I Hated ‘Church People.’ But I Knew I Needed Them
I had been standing in line for more than an hour, waiting to meet a woman whose daughter, my son’s girlfriend, had just died in a car crash.
As I waited, I took a deep breath to keep my emotions in check. Fate had overwhelmed us. My career in finance had just tanked because I was fired as a whistleblower. We were drastically cutting spending and in danger of losing our home. And I was attending my second wake in three weeks.
Nineteen days before Kira died, my other son’s girlfriend, Ashley, had committed suicide. Her funeral was small and sombre. But something remarkable happened. Debbie, a friend of Ashley’s family, had approached my wife and me with kindness. Numerous times, she came over to ask if we or our sons needed any support. In a sea of darkness, Debbie was the only light we saw that day. I was surprised, comforted, and drawn in by her warmth and compassion.
As I walked away, I asked the universe, What is going on here? She just lost her daughter, her best friend, and she wants to care for my son. Who does that?
A few minutes later, Debbie came by again and said, “Hey, you know, our pastor is here. Would you like to meet him?”
My mind split in two. On one side, I thought, No! I don’t meet pastors. I don’t like pastors. I don’t like church people. On the other side, Hmm … something is weird here, and I am curious. If this guy is even half as nice as these two women, maybe I should meet him.
I found my lips forming the words seemingly by themselves: “Sure, that would be fine.”
It turns out Pastor Peter was half as nice and even more than half. He was strong and comforting. And he invited our sons to a new grief group he was starting. I didn’t know how to help my sons, but he did.
On the way home, my wife turned to me and said, “I’m going to start going to church.” It was not a request or an invitation to join her. She knew I hated church. Still, I volunteered to come along.
At the funeral the next day, my wife heard words of life drawn from Scripture, and her memories of going to church as a youth came flooding back to her. She was saved right then and there.
But my unchurched youth and my rebellious spirit locked me in a battle that would rage for months. Sure, I felt something stirring at that funeral and on the ensuing Sunday mornings. But I’m not much of a feeler. I’m a thinker, and foremost in my mind was every argument against Jesus Christ and the Bible.
A few weeks after the funeral, my father-in-law sent me a study Bible in the mail. Again I struggled: Should I read the book I swore I would never read—the book that, in my view, was written by ancient kings to control the masses? I picked it up and said, “God, if you are in this book, I am going to be super upset, because I will have been wrong for 50 years. But I guess … I want to know.” I made the decision to read it, cover to cover.
Soon, God began working in me, changing bad habits and moral failures. Step by step, we worked on improving my character. This went on for two years, as God helped cleanse me of every willful sin in my life, including alcoholism.
During this process, I fell in love. I couldn’t wait to open my Bible each night. Soon, I started talking with God during the day too. He was always with me, encouraging me in my failures and celebrating with me in my victories.
Why, I wondered, had nobody told me I could live like this? I had the God who created everything talking to me personally every time I wanted. And he wanted me to be with him!
It took me 14 months to thoroughly digest the Old Testament. When I got to Malachi, I started getting nervous. I was about to leave my God—the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—to meet Jesus.
By this time, I was meeting every week with my pastor, peppering him with my old arguments. He had also set up a weekly men’s breakfast with strong Christians who could answer my questions and encourage my faith journey.
Yet I was still nervous to meet Jesus. I had learned a good deal about him from people I respected. Weirdly, though, for a left-brained, science-oriented, just-the-facts kind of guy, head knowledge wasn’t enough. I had built a relationship with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; he was my love, my sanctuary, my refuge, my ever-present help in times of trouble.
Imagine my delight, then, when I started reading Matthew and the relationship didn’t change at all! When I got to John and read about the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us, I discovered I’d been talking to Jesus all along.
Also Read:
Devotional
Nehemiah’s Leadership Playbook: Mission
Inspirational
When Dad was Coming Home
Testimonies
Lord I’m Ready Now
