On my second year in pursuit of a theology degree, I met with a former classmate in college, a nice but irreverent and cynical man three years my senior who helped mentor my journalistic mental development a considerable degree. I liked him a lot and was grateful for what I learned from him. He was able to track me down to let me know that our common friend- our former managing editor- had died of lupus. We hadn’t been in touch for a number of years. Hearing my voice on the phone the first words out of his mouth, dripping with as much sarcasm as he could muster were, “"You always got an 'A' at the end of each course, but I guess they're all for effort since obviously you've not learned anything. Hey Las, don’t tell me you’re happy with your overly fanatic Christian pastor's life!?! If you are, then you're missing a lot” After a long pause the only thing I thought to say was, “Well, yes, I'm glad I am.”
We were always the "bests" in our every class, from as simple as Photography to as complex as Journalism and the Law. He and I were always "on top of all things masscomm" in college. We became Senior Associate Editors of the college paper. We both have been exempted by our professors from taking quizzes, examinations and submitting papers a number of times because we were "too good already."
In the end, he pursued the press while I went on to Bible college and then to seminary to pursue the pulpit. He now works as one of the top producers in a large TV network (no, not CNN) while I am a Worship Pastor in a megachurch. His work now reaches around 70,000,000, while I try to (somehow) minister to 7,000.
Back to my talk with him. Well, at that time, his wife left him bringing the kids with her; he sleeps on a couch in his cold office more often than he does in his bed at home; he drowns himself in alcohol whenever he's at home to escape the pain of loneliness; he works more hours than he should because he has nothing else to keep himself busy with. The memory of that meeting has stayed with me mainly because for the first time since I have chosen to pursue the pastoral calling, I was able to gladly admit that I am happy with my calling, and I was looking at the face of an empty atheist who I thought was living my dream life. Over the years, I’ve discovered that clever cynicism has little to say in response. Because once words like, “I believe” tumble out of your mouth, however falteringly, however tentatively, the world’s manner of speech seems the childish thing, the peevish thing.
Suddenly, your childish statement becomes quite profound and people begin to see you filled with faith, joy and excitement. The sparkle in your eye that no esteemed intellectual could explain nor a be-medalled actor could immitate. In that instance, the person you speak with begins to display an unspoken yearning for that which you have. But in the end, it's not a question of my own happiness. Instead, it becomes a question of purpose. Who and what am I living for?
As our lives get underway questions like, Who are we? Where are we going? And what’s really worth a life’s desiring? remain as fresh, as vitally relevant as ever– whether such questions were wired a "divine force" in us or simply a natural evolutionary by-product – they provide the fuel for our largest scientific and spiritual struggle as individuals. In a sense it’s a struggle for our soul, a struggle over who or what is at the center of the universe.
And for wide and sparkly-eyed believers like us, we know WHO He is, and what we are LIVING FOR.
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