Unlike most people in church, I was not raised in a Christian home. My father was raised a strict Roman Catholic but fled the church at his first opportunity. He rarely shared his faith but did say he could not accept a god who would send someone to hell for not joining the church. He did instill in me a deep concern for those who are weaker and less fortunate. My mother was a very intelligent and well-read person and a humanist. They sent me to a local Baptist church, the church nearest to our house, but did not go themselves. In spite of all this I gave my heart to Jesus at age seven and ran from him for the next forty years. Sometime during this marathon, a very wise preacher told me that the only issue to resolve was the deity of Jesus Christ. When that is answered he said, all the other challenges would fall into place.
I was a police officer for many years and like most, saw and did things most people would avoid. There I was confronted with a choice, believe in the Risen Savior or believe in nothing at all. Through tears I chose the former. My minister friend was proven right.
I embraced the church but did not give up on my mother’s passion for knowledge. I have read most of the great Christian Classics and many of the more contemporary authors. From my father came a deep drive to help others. I found the two passions, church and the desire to help the weak did not always go well together.
In church I would instinctively reach out and approach those sitting alone, or those on the edge or were otherwise “different”. This was nearly always met with consternation. “You will be sorry if you get involved with them” or “Good luck with that” were the usual responses. The church was much better adapted to supporting other, more accomplished members. At best it would throw a few dollars at the problem and wash their hands of anything further.
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