happen every day, as God calls generations of children back to
Himself. That is the miracle of Jesus.
