I’ve been following the Christ for, oh…(looks at watch) 30 hours or so. I don’t know, man. Don’t ask me how it happened. I mean I can kind of tell you. There was a Christian and we were hanging out, and he said some prayers on our behalf, and we listened to God’s replies (in the form of positive thoughts) in silence, and he healed my banged-up knees. Yep, hands-on healing with a prayer, and the pain was drastically reduced. I don’t even believe in that stuff.
And now I’m a follower of the Christ. Weird, right? It’s not exactly that simple, but for the sake of brevity I gotta keep it, well, brief. I’m 33 years old, and there was a lot of life in those years, and not once did I ever accidentally become a Christian. I’m the last person you’d think would have drunk the Christ-Aid.
My best friend was surprised. My dad was surprised. People were, like, “You joking, dude?” I’m the guy who tears apart icons. I’m the evocative contrarian who will seemingly turn on a dime just to spite your argument. Ambrose Bierce is a hero of mine. I’m a skeptic, man. A science fan. Up until yesterday, I merely tolerated Christians. Now I’m standing with them.
I don’t call myself a Christian. I prefer the term “follower”. Lowercase “f” to signify I’m not special. I’m filled with the breath of the Spirit. I talk to my conscious hallucination of a God. I buy into the cultural construct known as Jesus Christ. I’m all about the “personal relationship” bit.
Don’t think I’ll be going to church anytime soon, though. I’ll be praying, talking with people about it, and reading some Jesus stories, but church is no. No thank you. Not right now, anyway. I’ve been to churches, just to check them out. They are never not disappointing. Screw that.
More to come.