On Sunday, Dec. 8th in “The Preacher is Tired Tonight” I mentioned not believing in God at times. I’d like to write about that.
Belief and unbelief are deeply rooted in my history. Here is the first in a series of several posts where the Preacher tells his life story – greatly abbreviated.
The Preacher’s Story Part 1
I am a strange mix
Read the complete story, parts 1-4 in my story section
The preacher grew up in a devout Baptist family in Texas. Some of you are imagining a domineering father and endless hours of religious abuse punctuated with occasional beatings.
Not so.
I have a great family. My parents were and are gentle Christians who put a premium on living a Christ-like life and helping the poor. We lived near the border, and my parents were actively involved with a group of Christians who were constantly throwing their resources at the piteous poverty that co-existed with us just on the other side of the Rio Grande.
I spent a lot of time in Mexico as a young boy. The preacher knows the mingled smells of outhouses, kerosene, and poverty. It’s something you never forget.
One year during a bitter cold spell my father and his friends showed up at the border with a load of blankets and coats. The forecast was for temperatures well below freezing that night, and they knew a lot of families were going to be cold. The Mexican government forbade them from entering. Some bureaucratic bullshit, I guess.
My dad said his kinder, gentler equivalent of “fuck it” and became a smuggler on the spot. He and the others made numerous trips across the border that day in different cars with blankets, food, and jackets crammed under the seats and hidden in the trunks.
My dad felt that one’s calling to serve God was higher than one’s calling to obey the law. For Christ’s sake, he and his friends couldn’t let children freeze.
“For Christ’s sake” packs a punch when you mean it literally.
My family went to services 3 and 4 times a week. Ours was a nice church filled with good people who cherished one another. I enjoyed being a part of the community and learned to love Jesus in that place.
I came to understand that it was the teachings of that same Jesus that led my parents to fight poverty and want in the border town.
These were the Christian people who nurtured me and taught me my faith.
There was a leeetle problem though. Early on it became apparent that something was different about me. I couldn’t make myself believe some parts of the bible. I was a natural born skeptic.
When told the “Noah and the Ark” story in Sunday School, I quickly figured out that two of every kind of animal would not fit on one boat. No one else seemed to be doing the math. I could no more believe the ark story than I could believe the sky was green. I wanted to believe. Believing seemed nice, but I couldn’t. I COULD NOT.
I felt strange and out of place because everyone else at church seemed to believe everything.
I kept my “believing problem” to myself because I thought something was wrong with me.
Thus was born the strange dichotomy that has become the Preacher. A passionate love for Christ and his teachings mingled with a fierce skepticism that would only grow stronger as I grew older.
Coming Next - The Preacher's Story Part II
College, Seminary, and disillusionment.
6:14:52 PM 
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