Every person has an emotional side and a rational side, and neither side cares about the other. Sometimes I wish it weren't so. Is that my emotional side or my rational side talking?
June 2007 was the last time I saw Steve before he called to tell me he had cancer. It was the last time I saw him healthy. I saw him once more, almost a year later, a few days before he died. I drove up to his house to see him. A few days later I drove up again to attend his funeral.
I met Steve in fifth grade. We soon became best friends. We stayed that way throughout junior high and high school, and even through college. We became closer than brothers. In the years after college we gradually drifted in other directions, but while life sent each of us down a different path, we always remained close. Even when we didn't see each other and didn't talk much, we were still brothers.
Steve, following in his father's footsteps, went into Christian ministry, and eventually started his own church, which he named "Impact Christian Church." As he and I entered into adulthood, he became more entrenched in his Christian faith and ministry, whereas I grew more jaded and dissatisfied with mine. Steve and I were alike in so many ways, but where religion was concerned, he and I were like the east is to the west. When his cancer was discovered, his local community of faith began a vigil of prayer. "Pray for Steve" bracelets were made. At one point Steve was even anointed with oil as prayers for healing were offered before god.
Apparently god had other plans for Steve. He died May 27, 2008.
I attended his funeral, as well as the worship service at Steve's church the next day. A video played during the funeral that Steve had made a few days before he died. I listened to Steve encouraging the audience posthumously to keep walking in the faith, to continue spreading the gospel message, and to remain true to the mission of Impact Christian Church.
I heard the words of my dead brother, and was moved to tears. I wanted to reach out and grab the torch that Steve had passed. Many people who are dear to me - people whom I have known for many years - are part of Steve's church. They are family to me. I wanted to be a part of that community once again. I wanted to feel that sense of belonging, that sense of family, that sense of purpose and meaning I had felt years ago when I believed I had been called by god to ministry. I was encouraged by many of my Christian friends to move back to the Chicagoland area so I could become a part of Impact Christian Church.
I know what a lot of Christians would say about this, which is why I need to say that this wasn't the moving of the holy spirit. This wasn't god's pulling on my heart strings. This wasn't the "still, small voice" of the Lord calling to me. This was just me, grieving for my loss. This was me, trying to hold on to what little part of Steve still remained. This was my emotional side jumping headlong into cognitive dissonance, because at this point I knew I didn't really believe any of this, but that didn't stop me from actually considering joining the church.
I never made that move, thus I never became part of Impact Christian Church. Something - namely, my rational side - held me back. Still, Steve's death turned out to be a major emotional roadblock. I started attending a local church and soon after even started preaching again as a side job. I even considered attending seminary. I had spoken with a couple people at Lincoln Christian Seminary, and even had the application all filled out and ready to turn in. And then, something happened that might be best described ironically as "the hand of god": as I drove up to Lincoln to turn in my application, I got pulled over by the police, placed under arrest and sent to jail. My application never made it to the seminary.
There was a warrant for my arrest because I had missed a court date for a traffic violation. I was under the impression that I had paid all the fines and attended all the court dates I needed to, and all of that was behind me. But miscommunication occurred somewhere, and I didn't know I had to be in court.
It all worked out for the best. I went to court, paid my fine and went on my way. I found the application to seminary in the glove box of my car, and realized that my mind had been in a fog of emotional conflict and cognitive dissonance since Steve's funeral. Getting arrested while driving to the seminary a year after Steve's death served as a wake up call. At first I was angry at the effect religion can have on a person, and how emotionally driven it all is. Then I simply accepted my experience as part of the grieving process.
My friends laugh at the fact that I'm always the guy with "that kind of luck." Who else would get handcuffed and sent to jail while trying to apply to seminary?
Dead-Logic.com
NEXT: The Journey to Atheism, Part Five - "The Future"
The Journey to Atheism, Part Four
The Journey to Atheism, Part Four
"The Funeral"
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