At the age of seven I walked with my grandmother to the altar of Camp 8 Church in rural Wayne County, Missouri and accepted Jesus Christ as my savior. In somewhat elder years, I'm not now sure what motivated me to do this. At that time in my life I remember being somewhat afraid of God. I think any young child who attended this church and heard the fearsome sermons preached from its pulpit must have felt at least a little trepidation to be told that they were in peril of everlasting fire and brimstone if they did not confess their sins and come to Jesus. This surely was a part of the reason I knelt at that altar with Grandma Wilson's hand on my shoulder. But as we tarried there, eyes closed, I felt a welcome relief from fear.
Since that time my religious life has taken many sideroads and detours and I have not always been faithful, but from that first personal encounter with God, I have always been fascinated by and repeatedly drawn to the study of biblical accounts of the days leading up to Christ's crucifixion and resurrection. As Mardi Gras ends and the days of Lent are observed by some of my Catholic friends, I am each year led to reconsider these events and how they remain pivotal in the life of Christians more than 2000 years after they occurred.
This is the bedrock and foundation on which Christianity is constructed and, while Jesus' message was fairly simple ( one need only to accept Christ as savior and recognize that one's soul was in need of redemption), I have never fully understood how and why the passion came to be required of God.
As a child, I was told Jesus' suffering and ultimate crucifixion was necessary for my salvation, and I felt guilty for being responsible. I know now that feeling of guilt was misplaced, but even now I am awestruck at the immensity of the torture, pain, and humiliation Christ willingly bore for the salvation of humankind.
In Jesus' encounter with Pilate, he said to the Roman governor, "Everyone that is of the truth heareth my voice." Pilate replied, "What is truth?" Jesus left this question unanswered and perhaps it is unanswerable, but if anyone is qualified to answer it, it should have been Jesus. I wanted Him to give an answer.
Jesus' first words from the cross were "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." Who was Jesus referring to? Pilate and the Romans who passed sentence on him and now parted his raiment and cast lots for their possession? The Jewish priesthood who were complicit? The crowds who gathered at the foot of the cross and mocked him? His own disciples who had denied and betrayed him? The criminals crucified on either side of him? And why was forgiveness even necessary if they were merely doing what was required of God? This is the beginning of mystery for me.
In my working years I used my hands to make a living with a blue-collar job in maintenance at a paper mill. On more than one occasion I have struck my finger or thumb with a misguided hammer blow and the pain was severe. I am at a loss to explain why a Father would require his Son to be nailed to a cross, spikes 5 to 7 inches long driven through hands and feet, and this only after being cruelly scourged with iron-tipped lashes until the flesh was flayed from his body. Could God not think of a better way?
My dad was the most devout believer in the salvation of Jesus that I have ever known, but he cautioned me in my youth not to believe everything I hear from a pulpit. He said God gave you a brain and He wanted you to use it. He pointed me to a passage in II Timothy 2:15, " Study, to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth."
My salvation is a gift from God, but it will ever remain a mystery and I may not know the "truth" until I have passed from this life. And that's okay, because it reminds me, especially at this season of the year, that I need not have all the answers---only to continue the quest.
In closing this post, I will add that nearly seven years would pass from that day at Camp 8 Church until I was baptized at Lone Oak Baptist Church in Paducah. I don't know why, but I am guessing that I moved back to St. Louis with my family shortly thereafter and it wasn't until I was in the seventh grade that I realized I had some unfinished business to take care of. I think my brother was baptized in that church as well.
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