I was baptised recently. In the morning, I had a bit of a
‘freak-out’ moment when I realised there were 250 sausages on order for the
post-ceremony BBQ. How many? It was
both terrifying and humbling that there were so many in my new Christian family
who were invested, happy and delighted in the choice I was making – even people
I had never met – and wanted to celebrate it.
It struck me that ‘terrifying’ and ‘humbling’ pretty much
summed up my Christian journey over the past six months. So how did I get here?
About 35 years ago, my family had a bit of a bad day. In the
morning my Dad announced he was leaving the family home. And in the afternoon
my Mum overdosed on sleeping tablets.
I don’t share this for the ‘poor, damaged, child’ angle. Mum
pulled through and my Dad remains happily married to the woman who went onto
become my step-mum and I therapied my wounds a long time ago.
I share it because what happened next impacted incredibly on
how I viewed God, Jesus and Christianity.
You see, so-called Christian friends turned up with
judgement about adultery and the sin of suicide. The dogma obliterated the grace. And that
skewed my viewpoint. Not helped by the bloke in the black dress at the front of
the school chapel who failed to make Christianity relevant to me. Then, as a
cadet journalist in Ireland, I saw too much fear and terror enacted out in the
name of God to make it an appealing proposition.
New age spiritualism and yogic non-attachment called me far
more than Jesus did, and pretty much formed my agnostic life for the past 15
years.
In New Age, God is there but in a distant, malleable way. An
energy you can somehow harness through the power of correct thought. If your
life isn’t going the way you hoped, then you’re not thinking the correct
thoughts. So you pay for another course! New age exhausted me. I was tired of
having to fix myself!
Yoga and meditation gave peace but felt empty – I was dessicating
my soul in my striving to non-attach. I
kept forgetting we are relationship driven. We are not built for
non-attachment!
Deep down I wanted a relationship with God. I wanted that
still, small voice of calm. But with all my childhood baggage from Church and
religion, I couldn’t figure out the right path. I was also petrified of
vulnerability. After a parent attempts suicide, there’s a lot you lock-off in
self-preservation.
So I am blessed that God hunted me down, put Jesus squarely
in front of me, and made me listen.
It started with a failed job interview. One of the job
criteria was a practising Christian, active in church. No surprises, then, that
I didn’t get the gig. And the interviewer was kind and graceful but pleasantly
steadfast in telling me that my faith wasn’t there. And he said something about
structure…
Someone recently reminded me how God presses on us, this insistence
that shoves at you. Jesus and that phrase about structure kept pushing into my
brain. I kept telling myself it was because my ego had been pricked.
But the Easter weekend that followed was packed with too many ‘insistencies’, too many
signs to ignore:
· The Bible falling off the shelf at my feet at
a holiday house communal library – with no one nearby to cause it to fall, and
with at least a hundred of other books that could have fallen.
· The yacht at Palm Beach, the sail
unfurling, emblazoned with the words ‘Mister Christian’.
·
Awaking
with specific lyrics from Jennifer Warnes’s ‘Song of Bernadette’
playing over and over in my head around 3am each morning for four days in a
row, when I had not heard her music in probably a decade.
In the end,
on Easter Monday morning at 3am, I sat bolt upright and asked, “What? What are
you trying to tell me?”
And a voice
that was of me, but not of me, said clearly: Sort out your baggage around Christianity. You have all this
unconditional love and non-judgement for other religions. You need to get rid
of your stereotypes about how ‘Christians’ should be. Sort out your faith.
The next
morning I asked my husband’s opinion, a small bit of me hoping he’d give me a
‘get out a jail free card’. Instead he responded: “Well, Phil,
Jesus did have to ask Peter 3 times….”
I thought
I’d just do some research. C of E stuck me as similar to Anglican. The kids
attend school in the area so I found Menai Anglican online, spotted that a
Christianity Course was running and picked up the phone. I’d missed a couple of
weeks, but figured I could do some catch up - some solo, distant education.
Again, God was having none of it. Instead of a quick video
download in my own time, I ended up having theological emails with an associate
pastor who was refreshingly honest. There was no watering down, which was a change
compared to what I had known. It was my first adult conversation with a
Christian who was happy to unpack his faith and really let me rummage around in
it – whilst kindly challenging me both intellectually and spiritually.
It was obvious he wasn’t going to let this seeking soul just
do distant education! I found myself at a 10am service. Then another. Then an
8am. Then a 6pm.
As my heart whispered to me how astounding this love, the
cross, the resurrection was, my head was on the sidelines, arms folded. Could a
man really have come back to life? Well, then,
I got to do the CE course. Which helped my head catch up with my heart.
I liken my new-age relationship with God before like some faulty light bulb. That
flickered on and off. Jesus reached past me and screwed in the bulb.
As soon as I accepted Jesus, it literally clicked into
place. How liberating it was
to go: I am more sinful and flawed than I could ever imagine, yet at the
very same time I am more loved and accepted in Jesus than I could ever dare
dream.
And after all my new-age work? The ease of this astounds me
every day. Just keep accepting the grace. And I pray that God just keeps me, all
my flawed ego self, out the way.
Being loved, no matter
what, gives you an incredible blank canvas of trust and grace from which to
create. Jesus died for me. How can I do
anything but humbly accept?
My acceptance gave me a new freedom to embrace the joy.
After trying to be all yogic, trying to non-attach, to not feel, all this… it is like going from black and white to
technicolour.
All my numbed nerve endings fizzed back online. And even if
there are hurts – all that sensitivity I tried to hide, the vulnerability I was
so fearful of – what are they compared to the pain Jesus’ took on for me? My
biggest wounds are like a broken nail compared to crucifixion and taking on the
sins of the world. Vulnerability delivered me joy, faith and more.
Six months ago I would have laughed at anyone who said I’d
have a Bible app on my phone and be writing a blog
about my Christian journey.
Preparing this testimony, I was asked to share examples
of how my life has changed since I accepted God and Jesus. But I can’t give
examples of incidents, because this isn’t incidental to my life.
It is like breathing. The edges have been smoothed. I’m sure
my husband would agree that the ‘point scoring’ of life has dropped away.
I find myself in a range of places – the café, getting my
back adjusted, a business networking event - and God insistently tells me to
share the blog and my experience of returning to church.
God: ‘Tell them!” Me: “Really?” God: “Yes, now” – and so I
do and every time, every time, I end
up in a conversation with someone who has been wondering about going back to
church after having a poor experience.
So now, whilst I do still question, I trust. And so, even
when He’s telling me to step forward and I feel like it’s off a cliff, I trust
and honour that He knows what He’s doing. So I step forward and the bridge – or
path – appears.
And getting baptised? I now recognise that God and Jesus were always on the look out for me over these past 43 years; they had my back. But I hadn't got their's. I needed to reciprocate. Choosing baptism was my testimony to them, saying: "I'm sorry it took me so long. Thanks for chasing me down. Here I am."
Yet despite that, for the 42 intervening years, I know God
and Jesus were always on the look out; they had my back. But I hadn’t got
theirs. I needed to reciprocate. Choosing baptism was my testimony to them,
saying: “I’m sorry it took me so long. Thanks for chasing me down. Here I am.”
Finally, although I say God chased me down, and Jesus worked
his grace – there is one more important factor.
The past six months have clearly demonstrated that, just as
it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a supportive husband, an amazing
ministry team and an engaged
congregation to raise a new Christian.
So on the days that you wonder what exactly God and Jesus are
up to in your life – and I’m pretty sure we all have them – please remember each
time over the past six months I saw you here at church – even if we have never
spoken – I saw you here.
In worship. Treading the path. And it gave me joy and
encouragement to keep stepping forward on mine. Thank you.
By Phil(ippa) Lowe, a member of our 10am Service, and a PR/Communications Manager who takes God and Jesus seriously, but herself not so much.
