Sorry

One of the hardest things about being a Christian is learning to derive satisfaction from misfortune. Sometimes we are called on to do that. I was listening to Brother Andrew last night, and although I don’t remember exactly what he said, he pointed out that persecution is normal, and that we are told to be glad when it happens, because we will be rewarded for it. I suppose that principle applies to all types of mistreatment. When someone does you wrong or lets you down, and you end up holding the bag, you have to remember that it’s best to take one for the team instead of flipping out or looking for payback, and you have to remember that what has happened is actually a blessing and an opportunity, provided you handle it right.

Sometimes I manage to react the right way, and sometimes I don’t. Okay, a LOT of times, I don’t. But I’m more conscious of my obligation than I used to be, so I suppose things will improve.

This is a prime example of what is meant by “walking in faith.” Christianity calls on us to do things that are counterintuitive and appear counterproductive, but if God is real, He must be watching, and surely He is going to back us up and watch over us. That’s what Brother Andrew believed when he drove his VW into communist countries. There is faith of the mind, and then there is faith expressed in action, and if I understand things right, the latter is much better. It’s what enabled Abraham to hold a knife to the throat of the only son he had had by his one true love–the son through whom the promises of God had to be fulfilled–whom she bore, though infertile, when she was about 90.

How did I get off on this tangent? Might as well run with it.

There are so many counterintuitive obligations in Christianity. You have to give generously to strangers, which is something most unbelievers would consider irresponsible. You have to honor your parents, no matter how awful or how wrong they may be. In order to fully live, you have to count yourself dead to the world. You have to turn down opportunities other people would kill for. So often, you will be asked to do things which would be absolutely crazy, if not for the presumptions that God is there, and that He’ll make it work out.

I experienced this a long time ago, when I went to Israel. Got off the plane on a Friday. No idea how to get to the kibbutz where I thought Aaron was staying. A cab driver offered me a ride, and I hopped right in. He fed me some nonsense about how it was impossible to get a bus on Friday, and he said he would have to drive me to the kibbutz for about sixty bucks. And we would have to go convert some money first. Fine. I had this idea that God wanted me there, so I didn’t worry. We talked as he drove, and I told him how excited I was to be in Israel, and he had an attack of conscience, took me back to Tel Aviv, and put me on a bus for Afula.

I got to the kibbutz. Aaron was gone. It was Friday afternoon. I had nowhere to stay. Now what? They said they had a volunteer shack with an empty bed. So I got free room and board for the night, and I roomed with a guy from Brooklyn who was making aliyah. This guy had completely thrown away his life in New York, so he could become an Israeli citizen and be rewarded with two years in the IDF. I had a great time getting to know him.

Went to Jerusalem. Found Aaron’s shul. Surprised him while he was davening in his Clockwork Orange Purim outfit. Got to join in the Purim festivities. How many Gentiles get to do that? Found a hostel. Went to Tel Aviv and checked in with the Kibbutz Aliyah people–the ones who placed volunteers. Got a spot at a great kibbutz, right next door to the one where Aaron had stayed.

I just didn’t worry, and although I was an even worse Christian than I am now, things worked out and worked out and worked out. I suppose I should have kept it up when I got home. Faith has a kind of momentum to it. If you keep exercising it, it’s not hard to keep it working, but if you stop for a while, it’s hard to start up again. It’s probably easier to go on two missions with no break, than it is to do it with a big hiatus where you sit by the pool and rest up and forget what living by faith was like.

I can’t believe I’ve written all this. I was trying to write a short introduction to a topic, and that topic is persecution. While I was Googling around last night, I came across a site about the persecution of Christians. I thought I should link to it; you might want to see how Christians are being mistreated in other countries. The site is called Persecution.org, and you can probably guess the URL. Coincidentally, a reader emailed me about another site, which is called Persecution.com. It belongs to an organization that smuggles Bibles. I don’t know how reputable it is, but you can always check Charitywatch and Charity Navigator and Wikipedia. If there is anything wrong with a Christian nonprofit, you better believe a liberal will post it on Wikipedia.

As long as I’m rambling, I may as well mention one of the experiences that makes it impossible for me to give up my beliefs. I guess you’ll think I’m nuts, but if you’ve been reading this blog for more than a week and you DON’T think I’m nuts, you haven’t been paying attention.

It was January or February of the year after I went to Israel. I had college friends in Milwaukee. I was staying with my grandparents in Kentucky while I worked at a bar and tried to find a real job. My friends invited me to Milwaukee for a few days of drunkenness, and I snapped at the bait. I got in the ’70 two-and-a-quarter convertible and hit the road. Spent the whole time unbelievably drunk and enjoyed myself. That’s how I was.

I started driving home, over the frozen highways. I believe I was somewhere near Indianapolis when it happened. I had a sensation which was consistent with what I later heard about panic attacks. For no reason whatsoever, a feeling came over me, and I was absolutely positive I was going to die that day. I wasn’t depressed. I was looking forward to traveling. But I had this feeling anyway. I knew I was going to die, more surely than I knew anything else in the world. So I pulled over to pray.

The craziest thing happened. While I was praying, something got in the car with me. Something I could not see. Suddenly, it was on the front seat beside me, in the middle of the seat. It was not inside me; it was very clear that it was just to my right. I could have put my hand within the area it filled and known when my hand was inside it. It was full of love and assurance and peace and warmth. It was a person. It had come to defend me. And while it was there, I realized I was going to be all right. While this person was with me, trouble could not be present, and I could not be harmed. That sums it up.

I have never been able to explain it. I can’t explain why I got upset to begin with. I don’t know why my problem was so important that it justified a manifestation like this. Was I really going to die? I had no reason to think so, and I knew that at the time, even while the feeling had me in its grip.

Afterward, I had the feeling that this was a visit from Jesus Himself. I don’t know why I had that impression. I suppose it could have been explained by an angel or the Holy Spirit, but that isn’t how it seemed to me, and I can’t tell you why.

It didn’t change my life instantly; this wasn’t a Spielberg movie. I didn’t swear off drinking. The visitor didn’t heal my warts or tell me the name of the next Pope. It just came and helped, and I went on with my life. The great value of the experience wasn’t that it suddenly made me a perfect Christian, or that it convinced me that I needed to change. The value was that I had one more inescapable peg to hang my faith on.

Experiences like this are why I think of myself as a prisoner of faith. They explain why I have no patience with people who make intellectual arguments, claiming they prove God doesn’t exist. Don’t even talk to me about it. I just don’t want to hear it. You might as well tell me my shoes don’t exist. People have called me dismissive. Well, if you want to see “dismissive,” try to hand me a stale argument you heard from some smart aleck atheist professor when you were in college. Don’t even waste my time. I may not be a great Christian, but I’m not an idiot, either. “There is suffering in the world, and God is supposed to be all-powerful, and God is supposed to be good, so how can He exist?” You know what? I will ask Him when I see Him. Right now, I don’t care in the slightest, and I am not impressed by the question. It’s not my problem. And when you waste your time trying to prove God doesn’t exist, you are only making trouble for yourself and your family.

Maybe I shouldn’t write about Christianity. Aaron says a man shouldn’t be a rabbi unless he has reached a certain age and had children. There is no way I would hold myself out as an example for anyone to follow. I am not an authority. I am not a scholar. I am sure I would not be a good role model. Still, as long as no one thinks more of me than they should, I think relating my experiences can be helpful.

That’s all I feel like saying. Take it as you will.