I would be a complete fake if I didn’t occasionally jump up on a stump, waive my arms James Waddel style (look him up) and state what I think is true. Whether you are a hedge fund manager, housewife or forklift driver, I believe there is nothing more essential to our human existence than to explore our relationship with the divine.
I’ve listened to many sermons and read many a book by a great theologian, but nothing has connected me to my fellow humans more than listening to others give their personal testimonies of how they came to believe. Before we get started, I’m wary of sounding judgmental, so let me state for the record, I’m a rotten scoundrel, a pettifogging slickster, self-centered rascal and a mean ole snake.
When I was little, I was always in bed before my father who often worked late came home. He would always, and I mean always come in my room, put his hand on my forehead and tell me my prayers. “Now I lay me down to sleep….” and the 23rd Psalm. I felt God’s presence. It was as though I was wrapped in a protective “God blanket.” He was there, and I knew He was there. I am very fortunate to have had Marston Smith as my father.
We attended St. John’s, a small 18th century Episcopal Church. I can’t remember receiving any substantive grounding in Christian theology at St. John’s. The Baptist and Methodist kids seemed to know a lot more about the bible than I did growing up. Our minister was Dabney Wellford, a kind man with a mellifluous old Virginia voice. It was as though we lived in an English village, Dabney lived at Sabine Hall, a baronial, early 1700s ancestral home, where we would often have lunch after church. My memories of St. John’s are not just a warm place filled with good people, but a fun and jovial place as well. When Dabney’s sermons would ramble on, Dad would run his forefinger across his throat, delivering the “kill it” sign to Dabney. Who has the gonads to do a thing like that? Answer: my Dad. He would always elbow me when Mrs. Hodges and Miss Eliza Bland Lamb would try to out sing each other in the choir. I had the lead role in the Christmas pageant for a couple years. Dad and his buds (Billy and Herbie Carden, Dick Farmar and others) would make faces at me trying to make me forget my lines or bust out laughing. We were not a bunch of stiff Presbyterians! During confirmation classes (7th grade) in the Parish House, we figured out where the church hid the wine and were often buzzed during class. The same was true when I and a handful of others became acolytes. Our acolyte coach, Mr. Porter, was a recovering alcoholic, and when someone noticed that the decanter in the chancel was unusually low, well guess who got the blame? Two years before I went off to college, my fellow acolytes either went away to boarding school or college, so I was the acolyte every Sunday for two years. I can’t say that I remember anything about Dabney’s sermons or gained any great insights into the tenets of Christianity during this time, but I will say St. John’s has a special place in my heart.
The only religious thing I can remember about the University of Virginia was a little wormy TA in my Western Civilization class taught that the Book of Isiah and other books were not written until centuries after the fact such that the prophecies had already happened before they were written. This pissed me off. I delved into the matter and this was likely the first time I had taken a deep dive into the bible. The little piss ant guy was of course wrong, and it exposed the antipathy, not to mention the intellectual smugness that much of academia has towards Christianity.
Finally, I got married, and since then I have been a serious student of Christianity. I’ve read the bible several times, been in countless bible studies, taught Sunday School and youth group for 14 years and held a number of positions in my church. Every night, I walked into each of my three children’s bedrooms and told them their prayers, and for at least a dozen years, I dragged them out of bed and to church every Sunday.
With this said, I’m good at some things, not so good at others. I don’t hate anybody. I dislike everything about Joe Biden, but I also love Joe Biden because he was created by God. He has a soul, and I want the best for his soul. I have a strong grasp of theology, but I don’t always do what I know I should be doing. I pray every day, but I’m not a good prayer. I’m too impatient to stay still for long. I have a tough exterior, and my guard is generally up. This makes it harder to connect with the Holy Spirit. I’m a control guy. I’m not the best at “let go and let God.” I could do a better job at being mindfully thankful. And then there’s pride! Oh, I have had to be wary of that fellow, he might be my biggest nemesis!
So here are some things I’ve learned in my journey.
We all want to be our own god. Few of us, even those who are much better at this than I am, want to be completely submissive. We form our own religion by cherry picking the rules we want to follow and ignoring the ones that are inconvenient or make us think life would be no fun if we obeyed them. Yet, all the evil in the world is caused by man’s hubris in making himself god and refusing to be submissive to his conscience, a conscience that knows the truth.
I’ve had a number of revelations. Epiphanies that came upon me out of the blue, sent directly from the Holy Spirit. It’s one thing to read books, it’s quite another to experience intellectual wisdom in the form of spiritual truth.
During a visit to the Shenendoah Valley, I woke up and went outside. I was awestruck by the beauty and wonder of what my eyes saw. The mountains, the mist, the flora, the blue haze. Instantly, I knew that both the earth and our human bodies were intelligently designed. Moreover, God’s law has been manifested to us. Divine authority. We inherently know it. He is there, all the time for us to see.
Once I was on a mission trip to Honduras. I have a Teutonic, get things done mind. Our leaders had us digging a church foundation with shovels. Half of our crew were women, some pretty old. My white business guy mind was about to explode. I went and hired a backhoe for $100. In 3 hours, the work that would have taken months to do was done. The Hondurans seemed like they were on Prozac. Everything was so inefficient, so slow and there was corruption everywhere. I was of the mindset and told my fellow parishioners that the only way we could possibly “fix” this place is to send in the Marines and take the county over and “run it right.” Then suddenly on the evening of the 3rd day, I saw Hillary West. She was holding a baby. All she was doing was lovingly holding a baby, and then I was gob smacked with another revelation. Our job as Christians is not to fix every problem for all others. Our job is to simply LOVE OTHERS. That’s all, and likely good things will follow from that love.
We live in a self-help book world. There are a million messages a day on how to deal with anxiety, depression, achieving goals, happiness, difficult people, our health, controlling anger, drugs and alcohol and all of life’s challenges. I always chuckle because the tenets of Christianity not only address all of these issues, but you get a free invisible coach to help you.
The very best cure if you are feeling blue, perhaps in a rut or feeling hopeless, is to go out and help somebody. It really does work.
I’ve seen miracles, and I know people who have seen a lot more than I have. The very best testimony that I have ever seen that strengthens my faith and keeps me from doubt is seeing the Holy Spirit in other people. Some people have a countenance about them. My brother “Fat Wally” is this way. Brenda Quinby was this way, and I can think of a number of others. It’s palpable and real.
Right now, I’m in a quizzical place. I think I know what’s going on. I have many coincidental things happen to me that defy rational explanation. I’m not good at discernment. I’m always on the move thinking about a million things. I think God is sending me messages, saying “look Smith, you dumb son of a bitch, I’m trying to get you to pay attention.” He wants me to drop my protective guard. I think he has more in store for me. I think I know what it is, but I also think I’m a bit afraid.
I will conclude by saying all of this is a journey, but it is a good journey and a fun one too. Again, I’m not particularly good at all of this stuff, but I do know that despite me ignoring Him from time to time, He is always there. The Holy Spirit is knocking on our door, asking us to let him in. It can be scary, but I will offer this advice. We are here to support each other ( See 1 Corinthians 12:12-27). Talking about these issues with others is extremely cathartic.
Thank you for indulging me. I say these things because I feel as though I am called to speak the truth, but it is also very helpful for a smartass egomaniac like myself to remind myself of what is truly important.
Now that I have had this cathartic moment, I’ll feel better, and hopefully I won’t feel the urge to trip any old ladies or shoplift today…….
