The All-Important “Why” Link to heading
I was at this Christmas lunch with some co-workers the other day, and our conversation turned – through no conscious effort of my own – towards things regarding the Christian faith, and the different terms we use and how they sometimes differ from their biblical definitions. Like “Church” – is it a building, or a group of people following Jesus? Or “Priest”, is that an occupation, something you graduate from seminary to become, or is it a general term including all of God’s people? At some point a colleague noted that “hey, Christian, you seem to be more engaged and deliberate about your faith than most people I know. Why is that?”.
Why indeed?
To paraphrase the end of the Gospel of John, “I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written” if I were to include all my reasons in full.
But I gave him two:
How Jesus Came To Visit Link to heading
As you’ll hear more about in the second story, I was often sick growing up. And at one occasion, I remember quite vividly that I was quite depressed and tired of it all. About 6 years old, I kept jumping down from this stool again and again, wanting nothing more than to just get well or stop existing. And at the same time – though I’m not sure how or why that came to my mind and heart – I remember longing to have my own Bible. Then, perhaps, I could find some consolation and help. Weird theology aside (whose Bible you read is hardly the point!), this was clearly important to me that particular day. And then, that very afternoon, the doorbell rang, and the pastor (which, speaking of terms and biblical definitions, is simply “shepherd” in Latin) of our local Church was standing outside. I greeted him, and ran off to fetch my mom, but he stopped me mid-way. “I’m not here to see your mom, Christian,” he said. “Alright, I’ll get dad, then!”
But he was there to see me. He was often visiting, and always friendly and interested in talking with me. We both loved sparkling water and dinosaurs. But beyond that, I wasn’t expecting him to have unannounced business with me. Without much preamble, he gave me my first real Bible. One that I’m reading daily to this day (though, again, there’s nothing particularly holy or sacred with that particular one – I have many others as well).
Thinking back, though one could argue that this was just random good timing, this event meant something to me. Just like our Pastor, I knew who Jesus was and that he cared about my well-being and all that. But I didn’t expect him to take special interest in me directly. But that evening, it actually felt like he did.
When Jesus Healed Me Link to heading
The second story I told was from my early teens. It goes with the story that I wasn’t just “often sick” growing up; I had an average absence of more than 60% at school. I was, in other words, more often than not too sick to go to school. I had severe allergies, some which I could avoid with great discipline and a portion of luck, some of which were harder to avoid, and probably some unknown ones that could trigger all of a sudden without our understanding why. My parents did their very best to add all sorts of “padding” to my life to make up for my many phases of illness and all the limitations that were forced on me because of my many allergies. My childhood was neither particularly hard or traumatic in any severe way. But suffice it to say, things were far less than ideal.
I had grown to somehow accept the fact that I had these issues, and settled in my heart that Jesus would heal me – but probably not before his second coming. Not something I went around hoping for on a daily basis, in other words.
But then I met these guys and girls. Jesus Freaks, really. Young people from a Bible school who visited our local Church. They didn’t preach a different Gospel or have different theology or any of that. But they had this spark in their eye, and – contrary to what I’d settled on – they expected God to be present, to intervene, to heal, to set free. Like, right now. There’s a lot more to this story, but in the interest of keeping it somewhat linked to how I told it to my colleague the other day: At one point one of them prayed for me to get healed miraculously.
And I was. I saw somehow in my minds eye – I’m at a loss as to how to explain it in clearer terms – lights, or a light. And, strange as it was, it was very clear to me what that meant. Lit candles was one of the things that triggered my allergies. Not the worst (by far!), but in more symbolic terms quite significant: it often kept me from going to Church. When I was planning on going to Church a given Sunday, we had to call in advance and kindly ask them to not light any candles – or I would get really sick. I lost track of how many times someone forgot, and we had to either go back home, or just “take the chance this once” (always with poor results).
So I raced home after that meeting, and lit dozens of candles in my room, put them on a plate floating in water (I thought I was healed from the candle fumes, not that I was somehow fireproof, so best not to burn down the house). And went to sleep.
And for the first time in my life, woke up the next morning as a new person. One who could be in a room with lit candles without getting sick. Jesus had healed me.
And he’s done so many times since, in his kind way. I’m so thankful he did it step-by-step instead of all at once. Every step basically made my joy peak, so giving me all in one go would be a waste.
Today, I’m completely healed. No allergies, no limitations – just gratitude.
There’s more to say Link to heading
These are just two of many “point of no return” experiences that solidify my faith in Jesus. But even if someone took them away (how could they, though?), it’d be too late to erase years of knowing him and spending time with him daily. He’s the foundation on which the rest of my life rests and is built upon. He’s the one I put my hope in. My only hope, really!
I’m utterly screwed without Jesus.