Praise God he broke his legs – the logic of a ten year old.

God moves in mysterious ways, or so they say.

My parents always told my brother and me that we had free will. As far as they were concerned, there was no predestination, all was choice, especially when it came down to sinning and repenting. To a child, this made eminent sense. It was me who was responsible for my actions. However, all became a little confusing at a prayer meeting I had been taken to.

One of the members of this group of believers had had a road accident and been pretty badly injured. At the time of the meeting he was in a coma and had two broken legs. The praying started and by and by I noticed a pattern to the prayers that caused me to re-evaluate my theories concerning the nature of God. The prayers went something like this: “Thank you Lord for protecting your loyal servant [insert name here] and protecting him from even worse injuries.”  Well, there’s me thinking, protecting? no predestination? the two don’t go together. Even worse, I thought this: if God stopped him being killed, He actively allowed him to be injured. Where’s your loving God in that? This was further compounded by more prayers asking God to heal him. This led to all sorts of confusion. I hoped God would heal the man, but what about everyone who didn’t get better, didn’t God love them? If the guy didn’t recover did that mean God couldn’t heal him? What sort of God was that? To a young boy it was all very confusing.

Later, when I spoke to my dad about this, his answer was, ‘God moves in mysterious ways.’ That’s an answer I found very unsatisfactory at the time, and when I hear it now, it smacks of a get out clause. I know, I know; to understand God is divine. But to fudge a cheap answer is human.

Cherry picking the Bible

Both my parents were literal believers in what they referred to as, ‘The Scriptures.’ For a young boy this was easy. The world was created in six days, God flooded the Earth and all the animals went on an ark, Jesus was born of a virgin in a stable, He was crucified and rose again. Simple. It was even comforting. It provided a scaffold for our lives. If there was a problem, enlightenment was always to be found somewhere in the Bible, and as every word was the word of God, you couldn’t go wrong.

When I was about eight, I was given my first Bible. I’ve still got it, a Revised Standard Version with all of Jesus’ words printed in red. I guess I must have been a little older, say eleven, twelve or thirteen, when I began to read critically. I’m not going to list them here, but there are so many contradictions in the Bible, to take it as a literal truth, besides being naïve, requires a certain tunnel vision.

To give my parents and their circle credit, they were willing to discuss this, but when push came to shove, it came down to another cheap cop out: how can we understand the word of God son? All very well I thought, but our whole life was based on what they had chosen to understand of the word of God.

Being Born Again.

My parents believed in rebirth as Christians. Only those who were ‘saved’ would go to heaven, the rest; Anglicans, Catholics etc (not to mention other faiths) were doomed.

Being reborn was a process of, ‘Inviting Jesus into your heart as your personal saviour.’ Then, and only then would you be saved and really know Jesus. This was a great moment in any Christian’s life.

One Saturday evening, I think I was about ten; I was taken to watch an all Christian band play at the Central Methodist Hall. (I think John Wesley may have been doing some grave spinning that night.) It all started very well with upbeat numbers to get everyone going. As the night drew to a close, the music got slower and slower and more soulful. To some, music is a very powerful medium. As the band went into their last number, an instrumental, the lead singer made his pitch. Low and insistent, he asked if anyone wanted to give their heart to Jesus. Over and over. Don’t be afraid, there are people here to help you. Over and over. Come down to the front and let us help you. Over and over. It was as if there was an invisible rope pulling me down the centre aisle towards the front. All the time that music playing in the background.

I don’t remember much about the praying that went on in back room, but I do remember arriving home. Mum and dad were very proud. This was something they had been patiently waiting for. To be honest, I felt relieved. I’d felt the ‘Holy Spirit’ at last and taken the plunge.

This was the beginning of the end. Although I didn’t expect miracles, and certainly nothing overnight, I did expect something – some little twinge, a different feeling inside. As the weeks and months went by, I felt absolutely nothing. I began to feel as if God didn’t want me. Looking back from my adult perspective, I’m amazed I coped so well. All my life I’d been brought up to believe that God was everything, and then I felt that God had rejected me. Not only that, the rest of my family continued to revel in Jesus.