My Autobiography

A Brief Autobiography:  Driven to Know

Everyone’s got a story to tell.  Each of us treads a unique path through this gifted experience we call life on earth and I look forward to someday watching the video highlights of my fellow time travelers’ lives on some kind of heavenly Cinemax screen.  What follows is a brief description of my own journey for those interested in gaining some insight into where I’m coming from and how I arrived at such a ‘scandalous’ conclusion.

I was born two months premature in rural Japan in 1957 to second generation Church of Christ missionary parents, the fourth of five boys, my twin dying soon after birth.  Both parents were 110% dedicated to spreading Christ’s message to the world and each of us boys implicitly understood that we were to follow suit some day in some fashion.  As it were each of our paths toward the fulfillment of that directive would prove much less formal or complete than theirs and would include many detours along the way.

Due to the death of my twin brother, my mother’s grief was inconsolable and the loneliness of a decade on the mission field became too much to bear any longer.   We left Japan for America before I was a year old and I spent the next 22 years living in various suburbs of Los Angeles, California.  There was ever present in our home an intense awareness of the absolute necessity of living a God-guided/grounded life and of the eternally bad consequences of choosing any other alternative.  While that didn’t prevent my three brother’s rebellion against the older generation and their full participation in the “Hippy” movement of the ‘60’s, it did keep me on the straight and narrow at least through my late teens.

As a young lad I fully enjoyed hanging out with my big brothers on any adventures they would allow me to do so, many of them for their part being drug “enhanced”.  They wouldn’t let me participate in the drugs or smoking or drinking or any criminal behaviors and even if I may have wanted to do a little experimenting in that regard, my Bible guided conscience would not allow for it.   Partly that was due to a genuine desire to live a life pleasing to God, partly because I had come to understand that being high on life was the naturally better alternative, and partly because from a very young age I had the “Hell” scared into me by my mother and the Pentecostal preachers to which I was exposed.

You see, when mom split off from her (and my father’s) more stoic Church of Christ roots to ride the Foursquare Pentecostal “holy roller” coaster, she took me with her from about age 7 all the way to 14.  It was as wild a ride as any to be found at Magic Mountain and I was continuously frustrated with the highly emotionally charged, guilt laden sermons overlain by the “Spirit’s” leading of the congregation into free-wheeling dancing in the aisles and speaking in strange “tongues”. 

The message from that pulpit and several associated “Revival” tent meetings was consistently schizophrenic.   You were promised eternal security in God’s able hands… that is, pending your compliance in becoming and remaining “filled with the Spirit”.   Failure to do so would leave you in a state of eternal insecurity separated from God and everyone else.   Now in spite of my genuine desire to be “slain in the Spirit” in the same manner as I had witnessed in most of the adults around me over the years as they were repeatedly knocked off their feet when the preacher laid hands on their foreheads, I never felt even so much as a tingle, let alone the spiritual lightning bolts so eagerly anticipated, and I stubbornly refrained from faking it, no matter the cost.  As a result, feelings of inadequacy due to the lack of God’s touch, mixed with embarrassment for having once again submitted to the whole strange ordeal in the first place, became more and more commonplace.

Then at long last, as a young teenager my mom finally gave in to my protests when she could no longer bear the tears in my eyes while walking out of yet another service in which the Spirit had once again visibly moved on seemingly everyone else but me.

For the next five years I would attend an assortment of other churches with less aggressive temperaments, mostly of the non-denominational type.  Although these were lighter on the guilt tripping, a similar directive rang out loud and clear… if you don’t accept Jesus as your Savior, or let him into your heart, or be born again, or be baptized, etc., etc., in other words, jump through whatever spiritual hoops were prescribed by that particular group’s interpretation of the Scriptures, you will spend an eternity in painful regret!

So I dutifully covered my bases by consenting to all of the above, multiple times in fact.  But the effective relief of guilt only lasted a short while, usually a few months or so until the next sermon on “backsliding” would have me marching down the aisle for my salvation booster shot.  Thankfully that didn’t represent the sum total of all that was going on in my head at the time or I may have never found my way out.

In spite of the constant pressure from the drone of fear mongering sermons, I had somehow managed to have absorbed and retained some kind of innate childlike trust in life.  It was at the deepest level of my being that I felt all was in good hands and that my fate was actually secure in spite of my substandard devotion to God.  One thing was for sure, my mom loved me more than the bipolar “god” to whom she had subjected me, and unlike him, she would never give up on me no matter what.  Even more impressive was the fact that she would never give up on my other more rebellious brothers despite their sometimes brutal reaction to her attempts at discipline.   And so I was convinced that there must be a better Deity somewhere in the universe, one more nurturing like my mother in whose love I could count on even when he couldn’t count on me. 

Fortunately my parents, despite their immersion in Christian traditions which discouraged critical thinking, each personally possessed a certain “driven to know the truth” mindset which afforded us kids exposure to a much broader range of Christian thought than the narrow sects to which they had pledged their membership.   Moreover this thirst for deeper understanding was not limited to religion but rather spilled over into all other fields of study including psychology, philosophy, science and politics.

For example, in the late ‘60’s my dad ran across a book (The Primal Scream) describing a new kind of organic psychotherapy which opened his eyes to the mechanism whereby neurosis (“the sins of the fathers”) is transferred inescapably from generation to generation.  I was just 12 years old when he read it and shared it with the family.  I was inspired to read it myself and was profoundly touched by its insights into the human condition. Soon both he and my mom began applying its principles both personally and to other members of the church that would come to our house for counselling.  This close encounter with people’s “pain” along with the awareness of my parent’s unconditional love for me, developed within my soul a deep sense of compassion for each and every person on earth including myself.  It became increasingly clear why Christ, while hanging from the cross, had petitioned the Father on behalf of mankind, saying “Father forgive them for they know not what they do”.

And this realization triggered a spark in my consciousness, a hope which could not be extinguished - a hope for the redemption of all.

Yet search intently as I did in my late teens, no earthly description of a heavenly source that would consistently support such a proposition could be found in any of the major religious texts, perhaps least of all within the Christian Bible.   As it slowly began to sink in that there really was no recorded account of a God with truly unconditional love for his creation, religion in general began to lose its appeal.   Its precepts rang hollow, describing a deity either unable or unwilling to take responsibility for the results of his creative act.

Up to that point I had been extremely introspective, always seeking to understand who I am and what God may desire of my life.   Not that I didn’t have any fun as a kid.  Rather I enjoyed my childhood immensely, but my appetite for spiritual understanding was beyond my years, and life without his guidance seemed inconceivable.  The thought of being cut off from that internal light in which to anchor my soul was frightening.

Nonetheless I began to tinker with the possibility that there was no God, no designer, perhaps only mindless evolution as science proposed.  Maybe there was no source of love or even of life itself.  As I allowed my mind to drift wherever it may without judgement as to whether my thoughts or inclinations were “good” or “bad”, what quickly became apparent is that locked deep inside myself could be found the seeds of the full spectrum of human behavior spanning all the way from desires for noble self-less sacrifice to completely compulsive self-ish narcissistic fantasies of violent senseless cruelty and distorted sexual expression of all kinds.

Into that vacuum rushed that loud inner voice (as opposed to the still, small one) which I’d always imagined to be my “conscience” or the voice of God.  It now grew louder and stranger than ever before - one moment tempting me, sometimes even commanding me to follow these raw impulses while embracing an “I’ve gotta be me” kind of mentality - and then in the next moment turning 180 degrees to damn me to Hell for even allowing the slightest contemplation of them whatsoever, let alone ever putting them into action.  Over many months of running through these mental gymnastics I found myself more deeply conflicted than ever and on more than one occasion even briefly glimpsed suicide as a viable way out.

Seeking God’s help on this matter provided no relief to my troubled mind.  After all if he was not committed to stick it out with me through my struggles to the end, come ‘hell or high water’, and instead was prepared to abandon me at the drop of a hat when he’d had enough, then I no longer had any use nor tolerance for his presence.  Not only did he offer no solution to the torment inside but appeared actually to be the source of it.   “Go ahead” I finally screamed aloud, “cast me into Hell if you like… it feels like I’m already there!  I’ve got nothing to lose… leave me alone!!”

It was very scary at first, telling God to take a hike and immersing myself within a totally atheistic point of view, but gradually it began to feel quite comfortable.   Just to enjoy being alive without the need for making sense of it or assigning to it some sort of higher purpose brought welcome relief.   I definitely didn’t miss the taunting from the abusive internal voice that I had mistakenly come to believe to be the voice of God.  It was a clean start from scratch, assuming nothing about the origin and meaning of life not even that there was any objective meaning to it at all.  It was a mode of living I had heretofore never experienced, an utter ambivalence to a higher purpose.  I had always wondered, and now knew, what it was like to have no concern for why I was alive here on earth.

 

I chose to do a little drinking and smoked pot a couple of times.  I found it somewhat enjoyable but couldn’t help feeling it to be a strange sort of pleasure where my mind wasn’t even fully conscious of the enjoyment.  Sure, the world hadn’t come to an end like the preachers had warned, nor had I been struck by lightning for my indiscretions, but nonetheless it soon appeared to me to be just a waste of time in the short run, and in the long run a waste of life.

 

More ominous though was my sense of being increasingly sucked into what I had come to find were the logical implications of an atheistic world view without boundaries.  The dark inner voice which no longer had any sense of a Godly connection began pushing harder and harder each day to turn whatever crude impulse bubbled to the surface into actual physical expression.   I was the god of my universe now and why should I be denied anything whatsoever I desired no matter how objectively repulsive?   I must be true to myself, I thought, to whoever or whatever I am.

Fortunately I could still hear another voice (that still small one) whispering softly within, reminding me of who I really am, as well as who I am not.    And upon the concerned advice of my immediate family, at age 22 I reluctantly agreed to pay a visit to the office of a self-help radio personality named Roy Masters, founder of the “Foundation of Human Understanding” for whom they knew I had gained much respect.  He represented after all, a very reasonable approach to religion that wasn’t “churchy”, and had given me cause to believe that it may be possible after all to be both religious AND sensible.

 

What a God-send that turned out to be.  He was able to see straight through the fog which had clouded my mind and to provide a very succinct summary not only of my overall problem but of a solution well within my reach, one merely awaiting my consent to proceed.

To paraphrase his concise assessment, he simply said:  “That loud inner voice of mental/spiritual harassment is not your conscience at all but seeks only your destruction and will always tell you there is just one more thought or impulse you must follow in order to be true to who you really are.  Although you claim to be confused as to which way to go, you already have the voice of God within, informing you of what is right and what is wrong… now go and choose wisely!”

Walking out of his office I felt the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders and from my heart.  I knew that he had hit the nail square on the head.   For some years a poster of an awe inspiring waterfall had hung on my bedroom wall with a caption that had guided my life even through the recent period where I had abandoned all cosmic authority.  It read:  “Be True To Your Own Highest Convictions”.   I had strongly desired more than anything to live up to that ideal but had been utterly conflicted as to which of my convictions were the highest.  Now for the first time I realized a singleness of mind and had the confidence to follow it.  Truly that still small inner voice of God, as it were, would soon prove equivalent to my own highest convictions.

I felt a tangible excitement in anticipation that the peace of mind of which I had just caught a glimpse in his office might follow me wherever my new path would lead, one moment at a time.  Of course the full measure of this inner peace did not arrive instantly in one installment but rather came in increasing frequency and duration as time passed.  There would still be a considerable period of time where that other destructive voice would continue to harass my mind, actually “screaming” louder and louder in its last ditched effort to suck me back in to its bondage.

 

However, the intensity and frequency of this relentless badgering was quickly fading and my new focus becoming steadfast. Most of all, I was eager to learn of the source of that still small inward voice and to find answers to a myriad of questions in that regard.  What was the nature of this being and what was ‘its’ purpose in creating the universe.  My expectations as to what I may discover were wide open, constrained only by two basic assumptions:

1)  This being must have a conscious personality, and…

2)  Be the source of love without condition

The first point seemed obvious.  Common sense would dictate that my creator could not be less sentient or otherwise endowed than myself, his creation.  Secondly, I had already come to know from interactions on a purely human level that the highest, most sublime form of interpersonal relationship was grounded in this unconditional form of love.   Besides, I could never be inspired to give myself in worship to a lesser god incapable of such expression.

So I proceeded without delay to inquire of this God of my assumption that he would reveal himself more fully to me and if there be a true religion on earth that he would provide its identity.  I was determined not to end up adhering to a Christian viewpoint just because I was born the son of a Christian minister.

As an aside I might mention here that at the time of this writing my residence for the last 8 years has been in the State of Utah and I am often reminded of another young man who purportedly inquired of God in a similar manner as to His identity and that of the “true Church”.  He then claimed to have seen a vision, an actual appearance of God in bodily form delivering the “true gospel” on a set of golden plates.  Unlike Joseph Smith of the Mormon religion, however, I received no special revelations of any hidden or lost information.  Rather my answer came as a gradual unravelling of a puzzle, slowly increasing in pace as time wore on until finally a comprehensive whole became apparent, and surprisingly enough the answer had been hiding in plain sight in my own backyard (and in yours) all along.

My own journey of discovery began by actually reading the Bible cover to cover for the first time over the next three years.  After careful study, however, I found no description of the God I was seeking and instead found myself rather “underwhelmed” by the highly conditional nature of the often Greek-like capricious god described therein.  I was disappointed to find its overall message to be quite in line with the self-contradicting sermons I had heard throughout my life, and frankly I had already noted more profound spiritual truths contained in the Eastern religions which at least afforded the eternal possibility for all human beings to achieve Nirvana eventually, albeit perhaps, after struggling through multiple reincarnations.  But alas in those texts as well, no mention of, let alone demonstration of unconditional love on the part of the Deity towards mankind was anywhere to be found.

Then in the period leading up to my 25^th birthday, my head began to clear.  Slowly at first and then accelerating day by day, answers from every direction began replacing the questions, as the pieces of life’s puzzle started fitting together effortlessly in my mind.  I was becoming more and more certain that my instinctual understanding of God was correct even if there was no historical documentation which consistently supported it.

Finally one day, the written exposition for which I had been so earnestly seeking fell almost literally right into my lap.  My two year old nephew had pulled a book down from the shelf of my dad’s bookcase into his lap and when his grandmother picked it up she knew that its subject matter would be of interest to me in light of my quest.  The title was “Unveiled Glory”, written by Hannah Hurnard, a lifelong English missionary to the Holy Land who was widely known for her other less controversial fictional Christian novels.  I began reading it and could not put it down. What a rush!  Here was the description of the God that I knew intuitively must exist, the source of unconditional love.

She proposed that the primary purpose of Christ’s incarnation as revealed in the Bible was not that of coming to die in some form of deference to a false god of justice but rather to pull back the veil which had heretofore hidden God’s true nature from our sight (thus the title, “Unveiled Glory”).  Die he must, she wrote, but not because justice demanded it, rather because that’s what love does.  Through his life, death, and resurrection he was demonstrating the nature of love and moreover that He is love, without condition, and with power to bring the living back from the dead.

There it was, exactly what I had been seeking.  How had I missed it?  There He stood, that One for whom I had refused to allow any other to occupy His place in my heart and soul.  Jesus, a figure whose mission and message had thus far evaded my understanding, was clearly revealed to be the literal Incarnation of Love.  All the old confusing concepts of a bipolar god fell away like dead skin.   And subsequently reviewing the Bible in light of the primacy of this truth concerning Christ’s purpose uncovered a consistent thread woven throughout its pages, as it were, into a tapestry of Good News for all of mankind.

And as if that were not enough of a blessing for a lifetime, another windfall occurred soon after the discovery of this amazing book.  My father had recently retired from his job in L.A. and my parents had moved to Oregon to be with their boys (myself included) and the grandkids.  When I approached him with the contents of Hannah’s book, the ensuing discussion radically changed the nature of our relationship. I became thoroughly acquainted and tightly bonded with my father for the first time.  What an amazing surprise to find that although he had followed quite a different path on his own spiritual journey, he had ended up with the same conclusion regarding God’s nonnegotiable plan to reconcile the whole world to himself as revealed in the Scriptures for all who had ears to hear.  It was a totally unexpected turn of events to have found such commonality with my dad at such a deep level.  As a result we spent seemingly endless hours over the next couple of years discussing the fabulous implications of such a promise.

Then in the middle of all that came yet one more good fortune my way when I was able not only to meet Hannah in person but to spend a whole day interacting with her, one on one, in a rare visit she made to the United States to a town less than a hundred miles from my home in Oregon.  (see blog post: “Unveiled Glory:  another look at Christ” for more details of that visit and a thorough description of the book).  

Both Hannah and my father had been steeped in the traditional doctrine of very conservative denominations of Christianity and had spent their whole life serving on the mission field and beyond.   Knowing personally two such dedicated conservative thinking individuals who were ever so slowly persuaded through intense study of the Scriptures and real world mission field experiences to open their hearts and minds to a more expansive view of God’s grace, went far to confirm in me that this same Gospel which I too had come to embrace was not just the product of my subjective individual desire or youthful fancy, but had a solid foundation in the Biblical text when properly understood.  It’s kind of funny in that regard, as much as my dad’s understanding of the Bible was in complete alignment with the contents of Hannah’s book, he had no recollection of having ever read the book nor how it had come to be in his possession.

Excited to share this message of Good News with the whole world, I first attempted to communicate it to individuals within the churches (including the leadership) thinking there must be others struggling with a similar misunderstanding.   However, aside from an individual here or there, the vast majority were satisfied with the standard fare.   And quite understandably, most felt very threatened by concepts which at first glance appeared to undermine the foundation of essential Church doctrines.  Efforts to alleviate their fears were of no avail and similar engagements with those outside of the church among the more worldly minded proved to be no more productive.  In the first place, secular folks had little interest if any in seeking profound solutions to life’s riddles, and secondly, any suggestion that those whom they despised may somehow be redeemed in the end, held even less appeal.  For those despicable individuals who had once upon a time ruffled their feathers, Hell would do just fine, thank you very much!

So it has been from that time until now, even though this Gospel message represents an intellectually and emotionally satisfying perspective on life, radically different from anything most have ever heard and completely devoid of any Bible thumping overtones, it continues to illicit only sparse investigation.  It seems very odd to me that more people do not resonate with such a positive message, grounded as it is both in recorded historical events and existential experience.   Apparently most people remain comfortable within the conditional context, convinced of their ability to measure up to whatever standards their image of god may impose.  Regretably this provides only a false sense of security though, based as it is on one’s worthiness, which can hold sway only until some life event exposes the gross inadequacy of such a tenuous spiritual connection. 

Nonetheless it has been deeply gratifying to witness the Gospel’s effect upon a few close friends and family including my wife and eight kids, and I will enjoy living it and spreading it by any means available for the rest of my life.  In 2008 I began writing this blog to provide an opportunity for a broader audience to consider its merits and in the near future I plan to tap into other web tools such as youtube in an effort to reach out to those more inclined to listen than to read.   Overall, these concepts do appear to be gaining some traction as represented by the recent publishing of such books as “Love Wins” and “Hope Beyond Hell”, both of which are drawing a fairly wide readership.

  

One way or another, the message will get out in God’s good time… and that’s not necessarily in my time.  The Gospel will be spread ‘round the world ‘till every ear hears and every eye beholds the reconciliation of all of Creation in Christ…. and God’s will will be done on earth as it is in Heaven ...Amen!