My Real Memoir
I’d been admitted, I discovered, to one of the top drama schools in the country. The “Welcome Theatre Majors! Party” at a wealthy alumna’s pad, revealed two other things: they could drink and they could think. If they’d been paid by the syllable, UCI’s graduate students would have been rich before bedtime. I said something clever I’d saved-up for my exit, and thought, “I’m one of the intelligentsia now!”
It was 2 a.m. when I veered toward my car in the alley. Not the most likely time or place for an encounter with a zealous young Jesus-freak. But suddenly, there she was: “May I ask what religion you follow?”
“I have my own religion,” I answered dismissively.
“Well, what do you believe about God?”
“God is a force, not a person,” I replied, “and he didn’t make the universe, he became the universe.” (How erudite! My new, intellectual friends would be impressed.) I had no idea I was echoing both my previous brush with Hinduism, and a budding space epic some guy named George was filming at that very moment.
“No, God is our Father,” she replied.
“OK,” I began, “if you prefer a father metaphor—”
“He’s not a metaphor. He’s actually our father, and he loves us.”
For some reason, that unsettled me. But only years later would I begin to understand why. It was because my relationship with my father had been stormy, almost unnavigable, and we’d only begun to lay a course when he died. Even now, I felt I failed to measure up to his expectations. So, God as a force or father-metaphor–fine. But God as an actual being who doled out never-ending judgments–no, thank you. I’d had that, and didn’t need any more.
Classes started the following week, and I quickly locked my search for meaning in a back-of-the-brain storage bin. I can see two other reasons, besides the unresolved conflict with my father, why I did this:
Pride. I’d decided in seventh grade that faith was a preoccupation for simpletons. And now I was a grad student, in dialogue daily with postmodern elites, led by humanist-atheist Robert “Bob” Cohen, a Yale scholar, bestselling author, and founder of our university’s School of Drama. So I put away my little Sayings of Jesus book, and muted my transcendent longings.
The other reason was visceral, not cerebral. True, Jesus’ character and words, as I’d first experienced them in Godspell, and later (oddly enough) in Autobiography of a Yogi, had triggered some timeless hunger in me. But…
The topical index on the subject of “Love” in a snowed-in Colorado hotel room Bible had revealed a flaw in Jesus’ thinking. He seemed to look askance at casual, guilt-free sex, the sort of “free love” I held sacred. He’d simply gotten it wrong, I determined. Plus, I was about to fall passionately in lust…
With a married woman.
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
This is awesome. Almost Perfect sardonic wisdom
Thanks, Mark.
Whatever the different religions believe of God, they seem to agree that He is beyond comprehension. I think it likely that He is a higher-dimensional being. As such, there’s no reason why He cannot be a Father AND a Force. He can be both individual and universal. It’s like how a pyramid can be both pointy-topped and flat-bottomed.
Free love advocates back in the day often shared those cute little creatures called crabs. 🙂
Nice post, Mitch. All in God’s time 😎🙏
Exactly, Darryl.
Life is a journey. Thanks for sharing yours.
My privilege, Sheryl.
Reflection is interesting, isn’t it?
It is indeed, San.
Very interesting, like you said in a recent post , we have to die, proof we can change. thanks for sharing
My pleasure, L.G.
Rich honest journey.
Thank you, Pete. I’m not proud of all the choices I made in my youth, but I am intrigued.
It gives people who are searching for a way out of the pain or guilt to come to Jesus for peace. Tell your story. Blessings
You too, Pete.
Thanks for sharing your journey, Mitch, it’s a blessing for many!
My privilege, Peggy. I cringe when writing about the things I’m particularly unproud of, but they too are a part of the journey.
All steps on the journey contribute to who we are. 😊
Pingback: Moving Out and Moving On - Mitch Teemley
Pingback: Having a Conscience Is So Inconvenient - Mitch Teemley
Pingback: I Did My Own Thing (and They Weren’t Impressed) - Mitch Teemley
Pingback: Slowly Drowning With No One “Up Top” - Mitch Teemley
Pingback: My Hunger for an Abiding Love - Mitch Teemley
Pingback: There Really Was Someone “Up Top” - Mitch Teemley
Pingback: Learning About Human (and Inhuman) Nature - Mitch Teemley
Pingback: On Being Awake in the Dark - Mitch Teemley