Penchansky’s Twilight of the Gods: Polytheism in the
Hebrew Bible was the
first book in my new journey. It was
exhilarating. I was reading things about
my Bible that I never could have imagined.
Polytheism? The Bible has more
than one god? Absolutely – Penchansky
just had to show me where to look, and I definitely found that polytheism is in
there. Inconceivable! I was not convinced by everything Penchansky
or anybody else said for the sake of it being counter to anything I had known
before. But I came to understand that
there was a possibility that everything I had understood about God, about
Jesus, the Bible, everything had another side to the story. I was discovering that there was so much more
that I had never learned from a single pastor or Bible teacher, and that I
would never learn unless I ignored all the warnings of ‘worldly wisdom’ from
Pastor Skip, went to the library myself and did my own digging.
I was 42 years old, and I
was as enthused as any youngster who was on the verge of an exciting
intellectual discovery. I remember the
thrill of first reading about and understanding Chaos Theory or Quantum
Mechanics some fifteen years before.
There was once a time when I had stayed up late into the night reading
and pondering on this newly discovered knowledge that few other people could
claim to understand. It was more than
any of my family, friends or anybody I had grown up with had ever known before,
and that had made anything that challenged what I thought I knew about the
world to be a thrilling intellectual adventure.
It was the thrill of having my mind expanded, my vistas broadened, and
learning something that only a privileged few who put forth the effort could
know. I felt that thrill again in early
2006, when everything I thought I knew about my religious beliefs was rattled
from the foundation. I felt the pull of
my own ignorance. The more I learned,
the more insignificant I felt. There was
more out there in the world than I could ever hope to absorb. I simply could not get enough.
I was not a young, angry
rebel who was looking for a way to shake off the confines of my religion. I had no desire to start ‘living a life of
sin’, as so many offended Christians would imagine of me. None of these supposed motivations were
anywhere on my radar. ‘Sinning’ was not
my motivation. I had just turned 42
years old. It was my first year of
marriage to a woman I desperately loved.
I was attending two different churches, keeping close to my
Fundamentalist faith, and learning to appreciate Rosemary’s Catholic traditions. We were hosting weekly Bible studies in our
home, and I loved all the people we met from the two churches we attended. I had no reason to rebel against anything in my
life. But I had to face the fact that
Christianity, as I knew it, was not working in my life anymore. As much as I had tried to deny it, it had not
worked in years. I could no longer naively accept what I was
being told from the pulpit, as I once had.
But to cut my skepticism even deeper, I now could no longer naively
accept what was even in the Bible itself!
The very Fountainhead of my Faith, the Holy Scriptures, also had to come
under my intense scrutiny.
Penchansky challenged me
to try reading the Genesis story of Adam and Eve, not as a historical or
theological description of mankind’s Fall into a state of Original Sin, but as
mythology no different from any other mythology of antiquity. Instead of accepting my religion’s official
interpretation of this sacred story as the origin of mankind’s eternal and
defiant separation from God Almighty and the corruption of the natural order, I
tried reading the story only as it stood in the text. Try imagining Yahweh as only one in a
pantheon of deities who created humans for the tending of His garden. Inside His garden is a magical tree, the
fruit of which gives the innocent couple a sense of self-aware morality. The curses that Yahweh inflicts on his
creatures are myths to explain why men must work and toil in life, why women
must labor in childbirth and be subservient to men, and why snakes crawl around
with no legs. I had fought for years to
somehow interpret the Adam and Eve story in a way that would not violate either
my imposed religious dogma of Original Sin, or my scientific understanding of
evolution and the origins of Homo Sapiens.
Each attempt at reconciliation was so unsuccessful, that over time I
simply resorted to the ‘somehow – someway’ interpretation that they both must
be simultaneously true. Penchansky
challenged me to look at the same story as ancient, polytheistic myth, no different
from the fantastic myths of the Greeks and Romans. I had long thought that the story fell in
some genre of inspired myth, but one that ultimately pointed to
Christian doctrine. But if I tried, even
just for the sake of argument, not to impose later Christian dogma onto the
ancient story of Adam and Eve, and just let the story speak for itself, the
interpretation of the text became simple and obvious. Suddenly, the story made sense. It worked.
It fit perfectly within a pre-scientific world that routinely generated
myths to explain natural phenomena. So
much the worse for that part of Christian dogma. Christian dogma was what I was
scrutinizing. If it was not working, I
figured – tough luck. It had to go. If I could find a simpler model, a less
contrived explanation to what had been impossible to put together, I figured
that one was more likely to be true.
So, one chip at a time,
inspiration and inerrancy was removed from the Bible. From here, it seemed that everything about my
Christian religion collapsed all at once.
The doctrine of the Biblical Inerrancy was very fast to go. I had seen ‘alleged’ contradictions in the
Bible, but I had been trained with plenty of apologetic talking points that
would save my Bible from embarrassment.
It was not until I started reading library books, then buying them for
myself, that I discovered just how many problems there really were with the
Biblical text, and just how ludicrous most of my canned responses to them
were. Biblical inerrancy went fast. I was still a Christian, at least I still
felt like one, but I knew my Faith was going to go through a rapid
transformation. I was vaguely aware by
this time that I might even have to discard my Faith completely. For some reason, I do not remember being
particularly afraid. I knew that my
intentions were honest and sincere. I
knew that I was not looking for an excuse to sin. I knew that I did not hate God. I was just fed up with being confused,
miserable, and forcing myself to settle with unsatisfactory answers. I just wanted to get to the bottom of what my
religion was really all about and to cut through the lies that I knew I was
being fed from the pulpit.
I was more afraid of my
friends and family than I was of God.
Rosemary was certainly concerned.
Since she was a Catholic, I don’t think she ever understood my bizarre
obsession with understanding the Bible.
It seemed that every day, my reading and research led me to some new
unsolvable problem with Biblical inerrancy.
After enumerating everything I had just discovered about the
contradictions, for instance, between the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ trail and
crucifixion, my suffering wife would just seek to make peace rather than
argue.
Rosemary could tell me,
“Yes, yes, they wrote their gospel stories differently, didn’t they? Maybe they just wrote from their own
perspectives, and could never get all the tiny details exactly the same. I am sure those were busy times with lots of
confusion and intrigues. Nobody could
have gotten it exactly right!” I had by
then learned that there were plenty of reasons why the differences between the
four Gospels should be concerning to a person trying to preserve inerrancy, but
I never argued with her. I just did my
best to listen to her point of view, and take from it what I could. But she really did not know what to say to
me. She did not know what it would take
to ease my doubts. She had been raised
in a religious environment that emphasized Faith as the ultimate virtue, and
unlike my tradition, never looked to the Bible for evidence of her Faith. Looking for evidence would make her a
doubter. If she was to be a Catholic,
she was to believe, Bible or no Bible, evidence or no evidence, and that was
all there was to it. She did not
understand why I would begin doubting after finding Biblical discrepancies or
contradictions. To her, such things were
unimportant and irrelevant. I did my
best to explain to her that I was on my own religious and spiritual quest. I needed to find out what was best for me,
and what I could understand as truth to my best satisfaction. I believed that to be the best husband that I
could be, I needed to be honest with my convictions and with her. Although she was concerned for me, I tried to
reassure her that my beliefs were mine alone, and I would never force her to
believe exactly as I did. Rosemary was
incredibly patient with me during this time.
I am sure it was a stressful situation for her. We had married with different religious
traditions from the start. Now less than
a year into our marriage, she could tell I was headed for some kind of drastic
change.
We continued hosting
weekly Bible studies in our home, but I think everybody in the room was feeling
the tensions of my changing beliefs. I
never kept any thought or doubt secret from Rosemary. I was not ashamed to show her the books that
I was then reading. But I kept
everything secret from my Bible study group and anybody else at La Puerta del Cielo Baptist Church. Instead of venting my doubts to my Bible
study group, I presented them with some challenges that I had suddenly been
made aware of to see how any one of them would react. Many Fundamentalists are particularly sensitive
to the charge that their Scriptures contain contradictions, so every now and
again I thought I would challenge the members of my Bible study group with a
bit of a problem. Inevitably, the only
person who responded to my challenges was our group leader, Dave. Everybody else sat in tense silence. A typical challenge would go something like:
Me: I know that there are
no real contradictions in the Bible, only ‘seeming’ contradictions, so what is
your opinion of salvation by grace versus salvation by works. I grew up believing in Grace Alone, but
Rosemary grew up as a Catholic, and that God’s grace allows us to do good
works, but ultimately we have to work out our own salvation. So who is right?
John: The Bible says that
we are saved by grace alone.
Me: What about the problem
between Paul in Romans and James. I read
both, and it really like they are saying two different things.
John: No.
Paul is saying that we are saved by God’s grace. James is saying that our works are the
evidence that we are saved through God’s grace.
Of course I had heard this
apologetic countless times before, but I did not want to needlessly press the
issue with my study group. I was not
trying to cause problems with them, or cause any of them to doubt with me. I was just interested to see if they had
anything new or more compelling to offer than the usual apologetics that I was
finding increasingly unconvincing. I
never told my group that I had noticed the common strategy of ironing over
contradictions by inserting things into the Biblical text that were not there. I figured that the doubts swimming in my head
were far beyond anything my poor group was equipped to deal with. Both Paul and James reference Abraham as a
model of salvation, but Paul uses that model to say, explicitly, that we are “justified freely by his grace through the
redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:24). James uses that same model to say, explicitly,
that we “see then how that by works
a man is justified, and not by faith only.” (James 2:24). My
study group responded to this nasty theological problem with the common
apologetic tactic of making James say things that I did not see in the text of
his epistle.
I felt that if there was
this much controversy, with my Fundamentalist traditions interpreting these
texts one way, and Rosemary’s Catholic traditions interpreting them
differently, then what good reason did I have to choose one interpretation over
the other? What good reason did anybody
have to choose a favored interpretation of ambiguous texts, except by appealing
to a favored religious tradition? But
even if my friends were right, and James said that works were only an evidence
that we were in fact saved by Faith alone, how do we Christians know how many
good works are enough to count as evidence of our own salvation? I knew plenty of non-Christians, especially
in my university years, who were definitely not Christians, but whose outward
actions made them indistinguishable from Christians. So if works are the evidence of salvation in
a Christian, and the Christian finds himself not performing enough works that
he feels would be a manifest result of his Faith, he will be forced to perform
more good works, just to prove he is in fact saved! I had struggled with this problem many times
over the years. I had to believe that I
was saved only through my Faith in Jesus, and not to rely on my good works for
salvation. But if I did not do enough
good works, I did not have solid evidence that I was in fact being sanctified
into the image of Christ. So I would
have to perform more good works to demonstrate my sanctification. As a result chasing my tail like this, I
could not tell the difference between works and faith. It was all just ridiculous semantics that I
was basing my salvation on. I feared
that my home Bible study group would suspect my doubts had increased to an
unacceptable level.
But what about my
Christian friends? If they wanted to say
they were saved, and that their good works were evidence of salvation, I should
have expected to see that evidence manifest in how they lived their lives. But from what I saw, their morality was
nothing markedly different from anything saw in the typical, non-believing
heathen. If anybody stood out as moral
paragons, it was some of my Catholic friends who had devoted enormous amounts
of effort and sacrifice into border justice, all done in the name of
Christ. These were the same Christians
who criticized my strong focus on the Bible.
Yet, my Fundamentalist friends constantly spoke of grace, faith, and our
works manifesting the sanctifying work of the Spirit, yet they evidenced
nothing that demonstrated some supernatural Force compelling them to divine
service. Outside of church and Bible
study, they acted pretty much the same as anybody else. Where was this ‘works as evidence’ of divine
grace? If Christians were in fact
indistinguishable from non-Christians, how could their works be any evidence of
their supposed salvation?
Our home Bible study had
stagnated into a half hour or so of exploring a theme in the Bible, asking
everybody to volunteer their opinions on a few selected scriptures, then gather
group prayer. How many decades had I
spent repeating this same material over and over again? How many different ways can we repeat the
constant refrain – we are sinners, Jesus is the Savior, He died to bare our
sins, and we now need to accept His salvation?
How many times must we dredge up Scriptures that convict us to love our
neighbor, to seek His higher glory, to pray without ceasing, etc, etc? I felt that there were only so many ways to
express the same things over and over again, and I was afraid that some of the
more, shall we say, emotionally needy believers in our small study group were
leaning far too heavily on the wisdom of our group leader, John. With a limited number of scriptures that
could be referred to in a finite book like the Bible, I felt that stagnation
was inevitable, and these people had become complacent in constantly hearing
the same thing. They asked questions of
our group leader, but I suspect they knew what the answers were before they
asked, and would have been disappointed if they received an answer that they
did not expect. Complacency in my Faith
was the one thing that I was trying to escape from. Fed up and frustrated with this seeming
over-reliance on Faith at the expense of Works, I decided to test my home study
group with another kind of challenge.
Martin Luther King Day had
just passed, so I decided to read a small excerpt from Dr. King’s classic of activist literature,
his powerful Letter from Birmingham Jail.
I had just recently finished reading a biography of his life, and I was
gripped by how much he had sacrificed for the cause of racial justice, and by
how powerfully he was empowered by his religious beliefs. In 1963, King was
arrested for protesting segregation laws in Birmingham, Alabama. While he was in jail, eight white
pastors from around the state wrote the local Birmingham newspaper, and editorialized against
King’s activism. They
figured he should be a good preacher, stay behind the pulpit, and keep his nose
out of racial justice and activism. In
response, King wrote from solitary confinement what came to be known as Letter
from Birmingham Jail on
scraps of paper, and smuggled out by his lawyer bit by bit. King’s letter detailed his commitment to using the Church as an
empowered vehicle that I thought made our comfortable Christian apathy pathetic
in comparison. Would my fellow
Christians be as affected by Dr. King’s letter as I was? I gave my study group a short background of
the history behind Dr. King’s letter, then read to them this excerpt:
There was a
time when the church was very powerful in the time when the early Christians
rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days
the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles
of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society.
Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed
and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being “disturbers of the
peace” and “outside agitators”‘ But the Christians pressed on, in the
conviction that they were “a colony of heaven,” called to obey God rather than
man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God
intoxicated to be “astronomically intimidated.” By their effort and example
they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial
contests. Things are
different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice
with an uncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far
from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the
average community is consoled by the church’s silent and often even vocal
sanction of things as they are. But the
judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today’s church does not
recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its
authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of
millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the
twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the
church has turned into outright disgust.
I told them that this
letter had a powerful effect on me, and I waited for their response. I was not expecting an instant moral
commitment to social justice. I was just
expecting a comment for discussion.
Perhaps somebody in my group could tell me what Dr. King’s letter and
message had to say about our modern church, specifically ours, who had the same
concerns of falling into apathy and irrelevance. What I did not expect was the room full of
blank stares and tepid nods of accent and agreement. I could not even get an honest opinion from
these people who believed that their morality and works were manifest evidence
of their personal salvation. These
people had no desire or intention to have their convictions challenged, even by
a fellow Christian like Martin Luther King!
They clearly were not interested in Spiritual growth or any kind of
moral challenge. My spiritually
empowered and sanctified Christian brethren only wanted to coddle themselves up
to the same familiar, warm and simmering pot of stewed ingredients that they
had been born and raised with. I loved
them all, but I had to be honest with what I was seeing. The evidence of works that the Spirit had
made manifest in these fellow Christians was nothing more than a pathetic
dependence on comfort food. These people
had nothing to offer me, and I did not want to be content with their spiritual
complacency. I was searching because I
was no longer satisfied with living a spiritual life of doubts, concerns and
questions. The familiar Fundamentalism of
my home Bible study group and La
Puerta del Cielo Baptist Church
had nothing more to offer me.
Simultaneous with these
events was my discovery of the Internet.
I have never been especially enamored of electronic gadgets in my
house. I did have a boom-box to listen
to music, but that is about where the technology ended. In 2006, I still had my rotary telephone and
no television. I certainly did not have
a home computer! Rosemary would have
none of my aversion to technology, and had the Internet installed in our house
around the time we started hosting the weekly Bible studies. I had used the Internet quite a bit as a
research tool at work and when I was attending university. I had no intention or desire of ever using it
for personal use, until I saw a need to do some personally important research. I discovered that there was an endless supply
of the apologetics that I had come to despise.
I discovered that Chuck Missler was still around, and still selling the
‘briefing packages’ that I had practically memorized back in the early ‘90s. I already knew that stuff. I needed to be challenged with something
different. I remember naively typing
‘Bible Contradictions’ into the search engine.
What a mammoth mistake that was!
I discovered that there were a lot of irrational and unwarranted
criticisms of Christianity that seemed to come from very angry people. I did my best to avoid emotional ranting that
contained obvious lies. But I eventually
found two sites that were instrumental in my ultimate departure from
Christianity.
Infidels.org introduced me
to the works of Robert Ingersoll. I had
never heard of Ingersoll, and had no idea who he was when I started browsing
the lectures stored at infidels.org.
Robert Ingersoll, polemicist and orator, toured the United States during the turn of the century, back during the time
when public lectures were a form of entertainment. I opened something from Ingersoll called Heretics and Hericies, only one of dozens of his public lectures in print, and started
reading:
Whoever has an opinion of his own, and honestly expresses it, will be
guilty of heresy. Heresy is what the minority believe; it is the name given by
the powerful to the doctrine of the weak. This word was born of the hatred,
arrogance and cruelty of those who love their enemies, and who, when smitten on
one cheek, turn the other. This word was born of intellectual slavery in the
feudal ages of thought. It was an epithet used in the place of argument. From
the commencement of the Christian era, every art has been exhausted and every
conceivable punishment inflicted to force all people to hold the same religious
opinions. This effort was born of the idea that a certain belief was necessary
to the salvation of the soul. Christ taught, and the church still teaches that
unbelief is the blackest of crimes. God is supposed to hate with an infinite
and implacable hatred, every heretic upon the earth, and the heretics who have
died are supposed at this moment to be suffering the agonies of the damned. The
church persecutes the living and her God burns, for all eternity, the dead…
I had a visceral gut
reaction to what I was reading. It felt
like an emotional gag reflex. It was one
of the very few times that I was offended by the blasphemy of what I was reading. I felt the strong urge to choke on what I was
reading, to look away from the horrors of heresy. No! I
had to force myself to override the instinct to look away from what was on the
page before me, and rather ask myself if there was anything in Ingersoll’s shocking
words that were not accurate. Was my
revulsion due to reading lies and distortions, or was I reading ugly
truth? Is it not true that, for
instance, “Christ taught, and the
church still teaches that unbelief is the blackest of crimes”? Was Ingersoll correct when he said, “Heresy
is what the minority believe; it is the name given by the powerful to the
doctrine of the weak”? I knew very well
about purges and inquisitions of the past.
But even if heretics are not now persecuted to the extent that they were
in the past, Ingersoll was still correct about the Church’s hatred of
heresies. After all, why was I hiding my
own heretical thoughts and opinions from my small Bible study group? Was I not afraid of their hatred of my
unorthodox thoughts? I had to accept
that Ingersoll was not stretching the truth.
He was expressing Christianity’s hatred of heresies and originality and
freethought in highly charged and polemical prose. This is what public speakers do. It did not make it any less true. I was fascinated with what critical
evaluation of Christian texts and traditions had to offer, and how it expanded
my mind to new ideas about my Faith. But
the bluntness of Ingersoll’s polemics forced me not to sugar-coat what the
outcomes of my changing Faith really were, and where I was headed. I was becoming the subject of countless
condemning sermons from the pulpit. I
was becoming a heretic. I may have been
intimidated by my fellow Christians, but I was no longer afraid of God. Was I becoming hard of heart, like Pharaoh’s
defiance against God? Was I in the
process of being handed over to a reprobate mind? Perhaps, but I had lost all my guilt and fear
of Divine judges. I was not afraid of
Him because I knew I was being honest.
If anything, I knew that my integrity was intact.
One other website that I must mention, pummeled my senses with a blunt question - Why won't God heal amputees? Reading in particular a long article which addressed this question, brought me back nearly twenty years before to a Calvary Chapel service in which
believers were sharing their stories of miraculous healing. As I have written about in a previous article
of this series, one man shared how he had prayed for the healing of a friend’s
severed hand. When he shared with us
that he had seen that hand grow back with his very eyes, Pastor Skip quickly
intervened to quiet his obviously deluded testimony and end the sharing of
miraculous stories. It seemed strange to
me at the time why everybody would believe stories of healed colds, bad backs,
even cancer remission, or anything else that had one thing in common - that any
testimony could conceivably occur with no miraculous intervention. But nobody, not me, not even Pastor Skip,
believed a sincere, faithful and enthusiastic story that involved something truly
miraculous. I was finally ready to
confront the question of why Christians never pray for the healing of amputees,
the mentally retarded, the Alzheimer patient, or any other person in which
there was no chance of natural remission.
When the question was raised in Calvary Chapel, I ignored the obvious
implications, and brushed them under a rug.
But fifteen years later, I was finally ready to examine those questions
again. I pulled them back out from the
rug and the answers were immediately obvious to me. Christians, at least every Christian I had
ever personally encountered, only prayed for things that would take no faith to
believe would be answered. Nobody prayed
for the healing of our Bible study leader’s autistic son. Nobody ever prays for the regeneration of
severed limbs. Nobody ever prays for new
skin on a 3rd degree burn patient.
We all know that those prayers will never be answered. But why shouldn’t they be answered? The entire Universe will be just as
insignificant as a speck of lint to a Being of infinite scope. Healing a head cold and healing a congenital
birth defect should be pretty much the same thing to a Creature of unlimited
power. So why, why did we never
pray for those miraculous things that would unquestionably demonstrate His
existence and majesty? Why shouldn’t a
prayer for the resurrection of a still-born fetus be just as common as a prayer
for the relief of an aching back?
I knew the answer
why. I think that deep down, we all knew
the answer why, and we always knew it.
But it took me decades to accept that grim fact of my Faith in the
Almighty. We never prayed those prayers
because we knew they would never be answered.
We only prayed for those things which would not make a mockery of our
magical genie in the bottle. We only
prayed for those things that take no faith at all. We even append each prayer with ‘…but Your
will be done’ just in case, because we also know that even pathetic, faithless
prayers are only answered with no greater certainty than random chance.
Looking back at the year
2006, I am shocked at how fast my Christian Faith collapsed. I never intended to stop believing. I was not out to look for an excuse to stop
believing. I did not know this intense
‘spiritual quest’ of skepticism and scrutiny of my religious beliefs would lead
to my eventual abandonment of those beliefs.
I caught myself by surprise when I realized that I no longer
believed. I knew that my beliefs were
changing, and I knew that I would not come out of this skeptical period with
the same Fundamentalist beliefs I had held before. I initially welcomed that change and I was
not afraid of where it would eventually end up.
I had no idea it would end in non-belief! I was expecting to wind up, perhaps, as an
enlightened Catholic Christian, which was just fine by me. All I wanted was to believe in something that
I could be honest with, and not have to lie about or tie my brain into logical
knots to justify. Finally, I wanted to
believe in something that would be attractive to my wife and hopefully be compatible
with her beliefs. I wanted a happy and successful
marriage, and I needed some religious framework that would make our
relationship stronger in the coming years.
So I merrily went along, reading everything I could get my hands on that
looked intelligent and skeptical, yet fair to my Christian Faith. I did not know until it was too late how
quickly my Faith had completely eroded away.
The shock of what I was
doing to myself finally came early one morning sometime in summer 2006. Rosemary was asleep next to me in bed. I was up early, reading a book that gripped
me like a best-selling suspense novel. I
remember reading in that book about the various forms of early Christian
beliefs that existed in the first centuries after Jesus walked the earth. Bart Ehrman’s book Lost Christianities
demonstrated to me that the ancient Mediterranean was
a cornucopia of religions, mythologies, saviors, miracles, god-men and pagan beliefs. Ehrman demonstrated from the numerous
writings that are preserved from the ancient Mediteranean world, including the
New Testament itself, that the Christian milieu was awash in various types of Gnostics,
Marcionites, Encratites, Docetics, Ebionites, and other extinct forms of
Christian heresies. Ehrman showed that
what later became Orthodox Christianity most likely sprung out of this
syncretistic stew like the first strands of primitive DNA had once steamed out
of chemical reactions in thermal vents and magma flows.
I lay next to my sleeping
wife. I put the book down momentarily,
dumbstruck at what I had just then realized.
“Oh no,” I whispered to myself.
“Joe, what are you going to believe?
What are you going to believe?” It
was a stunning moment. I knew then where
I was. Rather, I knew where I was not.
One evening in 1988, I had
walked behind the Calvary Chapel stage in Albuquerque, New
Mexico to
make a firm commitment to Jesus as my Lord and Savior. I had cried and slobbered my way through the
Sinner’s Prayer, convicted and repentant of my sins, and ready to live a new
life for Jesus. F there is any such
thing as an ‘Apostate’s Prayer’, I said it to myself that morning in 2006, with
Ehrman’s Lost Christianities open in front of me.
“Joe, what are you going
to believe?”
I did not know quite what
to believe. But I knew, right then and
there, that I did not believe a single thing I had once thought was true of
God, Jesus, The Bible. Heaven or
Hell. The sanctification of the saints
and the inherent virtues of holding to the Christian Faith. In that moment, it was gone. All gone.
Slash and burn and start all over again. All those years –
all that time and effort and expense of holding up a belief system to mold
everything in my life into – all of that was gone. I realized it all at in just that moment.
I momentarily
panicked. But it did not last long. I guess that was how it felt to be abandoned
by God and “given up unto vile affections” (Romans 1:26). I felt the breathing of my sleeping wife
lying next to me, and I turned the page to expose myself to more damnable
heresies.
