Reformed SHEology

My senior year of high school was a depressing time. My relationship with Jason was officially over. As a symbol of my "independence," I cut off all my hair. I wanted people to think I didn't care, but I was absolutely devastated. The grief over losing my best friend was magnified by the increasing pressure to devote my life to meaningless activities, like playing the French Horn. I was talented. But if I was going to live a mere projected seventy years, I wanted my brief life to make an impact on humanity. Playing the horn would not suffice. What I really wanted be was a writer.

I once wrote a story about a very talented young girl who was admired by all, but because she saw no reason for her existence, she committed suicide. Nobody found the body for four days.That final school year I found comfort and solace in various existential writers and poets. They were able to articulate the extreme sense of despair that I felt, and gave me the sense that I was not alone in the way I was feeling. I began to record my own thoughts in a journal I was required to keep for English class. Nearly every single page of that journal reflected just how deeply in bondage to existentialism I had become. For example, I once wrote a story about a very talented young girl who was admired by all, but because she saw no reason for her existence, she committed suicide. Nobody found the body for four days. I still have that journal.

I wrote each entry knowing my English teacher would be reading. These days, the things I had written would have earned me a psych eval. But back then, my stories earned me an A accompanied by phrases like, "Brilliant!" or, "You have such an amazing talent!" It just made me more depressed.

In the Fall of 1992, I entered college as a Theatre Arts major. I figured this was the best way to make an impact on humanity. Theatre Arts allowed me writing opportunities, but also the chance to live out my pain and frustration through my characters. Plus, the greatest existentialists of the 20th century were not self-proclaimed philosophers, but rather, playwrights. I thought a good start would be to follow in their footsteps. So I started taking classes.

In January 1993, I befriended a girl in my "Musical Theatre Technique" class. Her name was Amy, and she noticed I was wearing a cross around my neck. Amy asked me if I had a Christian background. "Well," I said, "I'm Catholic." I certainly wasn't going to tell her the truth: that I was a tortured soul grieving my own mortality. Amy invited me to church, but I flatly refused, explaining that I vowed I would never set foot in a church again. So Amy backed off a bit and asked if I'd settle for studying the Bible with her. I immediately accepted her offer: "I have always wanted to see for myself what the Bible had to say about life, but I just couldn't understand it." We agreed to meet for lunch after our next class. I had no idea what was about to happen to me.

We met in the student lounge. Amy began by asking me, "Why did Jesus die?" I scoffed at the question. "That's easy!" I said. "To pay for our sins." (If there was one phrase I had memorized from my Catholic upbringing, that was it.)

"Okay," she said. "Do you know what that means?" This is where I became a bit embarrassed and admitted that I did not know what that meant. "In fact," I told Amy, "I"ve been asking that question since I was eight years old." So the next thing Amy asked me was if I had ever read the Bible.

When I was ten years old, I asked my parents for a Bible for Christmas, but I didn't get one. My Aunt Barbara had given me an illustrated Children's Bible the following year, and I began reading it from the first page of Genesis. I thought I had to read the Bible all the way through, like a regular book. Even though it was a children's Bible, I still got bogged down around Kings. I never made it to the New Testament. But amazingly enough, I had read just enough to set off a chain reaction with Amy years later.

With no prior knowledge of how much I had read, Amy asked me, "Do you remember the animal sacrifices that were performed in the Old Testament?" I said I did. Then Amy said the magic sentence: "Well, that's why Jesus is called the Lamb of God."

At that moment, something happened. I felt as though something inside my soul had burst wide open.At that moment, something happened. I felt as though something inside my soul had burst wide open. Amy kept talking. I saw her lips moving but I couldn't hear what she was saying. My mind was flooded with enlightenment. Lyrics to Christmas songs suddenly made sense. "Born to raise the sons of earth! Born to give them second birth! Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the new born King!" It was as though my entire life was all a bad dream, and I had just woken up. "Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till He appeared, and the soul felt its worth!" I suddenly felt as though all the secrets of the universe had been revealed to me. As my brain was making the connection between Old and New Testaments, I finally understood why it was called The Greatest Story Ever Told.

At the time, I wasn't exactly sure I knew what was happening to me. But I was born again on the spot. No Ten Commandments, no mention of what a sinner I was or my need to repent. I did not make a decision, I did not say a prayer. In fact I was quite passive the entire time. All Amy did was correlate Jesus to the sacrificial systems in the Old Testament. I had become a new creature. I had miraculously been given the answer to my most pressing question and I was filled with so much wonder I had no choice but to throw myself at His feet. Life suddenly had meaning. There was a purpose to all of this!

Later that night, I opened the Bible Amy gave me and read the New Testament until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I read from Matthew straight through Galatians. I finally turned out the light at 3am, unwillingly.

I woke the next morning, acutely aware that His presence was filling the room. He had always been there. I just didn't see Him until now. Then I remembered something I read the night before:

"Unless a man be born again, he cannot see the Kingdom of God."
"Unless a man be born again, he cannot see . . . "

I can see.

I can see!

I CAN SEE!!!!!

And with that, I began Day 2 of my new life in Christ.

In preparation for our theme of the month, I surfed the internet a bit and came across an article by J.T. Webb entitled Existential Depression in Gifted Individuals. I can pretty much stop here and just have you read the article. It describes my adolescence with frightening accuracy, particularly with regard to interpersonal relationships. Webb states: "Isolation recognizes that no matter how close we become to another person, a gap always remains, and we are nonetheless alone." No example from my adolescence could illustrate this concept better than my high school romance.

ACT I: 1988-1990
Jason and I became fast friends early in the 1988-1989 school year. Toward the end of that same year, Jason passed me a note. "Jen, I really like you and I want to ask you to be my girlfriend," it read. That was the start of a whirlwind romance that would continue for the next two years.

Jason was the sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful, sensitive, and compassionate human being I had ever met in my fifteen years on earth. (Hands down, his best quality was his generosity.) The more time I spent with Jay, the more I came to realize what a beautiful person he was. There was also a lot of chemistry between us that was difficult to ignore. We were so deeply enmeshed. We did everything together. Life was perfect - until my existentialism started interfering with the relationship.

Despite the fact that I was incredibly happy and I would even venture to say I was in love with Jason, I was simultaneously miserable. I knew my happiness was based on conditional circumstances. It was painful to think that Jay would eventually be taken from me in one of two ways: either he and I would one day cease to be friends anymore, or we'd be together for the rest of our lives and then simply die. The heightened awareness that I would surely lose the one person who meant everything to me was unbearable. Coupled with everything else that was happening in tenth grade, I felt I was going to crack under the pressure. I didn't want to end it, but I needed out.

He never saw it coming. Tears welled up in his eyes. He asked why, but I couldn't give him a straight answer. How could I? What was I supposed to say? "I can't see you anymore because I'm having a midlife crisis 30 years earlier than expected?" I assumed if I was going to eventually lose the only person who meant anything to me, it might as well be now. I couldn't see any point in postponing the inevitable.

ACT II: 1990-1991
After about six months, I recanted my original decision. Jason was my best friend. He was also, in a sense, my only friend. In spite of my belief that everything was pointless, I wanted to restore this relationship. I didn't have all the answers, but I thought I'd figure them out along the way. I reached out to Jay in the summer of 1990. By November, we were an item again. I promised myself that this time, I was going to really let him in and be honest about my existential struggle. I just wasn't sure how to do this.There is a profound sense of emptiness that accompanies the idea that any intimacy you shared with a person was all a smokescreen to begin with.

I started by dropping hints here and there. I tried to start philosophical conversations, hoping he'd bite, but nothing. Then one day, I purchased a gift for him that symbolized everything that was festering inside me: it was a religious pendant. This was more than a gift. This was a gesture on my behalf that said, "Please see me for who I am, and all that I am wrestling with in my heart! I am desperately searching for meaning and I want you to know me! I want you to know the real me!"

When I gave it to him, he took one look at it and laughed. "This is the ugliest thing I've ever seen!" he exclaimed. He asked me to take it back. I know Jason didn't mean to hurt me, but I still felt humiliated and rejected. Looking back, I can say in Jason's defense the pendant was pretty ugly. He was just a boy of 15. He didn't understand the things that kept me awake at night. He wasn't even aware that I wrestled with such issues. At that moment, I realized he would never understand me. I feared perhaps nobody would. Webb states:

When gifted children try to share these concerns with others, they are usually met with reactions ranging from puzzlement to hostility. They discover that others, particularly of their age, clearly do not share these concerns, but instead are focused on more concrete issues and on fitting in with others' expectations. Often . . .these youngsters . . . feel isolated from their peers . . . as they find that others are not prepared to discuss such weighty concerns.

There is a profound sense of emptiness that accompanies the idea that any intimacy you shared with a person was all a smokescreen to begin with. Jay was in love with the person who was responsible for all my high school achievements. But the person I truly was underneath was a complete stranger to him. It was becoming more and more obvious with time that we had two separate worldviews that were diametrically opposed. Then one day we had a terrible argument that ended it all, and we completely stopped speaking to one another.

EPILOGUE
Two and a half years after that awful day, I broke the silence when I approached Jason and told him I had become a Christian. He looked at me with a hint of disdain in his eyes and said, "Oh, so you're into all that religion @&#*!" My heart broke for him. I tried to explain to him that my faith was not a religion, but he didn't understand, nor did he care.

I saw him once more, six years after that conversation. His father had passed away, and God had placed me in the right place at the right time. I went to the memorial service, got up in front of about 300 people, and shared the gospel. It was terrifying, but I'm glad I did it. That was nine years ago, and I haven't seen Jason since. It may have been my last chance to share the gospel with him.

Sometimes, I believe God brings us through seasons so we can preach His Word with authority later. If I had not been so close to the family for those three years or so, I would not have been able to establish the credibility I needed to get up in front of all those people that day. I even had several complete strangers approach me afterward to thank me for what I had shared. As for Jason, he appeared both surprised and deeply touched by my compassion. After the memorial service, he could not say anything to me other than "Thank you so much for coming! I can't believe you came! I just can't believe you came!" I don't know how much of an impact the gesture had on him, but I pray God was glorified.

In my time as a Christian, I have come to learn that I do not need to work hard to be known or understood. The Bible says that God searches the hearts. My identity, meaning, and purpose is constant in Him. Friends may come, friends may go, but The Lord has never abandoned me. I have also come to learn that even though nothing on earth lasts, God has given us our blessings to enjoy while we're here, and we are not to mourn the end of those things. Still, a part of me mourns for Jason. While it saddens me to think he never knew or understood the real me, worse is the thought that he doesn't know or understand the real God. There is a desire to reach out and do more, but God has asked me to entrust Him with Jason's life and to simply pray for him instead. I still think of him every year on his birthday and pray that one day he will be born again.

I have been praying for Jason nearly sixteen years . . .

Since this month's theme is "Testimony," I thought I'd take a break from my own story and share the fascinating testimony of a dear brother in Christ, Jim Jones. Jim had plans of starting his own coven just before The Lord saved him. Here is Jim's story, in his own words:

You've probably noticed, choosing a man that has grown up with the name of an infamous cult leader and calling him to evangelism shows our Lord has a sense of irony.

I was raised going to a Seventh-Day Adventist church, because that is what my family did. I also attended private church-run schools up through and including two years of college, where I gained a fair amount of knowledge in scripture and religion. I even studied for the ministry. However, a walk with a church as opposed to a walk with Christ wasn't enough to sustain me. Eventually, I turned away and took a path that lead into drugs, the occult and other dark shadows.

I practiced Wicca as a solitaire for about three years. I flatly tell the Christians that think witchcraft and such are just make believe, they're very mistaken. Things happened! I read Tarot cards, and from what both friends and strangers told me the readings were disturbingly accurate. Later, my wife & I joined a Druid grove where I initiated and became an understudy to the high priest. I went deeper into circle work, rituals and spell craft. When we moved to Oregon, it was my full intention to start a new coven or grove here.

Looking back, I don't dwell on it too much, because I don't want to glorify the enemy or give the demonic more attention than it is due. Praise God that our Savior redeems! I believe He permitted that experience so that I can witness and relate to a group and counter culture that most of the church either writes off or is outright frightened of. As Joseph told his brothers... "what you meant for evil, God has used for good."

God took hold of me on February 29th, 2004. I was broken and sobbing; stripped of my self-righteousness. I realized the crimes I’d committed against God’s holy law. I’d lied, stolen, lusted, blasphemed His holy name and more. I deserved His wrath and judgment, and justice meant Hell. There was nothing I could do. I finally understood what Jesus had done, and it changed everything. As I faced the Judge of the Universe, Christ stepped in and paid the fine I could never hope to with His precious blood. I stood there, undeserving at the foot of the cross. I gave it all over to Him, and He handed back mercy and grace.

When I finally surrendered and passed through the narrow gate of repentance, other doors also swung open. Christ brought a teaching called Hell’s Best Kept Secret across my path. As I listened to it, I felt a missing puzzle piece fall into place. A spark of evangelism came to life and the Lord fanned it into a flame.

With the support of my wife, Kelly, I’ve begun a ministry of street witnessing and open air preaching. I'm a graduate of the School of Biblical Evangelism, and have also become the leader of a local evangelism team. Evangelism isn’t just a priority – it’s a necessity. The more I read of my Bible, I just can’t see it any other way. People are dying and souls are going to Hell.

This is my guiding scripture...

For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but wanting to have their ears tickled, they will accumulate for themselves teachers in accordance to their own desires, and will turn away their ears from the truth and will turn aside to myths. But you, be sober in all things, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry. 2nd Timothy 4:3-5 (NASB)

Evangelism is one of the values of Reformed SHEology. It is so important that we share the gospel with those who are perishing. I know I am a Christian today because someone shared the gospel with me. For this reason, I am thankful for Jim's faithfulness to the lost. In light of the stories I've shared so far this month concerning my own battle with existentialism, and the heightened awareness I have that the only work that lasts is that which is done for the Kingdom, Jim's ministry has taken on a heightened significance for me today.

You see, at approximately 1:27pm (PST) yesterday afternoon, Jim was hit by a truck while riding his bicycle. He is now at home with Jesus.

Jim leaves behind his wife, Kelly, and their two daughters, Holly and Willow. But he also leaves behind a legacy of fulfilling the Great Commission. When I think of the lives Jim has touched, and the souls who have heard the gospel as a result of his dedication to preaching the Word, I cannot help but rejoice. I will admit I am grieving the loss of a faithful brother who I could always count on to give me godly advice. But as a former existentialist, who once woke every morning wondering why I should bother with life at all, I am actually encouraged.

Yesterday, I was actually thinking to myself that perhaps my posts this month are a little too depressing for our readers. But today I am reminded that this blog is written for the audience of One. Apart from Christ, life has no meaning. In Him we find our identity. We find our consistency in a changing and uncertain world. We find our security and hope. And in Him we find our life, because HE CONQUERED THE GRAVE!!

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.(1 Corinthians 15:55-58)

Friends, we are not promised tomorrow. Let's make today count for eternity, while we still can.


PRECIOUS IN THE SIGHT OF THE LORD IS THE DEATH OF HIS SAINTS.
Psalm 116:15