Good Friday

This weekly venture began on Good Friday of 2023.  One year and roughly 70,000 words later, here we are.  I’ve written fifty-two weekly articles ranging from faith, family, military, and wildlife, with a few oddballs thrown in the mix.  Thank you for sticking with me.  I’m not sure what the next year will look like, but I’ll keep writing, and I hope you keep reading.

Although I’ve made it abundantly clear in a handful of stories that I believe in Jesus Christ, I don’t force that narrative here.  Since this article falls on Good Friday, I figured today would give me license to speak on matters of faith in the most dissonant way I know how—since dissonance is the crux of what I write about anyway. 

I grew up atheist or agnostic for the most part.  It depended on the day you asked me whether I believed in the possibility of God or nothing at all.  I had a few fits and starts with religion while growing up, but nothing stuck.  There were moments when I conceded the reality of Jesus at a Presbyterian church one stepdad went to.  I had a charismatic experience as an early teen at the church of a former stepmother.  That same summer, after the emotions of that experience wore off, I denounced any faith.  I spent the next decade more or less in that mindset.

I walked away from the pre-mission prayer circles because I didn’t understand how Jesus could send us to war.  I also carried a cross in my wallet as a talisman for good luck or favor or just in case it was true.  I wrestled with doubt and disbelief.  More than any of that, I was just mad at God.  I won’t get into that rationale here for what led me to feel that way about a God I couldn’t believe in but could simultaneously blame.  It’s safe to say there’s a layer of nuance there that would warrant an article for another time. 

Ironically or perhaps even providentially, after my gun truck platoon was disbanded, I got paired up with a Christian.  We connected over punk rock and by making comedic videos for our comrades.  He and I would debate metaphysics and the origin of species.  We discussed faith and the lack thereof.  He wasn’t perfect and didn’t pretend to be.  My new truck mate didn’t judge me for questioning theology.  This was a new experience for me.  For once, I was allowed to both challenge his views and have mine challenged as well.  Although his knack for apologetics helped me see things differently, his character and demeanor spoke volumes about his genuine faith.

It’s not the traumas of war that haunted me once I returned.  Those conversations played on repeat in my heathen brain.  I couldn’t shake that maybe I’d been wrong on matters of faith.  I remembered all the secret promises I made to God in my moments of fear and terror while deployed.  Those “if you’ll just let me survive this mission” type of prayers that I had yet to make good on.  To most people, my conversion to Christianity happened overnight.  That just wasn’t the case.  It was a slow burn that took me almost three years to come to terms with.  Along the way, I met more imperfect Christians who let me talk and share my doubts and questions without judgment.  These people actually seemed to care.  I wasn’t just a notch in some spiritual belt of theirs. 

I called my former truck mate and told him I wanted to commit my life to Jesus.  I said I wanted to make it epic and make a real declaration.  He jokingly told me he had a ceremonial dagger for the goat we’d sacrifice on the mountain once we reached the summit.  I was thankful the goat part of the deal was just a joke from his twisted humor.  We did hike a mountain, though.  I knelt at the edge of a cliff and prayed for Jesus to renew me, and he did.  I felt washed clean.  It felt like a weight had been lifted.  It was a good day.

Although it wasn’t on Good Friday when this occurred, this holiday always reminds me of those moments and the cost of my faith.  I am thankful for that Good Friday sacrifice that was made on my behalf.  I am more grateful for the fact that forgiveness still covers me now.  If I’m being honest, I am a horrible Christian at times.  Many of us are.  The whole planks and specs parable seems to point to that.  I’m aware of my weaknesses and would never assume to be holier than others.  We are all coequal here on Earth.  I imagine sometimes we need to remind ourselves of that fact. 

It's good to take stock in what you believe every once in a while.  Sometimes, we need to adjust fire and move forward inch by inch.  I’m not perfect, and frankly, I could never be.  I hope my passion and these stories will open the doors for conversations.  Maybe they can show others that if someone like me can make a profession of faith, so can they.  I just want people to know they’re loved, even when they don’t love themselves.  That’s a truth I often need to be reminded of myself.  If we talked more with one another instead of cramming beliefs one way or another, I imagine the world would be a better place.  Whether you celebrate Easter or not, know this is a Good Friday because you’re still on this side of the dirt.

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