Faith Matters

The term "born again" has become quite a loaded expression.  Typically in today's media, it is associated with the conservative side of politics, usually the extreme right-wing movement.  Or, if you are a fan of the Law and Order series, you would hear it associated with a character who murdered someone in order to cover up something or in order to "save my church." Sadly, as is often the case with any particular group of people, the extremists and/or loudest of the group come to represent it as a whole; and, with the speed with which information is propagated today, thus a stereotype is born.  

I was baptized in the Catholic faith, a fact I know but do not remember - if there is anyone who can remember their baby baptism, please let me know 'cause that's just impressive; however, I can recall being in my crib and seing a large green spider crawling across the ceiling, but that's a story for another day.  I was raised and confirmed in the Methodist church my mom grew up in.  This is what I remember: feeling close to God while singing in church, walking up the mountain to the cross at Jumonville during a retreat, and writing about Scripture for missed confirmation classes.  I do not remember feeling particularly passionate about it as I grew up, but I cannot remember a time when I did not have faith in God or Jesus Christ, His Son.  Granted, my expressions of that faith and worship have lacked, dramatically at times, but I have always felt close to God.

I was blessed in college to have some pretty amazing friends, strong in the faith and infinite in their patience with me.  I do not remember - I have typed this phrase several times in two short paragraphs; I am beginning to think working with teenagers might be turning my brain to swiss cheese - anyway, I do not remember when it happened or why for that matter, but it was at this point I became disenchanted with organized religion.  I came to see it as the harbinger of destruction and doom, responsible for all the world's woes.  My dear friends were patient in their efforts to assure me of all the good that comes with it, even with the bad, but I argued my little heart out.  Little did they know they were planting seeds that would take 15 years to bear fruit.

Fast-forward through years of living, making both poor choices and good and my conversations with God limited mostly to times of need, my presence in church limited to weddings and baptisms.  After surviving a painful break-up, the house-hunting process that had me at a whole new level of  bananas, and experiencing a level of closeness with a group of students akin to parenthood, I finally understood what Nicodemus struggled to understand almost two thousand years ago.  

On June 9, 2010, I wept.  I sobbed in a way I never had before, with an understanding so profound it redefined me and with a gratitude so immense it brought me to my knees.  I'll be honest: I've had nights of sadness and despair when I've cried and cried and cried.  They were nothing compared to this level of catharsis.  It was this moment when I finally grasped His sacrifice.  I knew with my intellect He died for us, but it was this moment I realized He died for me.  For me.

I have tried to describe this moment to a friend; she kind of shrugged her shoulders and said okay.  Perhaps my words were ineloquent or insufficient.  Perhaps that moment seemed insignificant compared to others'.  Perhaps my friend had a similar moment and she thought everyone already knew it.  I'm not certain, but as I've thought about it, I am convinced that moment is similar yet intensely unique for every one of us who have experienced it.  While I had heard the expression of being born again before, read about it in literature and non-fiction, I didn't get it until I got it.

I wish I could say my life since then has been perfection, but I am human, capable and guilty of sin. For as much as I strive to let Him work through me, I often rebel and fail.  My walk with Christ has had spurts of great growth, times of stagnancy, and stumbles of backsliding.  However, the difference from the Before is an awareness, a recognition of His presence in every aspect of my life, be it the glory of a sunrise, the gift of an heartache, the blessing of a friend's thoughtful text message, the opportunity to help someone in need, or the instruction an impatient moment brings.  The difference in the After is when I struggle, when I choose, when I celebrate, I feel His hand at my back.  I may not choose the best response every time, but I feel Him here.  Acutely. 

Jesus tells Nicodemus, "That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit." (John 3:6)   The media may define it one way, atheists may define it another, and various sects of Christianity may define it yet another way.  Me, I was born again when I became cognizant of what He has done for me, when I allowed the Spirit into a very fallible and broken heart.  

And I pray that my response to that tremendous Gift is worthy of it.