Why Not Me, Lord?

“Why Not Me, Lord?”

               “Atheists who keep asking for evidence of God’s existence are like fish in the ocean asking for evidence of water.” 

                                                                       - Ray Comfort, Christian Evangelist

Backstory:

It occurred to me that the most important thing in our lives is life itself. That seems pretty obvious. Without life there is nothing. It is unfortunate that most people (me included) spend so little time contemplating the critical components of life- the origin of life, the meaning of life, and the cessation of life. For most of us, sadly, more time is spent following politics, our favorite sports teams, our entertainers, and even on such seemingly inconsequential items as clothes, cars, makeup, and jewelry. Why is that?

Distraction. Any reflection on the meaning of our lives necessarily involves the realization that life has a beginning and an end. That “end” thing, death, is the troublesome part. The goal in life for many of us, if not most, is to make each day as enjoyable, or at least as tolerable, as possible, without having to confront the big picture. The most useful tools are stuff, physical pleasure, and entertainment.

Stuff. We all want as much cool stuff as we can acquire- a cool car, a big house, fancy clothes, flashy jewelry, and if you’re near water, a nice boat. You’ll feel good about that, especially if you have more stuff than your neighbor, and it will help keep your mind off such inconvenient questions such as why you are here in the first place.

Physical pleasure. Tasty food (and lots of it), alcohol, drugs (fortunately our grocery stores now devote more floor space to beer, booze, and wine than to fruits and vegetables), and of course, s-e-x. ( My kids might read this. They’re grown now but I still talk in code for certain subjects just to annoy them; my go-to word is still c-a-n-d-y). It’s unlikely you will be contemplating the purpose of your existence in the midst of a titillating amorous adventure.

Entertainment. Movies ( Subscribe to as many movie services as possible), music (any genre), and the mother of all distractions- TV (“What are you doing tonight?” “I’ll probably just watch a little TV.” “What are you going to watch?” “I dunno…TV.”)

Embrace the philosophies that carry us through life without thinking about life- “If it feels good, do it.” (Hippie manual); “Don’t worry, be happy.” (Bobby McFerrin); and from the largely unappreciated philosopher Alfred E. Neuman, “What, me worry?” Keep your eye on what’s in front of you. Get through each day until the next one arrives.

The most important concern of our lives should be (but isn’t)- Is there a God? The wonders of nature- flowers blooming in the spring, the spectacular splash of stars across the night sky, the intricacies of the human body, a gentle snowfall covering a stand of evergreens in the evening, the fury of a thunderstorm- suggested to me that there was a God or some force we could not begin to understand. How did the Universe come to exist in the first place? How is there anything? Whenever I attempted to resolve such challenging issues in my own mind, I usually gave up on the exercise in mere moments. I could always figure it out some other day.

That’s where I was, not by design but by default. Often the simplest course in life is to keep doing what you’re doing, day in, day out. Inertia of the soul. Avoid the impossible questions- What is my purpose in life? Is there a God? Enjoy today the best you can and don’t worry about tomorrow. I hadn’t thought about God for a long time.

The Cemetery:

It is indeed ironic that my renewed quest to put God in my life began by skipping mass. My wife never misses mass. She takes in extra masses. She has enough masses stockpiled to cover a small town for a year of Sunday masses. Every so often, with the right amount of plausible excuses and a pitiful tone, she will show mercy and let me skip. This was one of those times.

I was to pick her up at St. Mary’s at 5:30 PM. I got there at 5:00 PM. I took a walk down the road to pass the time and stopped in front of the church cemetery. It’s a thing I sometimes do- walk through a cemetery and check out names and dates on the weathered tombstones. It’s picking up on a little of the local history. I’ll pause in front of a grave and wonder what “Melvin Barstow…1855-1910” was doing here back then and how he died. Maybe I need a hobby.

Most people will attend the wake or funeral service for the recently departed. The crowd at the burial usually is smaller, consisting of relatives and good friends. But this day cars were parked on both sides of the road, and I saw a horde of people walking down the hill from the burial site. I passed by the cemetery out of respect for the mourners.

On my return trip, the cars were gone and the hill was empty. I still had fifteen minutes for my graveyard tour. As I walked up the asphalt path to the tombstones, a striking figure appeared at the crest of the hill- tall, tanned, and well-dressed, and slowly making his way down the hill. He looked like a cowboy without the hat- boots, a country western shirt, and a bolo tie. As we passed each other, a thought crossed my mind.

“Must have been a popular guy.”

“Gal. 52 years old, killed in a car accident while she was visiting her sister in Ohio. Very sad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“A teacher. Everyone loved her.”

As he seemed to be the last to leave, I feared she may have been his wife.

“Fifty-two. Too young. Was she a relative?”

“No, a friend.”

“Must have been a good friend.”

“All friends are good friends.”

 That sounded like a nice tidbit of wisdom.                     

“Good point. What was her name?”

For whatever reason, at that moment her name mattered to me. I think he appreciated my asking.

“Marnie, Marnie Blair.”

I lingered. There was something about him that interested me. His calm, confident manner and deep voice were borderline captivating.

“We’re all going to miss her, but at least I know she’s in a better place. ”

It was spoken as a matter of fact, a certainty, as sure a statement as “It’s raining.” A true believer in my experience is a rare commodity so I was now pulled in deep. Some kids want to grow up to be a professional athlete, a doctor, or a movie star. I wanted to grow up to be a true believer. I knew from my childhood days at St. Mark’s that the status of true believer would eliminate a lot of the insecurities and anxieties of life. If you know there is a loving God and an afterlife, coping with the challenges and disappointments of this life becomes a lot easier. 

“You’re sure of that?”

“Absolutely. And you? What do you believe?”

Thoughts travel at the speed of light. All good Catholics say they believe, but do they? Do they really believe like my new friend? Do they believe, with absolute certainty, that they will end up in heaven someday? “I believe in God” usually sounds like the right thing to say. People who believe in God are perceived to be“good” people possessed of a set of desirable values. It can be uncomfortable for some to say they don’t believe. That is how I felt at that moment. I would be embarrassed to say, “I don’t know.” How could I possibly not know at this stage of the game whether I believed in God or not? How could I have not spent sufficient time on the question to have a ready answer? I was one of the multitudes who had followed the path of distraction.

I had known this guy for all of five minutes, but I trusted him. I told the truth.

“I’m embarrassed to say. I’m not sure.”

This sounded better than “I don’t know”.

“That’s ok. It took me a long time...”

Non-judgemental. I liked that.

“… to find Him.”

Him? God? Jesus?

“God?”

“Jesus.”

I’ve certainly met people who “have found Jesus”. I never asked how, where, when, or seriously considered the implications for that person. Looking back on it, that probably was a bit insensitive. If someone tells you they found Jesus, that should be a big deal and should open the door to thoughtful conversation. In the past, it didn’t. This day, it did.

“If you don’t mind me asking… how exactly does that happen? How did you find Jesus?”

“I think He found me.”

I envied him. I’ve been wanting to be found for a long time. Why not me? What does a guy have to do to be found?

“I was a mover, a shaker. I tried a number of businesses, and one hit big. I was a major supplier for a big corporation. The money was rolling in, and I was living large. I lost it all in one phone call. They went in a different direction.”

I was struck by the fact I was having a very personal conversation with a complete stranger.

“A wife, three children, mounting bills. I was looking at bankruptcy… losing our house… losing everything. One evening I dropped to my knees and cried. I really did. Cried like a baby.”

Oh, my God, he was putting it all right out there.

“I was about as down and out as anyone could be. And then a sudden calmness came over me. I got a message. What are you doing down there? You need to get up and get moving. And I did. It was Him. I know it was Him. He has been with me every step of the way ever since.”

A true believer right in front of me, and willing to share his secrets. Maybe he could help me.

“I couldn’t sell my production facility. It was in a remote, undesirable, location. I struggled to stay afloat for a year, and then one day the state contacted me about my property. They were expanding the highway and needed my land for a retention pond. They paid me an unbelievable amount of money. I squared up my debts and had enough left over to get going again. I started another business, and it did well. And then another. Life was good again. I sold the businesses and moved my family here. I’ve got a ninety-acre ranch up on the mesa. It was all Him. I put my life in His hands, and it’s all good.”

 I didn’t know what to say. Some guy I just met… I didn’t even know his name… had just spilled out his life’s story. Awkward moments passed as it seemed it was my turn to talk but I wasn’t coming up with anything. Maybe, “Wow, that sure is something!” Or, “Good for you!” Or, “Hey, put in a good word for me.” Nothing seemed to meet the occasion. I envied him… not his business successes or his ninety-acre ranch, but the fact he had found Jesus…or Jesus had found him. I could tell he was at peace with the world; he was at peace with himself. He would always be ok. I wanted to be ok, like him.

“I’m happy for you. It must be a good feeling.”

“It is.”

The stranger looked at me with a sympathetic eye. He understood.

“Don’t worry. He’ll find you too.”

He turned and walked down the road.

Aftermath:

Guilt. What am I doing here? I hadn’t thought about such things for a very long time. Am I waiting for my time to die to think about why I lived? It had been years since I studied the stars above and contemplated the scope and origin of the Universe. I can’t remember the last time I had a serious conversation with anyone about the existence of God. What do I consider to be my purpose in life? Do I even have one?

I needed a stranger walking out of a cemetery to get me thinking about the meaning of my life and the existence of God. I realized I had been on autopilot, clinging to those distractions and watching the days go by.

I walked through the swirling fallen leaves up that path to the gravestones. I looked at the names and dates and realized that my name and the years I occupied this earth would someday be etched into one of those stones. It scared me to think that’s all I would leave behind. Sure, I had children, but so do monkeys and mice. Did I instill good values in my kids? Will they think of me often… and favorably? Any other lives I touched? Any good works left in the wake of my existence? It’s a sad and lonely place to be thinking you might not have mattered.

Reawakening. The chance meeting with the stranger gave me a second wind in life. I’m going to find Jesus if it’s the last thing I do. I’ve been star-gazing, overwhelmed by the array of stars across the night sky as I mull over theories as to how it all came to be. I even drive to remote places so I can see more of them. I think He’s up there but damn if I can find Him.

Our high school is just two blocks from my home. Sometimes at night, even in the winter, I’ll stroll over there, take a seat in the bleachers, and meditate… and wait. I should be easy to spot, sitting there alone, especially if the bleachers are snow-covered. He still hasn’t found me.

Many summer evenings I’ll drive to the nearby City Beach near sundown after the lifeguards have left and the place is empty. I’ll swim for 20-30 minutes, occasionally floating on my back and looking at the stars above. I try…oh, so hard, to find Him. Apparently, you can’t think your way to Jesus. It’s like trying to think your way taller. I could be on the flip side of Kris Kristofferson’s (may he rest in peace) “Why Me Lord?” My tune would be, “Why Not Me, Lord?” What have I ever done that I can’t find Him, or Him me?

I say I believe, but I’m not feelin’ it. I don’t have that overwhelming feeling of peace, comfort, and confidence in the hereafter I’ve heard true believers talk about. Seriously, how does one find Jesus or God? Or, what should you be doing to improve the likelihood you’ll be found? I don’t think there’s a textbook answer or a proven roadmap.

The cemetery stranger was a messenger. He didn’t make me a believer, but he got me thinking. I’m reminded of Cary Grant as an angel visiting David Niven in The Bishop’s Wife. The bishop was so obsessed with fundraising for his new cathedral and torn by his efforts to appease the rich donor’s demands that his marriage was suffering. He asked for God’s help in deciding what to do. In the end, he and his wife are happy again, but he laments the fact that he didn’t get his new cathedral. Cary Grant reminded him, “You didn’t pray for a cathedral. You prayed for guidance.”

I didn’t get Him, but I got the guidance I needed to get moving, contemplate the purpose of my life, and try to find Him. It has been three years since my cemetery meeting with the unusual stranger, and I feel like I’ve been making some good progress. I’m still not sure what my purpose in life is, but I know I have one. I can’t explain the Universe, but I know there is an explanation. I haven’t found Him, but I know He’s out there. That, coupled with a dose of unexplained patience, gives me a semblance of peace.

But it frustrates me that I haven’t found Him. “True believer” status still escapes me. Why are some touched by the spirit and others never get the call. How do people find Jesus? What am I supposed to do? I don’t want to give up. 

It snowed today. I’m sure I’ll stand out in the bleachers tonight under the light of the bright full moon. Maybe I’ll wear my blaze orange hunting jacket. I’ll bring a thermos of hot chocolate with those little marshmallows and put in a little overtime tonight. Hell, maybe I’ll even pull an all-nighter. I think He’ll appreciate the extra effort and come find me. I will be a true believer, and He will be with me every step of the way.

My thermos is empty and the sun is rising. I can’t feel my fingers and toes.I don’t feel any different. Damn, maybe I fell asleep when He came by. I’m tired. I feel like I can’t get up. The stranger promised. I trusted him. He brought me a special message. I did my part. Lord help me, Jesus. Why can’t I find You? I’m so weary. You’re going to have to find me.