I would love to be an Atheist, to rid my life of the complication that comes with Faith. At times, I feel like I am only a step away from this reality. It would then be easier to take responsibility for my past, and my present, rather than using something divine as an easy go-to in deflection. I would have to actually face life rather than using God as an excuse for my non-participation. I would be forced to hold myself fully accountable for my actions. There would be no room for “What ifs?” or “Is it all true?” No fate, no predestination, and no angels or demons would exist to sway me. There would merely be the path I have chosen and my feet to lead the way. It is attractive, the idea of being this way. Unfortunately, my experiences, my spirit, and most importantly my mind, cannot abandon all I have come to understand. I recognize there is more to this world than I know but it seems that I cannot find a trace of it. Somehow I manage to still believe, even if I have nothing to really believe in. I continue to engage, to try. No matter what has come to be, I just can’t shake Jesus.

“They are darkened in their understanding and separated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them due to the hardening of their hearts.”

(Ephesians 4:18, NIV)

            I am not a Christian. I used to be but I gave it up for Lent. I do not believe Jesus was God incarnate. I do not believe in the tenets of the Faith, nor do I believe Christianity is an exclusive club of people elected to heaven because of their religious association with the Christ. I do not believe the Bible is an infallible transcript of the Word of God.  I do believe that scripture contains something more than mere words. It is more a guide than an instruction manual. While not necessarily a map to our salvation, it can assist us if we use it correctly. I suppose it is how one applies scripture that will determine whether the essence of its teachings are being followed. It is rather important that one does not practice what one preaches, but rather preaches what one practices. Regardless of the truths I have acknowledged in the Judeo-Christian tradition, the security, the guarantees promised to the fold of the Christian Messiah never really took root in my adult sensibilities. Frankly, I've never really been sure what to believe. I know I believe in God. I have sensed Him in Spirit and I have tried to see Him in the Light. Even in the tunnel, He turned me away. Despite everything I have learned, and all I realize I am unable to know, I cannot ignore my own witness. No matter how I have struggled to put such things as this behind me, they seem inescapable. The further I try to walk away, the louder they call out to me. I see no vision, no ghostly expression, it is all within my mind and soul. I know it is real, for me. It is an emotional state, a feeling I get, not just some  observation or rational conclusion. There is a connection that, so far, has no end.

            I tend to view Jesus as an archetype, the original foundation which Christian history, and dogma, views as authoritative. He is a Divine reference point for those who were born in a certain place and a certain time. As with Buddha, or Mohammed, mankind seems to need a figurehead to look towards for guidance. It is usually a projection of the way we already think, or at least have been told to. Most of the time we are so lacking, unable to do anything but follow blindly. We need someone to think for us and to act for us. We then have no responsibility for what we have done ourselves. A god is created in an “image” in order to clarify, to validate and to moderate us. Mankind, of course, has never been afraid to follow something that holds promise, despite any realization of the damage it can and will do. There is something off-putting about it. I’m not much for Religion. One of the few things God hates is religion. While I will concede it does good for many, I will also argue it does many no good. Often the very centre of religious thought can drive a person to insanity. Sometimes great men of God, born-again and bubbly, will take to arms, striking down their supposed enemy in some personal, or esoteric, pseudo-Jihad. So many people have fallen in the name of god that it can be hard to believe He is there at all, let alone listening, responding and interacting with the human race. I can’t help but wonder if He ever cared at all, considering His “from a distance” approach to mankind. Historical proof of Jesus aside, is He with us at all?

            There have been many times I have failed to understand any need I have to keep Jesus in my life. I often wish He would just go away. I have never comprehended why I just can’t move on completely. I want to and He hates me so I don’t get why I allow myself to linger in this misery. He is etched in my make-up, at least it would seem so. He is carved in stone. I have fallen away from any proposed dogma and contrived exegesis regarding my Lord but I have not given up completely. I carry Him around like a key, dangling with all the others on a ring made of absurdities. My faith is warped but I still own it. I do not believe I have a choice. I am His servant, having been born to a Christian experience rather than a Jewish one, or a Sikh one. It is almost as if I am supposed to trust that God placed me in my reality, versus another, and it is against this setting that my life is measured. How does one measure? How can one be sure there is something more? How can one confirm that God is working in the life they lead? Is there a way to affirm all this praying, and doing, means anything at all? Is this all just hyperbole? Are we out of our minds? Why do we, as a people, continue to question and continue to ponder despite silence from heaven above? How can we be sure? For this labelled sinner, the answer is simple. The proof is in the pudding.

“A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants.  Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop, a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.”
(Matthew 13: 3b-8, NIV)

            In June of 1995, approximately 5 months after my suicide attempt in the frozen Stratford cemetery, I was contacted by the Catholic Diocese of London, Ontario regarding the event. From what I understood, one of the health care workers from my time of recuperation had contacted the Church in order to share my story of survival. A Priest contacted me and asked for an interview regarding what had happened. He was primarily interested in the phenomena I experienced and the lack of affect to my physical shell. I have to admit I was more than interested in this turn of events. I myself wished greater understanding, and clarity, and agreed to meet in the hopes I would finally have a few answers and some spiritual resolution. He was miracle hunting. There was never any question that something strange had happened to me. No matter how anyone tried to rationalize, or minimize, the event, I just could not find their conclusions acceptable. So much from that night is unexplained. Not one person, in all these years, has been able to explicate the events, or lack thereof. While I have learned there are some things we are not meant to understand, still, when science can tell us the age of a maggot on a corpse and therefore conclude time of death, one would assume it should be more than able to define my experience or, minimally, confirm what did or did not happen to me that night and into the next day.

            The Priest started with the physical evidence. I told him about the Valium and how I made sure to take them on an empty stomach. I explained how I dropped all 100 x 10 mg little blue buttons as if they were Tic Tacs. We discussed the 15 hours I spent in the cold. From 9 p.m. on Sunday, the 19th of February, until around noon the next day, I laid in the snow, exposed to the winter and -7 degrees Celsius. I noted the lack of covering I took with me into the dark. He questioned me with great interest, focusing on the absence of consequence to me physically. No frostbite, not even a little frost burn was found upon my body at its discovery, or later at the hospital. Although it took me two days to wake up, no evidence of any other side effect, from the Valium or the act, could be found. It was almost as if I had done nothing at all. We talked about the tunnel and we talked about the light. I explained the two figures cloaked in the bright. I explained how my late partner, or something resembling him, had left his place, and the other frame, and took me to safety. He seemed unsurprised when I revealed Doug’s words to me. He told me how common they were in these phenomena. I watched him write it down word for word: “You cannot come, it is not your time.” At the time, I had no idea about the Near Death Experience, but I learned quickly that these types of occurrences happen with great frequency. He informed me that my experience, including what he called “interference healing”, were not uncommon throughout history and our modern world.

            Although I later decided not to continue with this exploration, the initial investigation did act as a catalyst for my decisive study of Christianity. While that Priest passed away in 2007, and despite never seeing him again, that initial meeting helped to change my way of critical thinking. He revealed to me a great opportunity. He told me that my example could stand for others to gain strength from, and like with the second figure in my NDE, most often it is not about the who, or how, but rather the why. Anything else would be up to me. He offered me not one single answer. He never led me to one place or another in my searching. The only thing he laid claim to was that if God was not a part of what had happened, then why did it seem He was? He made it clear to me that although I may never be sure, perhaps I was supposed to believe it was Jesus. Maybe all my questions had already been answered. Maybe it was Him.

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.” (Philippians 4:8, NIV)

            Most days I feel like I’m swimming in a quagmire. For me, the only proof I need of something more is my continuing existence. I should have been dead years ago, but I continue to thrive. I am a testament that there are actual zombies, in one form or another. I am the walking dead. I am painfully aware of my human imperfection. I am still all I have ever been, but I am not buried in who I am not. I still get angry, I still screw up. I still doubt and question and, many days, even curse God in heaven. Jesus, most often, pisses me off. I get incensed when He seems to ignore what His followers are saying and doing to those not included in His kingdom. In all my years, I have never witnessed any form of Divine Justice. I look around and see how Christianity, and almost all forms of religion, cause more conflicts than they solve. I do not understand why something so powerful as a god, doesn’t just simply fix the problem instead of letting it linger, century after century. Scripture claims that God is with us but His actions seem rather lacking, if you ask me. Should not a personal God actually interact with people rather than resorting to ambiguous condescension? This raises a very revealing question, where is God when you need Him the most?

            For years, I went looking for answers in many other directions. I believed that in trying to get away from Jesus, and all that Christianity entails, would lead me to a better place, a more Holy space. In the end, I did not need to abandon everything I had been taught. Jesus’ example, the essence of His message, was underlying in almost every other faith or belief system that I encountered. They all say the same things, just from a very  different point of view. The universal truths contained therein are wrapped in cultural perspective, but they contain the same substance. It really comes down to the Golden Rule. The Priest was correct. I did not need to go looking elsewhere when the answers were right in front of me. Why would anyone beg on a street corner if they have money in the bank? Why would anyone buy a dozen roses if they have 12 bushes blooming in their very own front yard? I was stuck in needless suffering. All the time, what I was looking for, I had already found. It is this example and His true message I cannot escape. These simple ideas represent the epitome of grace and mercy. It is because of when and where I was born that He is my concierge, even though so many other faiths, at base, teach the same things. It is so simple, just like God’s love for us. It is not conditioned. It does not hold favour. There is no in-crowd and it has nothing to do with religion.

            Jesus came to abolish religion. He came to set us free, not restrict us, regardless of His statements to the contrary (Matthew5:17). Just because someone goes to Church, or claims they are born again, or even that they read the Bible, doesn’t make them a Christian or a child of the one true god. Just because someone believes they see does not mean they have seen the whole picture. Believing you have vision does not always make it so. People should know you are a child of God by your actions, your “fruit of the spirit”, not by your claims or labels or formulas (Galatians5:22-23). Just because you bought a leather jacket on the weekend does not automatically make you a member of the Hell’s Angels. Religion can be destructive. Religion is often dubious. It tends to feed those it merits as saved, while the sinner goes hungry. It is exclusive. It does not preach what it practices. Religion is like trying to put makeup on someone who has been cremated; there is not a lot to work with. You have to go with what makes sense rather than trying to make sense as you go. Find your otherland.

“So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets” (Matthew 7:12, NIV).

            Every day that I wake up, I recognize how fortunate I am to have this life, thorns and all. Who knew a zombie could have such soul within? I still sin. I still hurt. I am still just some lost soul trying desperately to make his way. The manner, in my mind, through which I achieved a relationship with God was by letting go of religion, in all its forms, and embracing the only message that qualifies as legitimately from a loving, benevolent God. He is not a reward for the worthy, but rather He is hope for the unworthy. We all, most certainly, are that. I have come around full circle. I have quality and substance throughout my life. My relationship with Jesus may have greatly changed but it seems more intact now than it has ever been. I don’t give heed to all the commentary about Him any more than I do to the weight of a feather. I have a relationship, even if it is one-sided. I recognize my experience is set in my reality and within my ability to understand. I was put here, in this place and time. All I need to worry about, regardless of all the words men of God toss about, is to love God and others (John 13:34). The rest is all commentary. While I am certain most things will pass, I am often still stuck in quicksand. The fact that I continue to trudge on is proof worth consumption. I do not worry that I may have lost my way. I am not a Christian, but then again, neither was Jesus.