It's been a minute, but I'm still here

"It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you...without a dope rhyme to step to." - EricB and Rakim circa 1985

I took a break since my grumpy little diatribe about Christmas. Five days after I wrote that post, I was awakened by a phone call in the middle of the night informing me of my father's sudden passing. Along with the emotions and hectic nature a death brings, this was especially difficult. Perhaps I will write about it sometime. For today, I want to share with you something that his life and death have brought to light.

My mother and father quit attending church on a regular basis back in the 70s. By the time I was born, in 1978, it was a major occasion for my dad to darken the doorway of a religious establishment. And a oneness apostolic church had a better chance of seeing farm animals at the altar than my dad. Growing up (after the inevitable divorce) in a single parent home, and then with an atheist/agnostic step-father, I knew about Jesus and went to churches sporadically. But admittedly I was unimpressed. I would feel the urge to go to the front and accept Jesus (usually we went to denominal churches or Assembly of God), but never felt the desire to become a part of the group of people present. I did feel a sure difference in the atmosphere of the churches my aunts and uncles took me to (UPCI), but were no more impressed to be involved with them than any others. I always found religious people (and preachers in particular) to be haughty and pretentious.

When I was 18 years old, I was reunited with my father after a seven year hiatus. We drank beer, smoked pot, and lived in the wilderness with only a generator to run lights and a stereo. We worked hard and played harder. But one thing that happened has forever changed me. We had a lot of conversations about why the family split up. We would sit under the stars of northern Idaho and have God talks. That was truly where the seeds that had been planted by my church experiences were watered by my father's love for God.

I had never thought of him as a religious man, but he was adamant about his love for Jesus. I had been told about his "calling" and how he had wasted his talents by living a life away from the church. But what I found out from him was a different story. He and my mother had been faithful saints, very involved in church and did their best to live up to the demands of pastors. The reason that is a plural and not a singular is that time and time again, when someone felt threatened by the force of my parents' influence (due to undeniable talent, intellect and personality), the demands from the leader would ramp up so as to bring them under condemnation. This was done by family members. This was done by men of stature. It was enough to drive them away. Eventually, the monotonous and persistent defeat at the hands of power hungry Napoleons caused my parents (and my father in particular) to surrender to the voice of exclusion.

Call it backsliding. Call it a survival instinct of a man who was a decorated Vietnam War veteran. What I call it is typical. My dad lived his life with a personal and passionate relationship with the God whom he had known in those jungles of warfare. He was not allowed to fit into the "church" because he was unwilling to relent his own good conscience into the hands of men whom he did not trust (due to character flaws he knew of both intimately and publicly).

The tale is not one of woe or bitterness. My dad did not tell me these things as an angry man. He told me them to help me understand him and his God. He told me, a young wild teenager without any direction, that the only thing worth anything in this world is to know Jesus. To know Him and to know His love, mercy and grace. It began my search in earnest for an answer to the question of who God is. I see, in retrospect of his life, the never ending anguish of having to sift through mistakes and failures and bad decisions. He probably could have handled the situation better and kept his family together. He could have been a better father figure. But one thing he left as a legacy is that no man can teach you who Jesus is. You must find Him for yourself.

Working out our own salvation comes with a cost. Personal responsibility means making your own mistakes and owning up to them. This Freedom and Liberty is what the Constitution was intended to preserve for its citizens. It is what the blood of the Cross was intended to secure for those who had no righteous credential to allow them a relationship with a holy God.

I will make another installment to finish the thought soon. Until then, I pray you are blessed with knowing God for yourself...even if that means you make some mistakes along the way.