jmb on Nostr: My dad grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania and was the last of seven kids. His dad was ...
My dad grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania and was the last of seven kids. His dad was an alcoholic, taking him with him to the bar on many occasions. When he was 6, his oldest sister began attending a local Baptist church, where over time a number of the men asked her if she thought any of her siblings would want to come with her. She said, “Maybe my youngest brother,” and started bringing him with her. These men shaped his life in profound ways, and he is still friends to this day with those that are still alive. These men invested thousands of hours in him, talking with him, picking him up, helping out any way they could with the disfunction in his household.
He loved his dad and learned many things from him, but there were other things that he only learned from those men, whom he didn’t seek out and couldn’t ever have anticipated.
He came to faith in Jesus at an early age, much to the chagrin of his parents, who thought it was stupid. By the time it came time for college, my dad decided to go to a one year Bible college in the Adirondack Mountains, and his parents did everything to convince him not to go, arguing that it was a waste of time and that he ought to focus on his career. With the encouragement of folks from church, he went to the college, where he would later meet and marry my mom.
Mom grew up the youngest of three on a farm in Ohio, a surprise baby 10 years younger than her closest sibling. Her parents became Christians several years prior to her birth, and their lives changed dramatically. My grandfather was the kindest and strongest man I’ve ever known, and his life was radically changed by the love and grace of Jesus. He spent the later years of his life ministering to prisoners in the local jail, leading them in Bible studies and offering “graduation certificates” to those who completed the classes. He spoke about how moved many of the men, who had never completed high school or college, were to receive those certificates, in some cases crying on the phone with their family members telling them about their accomplishment. Several of those men came to his memorial service and told us how grateful they were for his life and ministry.
While they (especially my dad) had experienced life and reality both before and after Jesus, there was never a point when I didn’t believe. While I loved memorizing Scripture as a child, being a Christian was all I knew, and that familiarity bred contempt over time. I went to public school, and had few Christian friends. Being outspoken about my faith made me weird in the eyes of most of my peers, and over time the desire to have friends and be like surpassed the desire to be truthful about what I believed. By the time I reached middle and high school, my identity was completely enveloped in sports. I joke that basketball was my real god, and I worshipped at the altar for three hours per day. My parents forced me to attend church (never in a domineering fashion but just as a normal part of life) and while I went, I was miserable and had no desire to be there. I remember a particular day as a 14 or 15 year old when my dad sat me down and tried to help me see the important of reading the Bible and praying for a few moments each day. I remember holding up a copy of the Bible in front of him and saying, “This book is stupid. Why would I waste my life reading it?” before tossing the book down and storming up to my room.
This whole time I knew Jesus was real but didn’t want to surrender my life to Him. I wanted to do what I wanted to do. I wanted to play basketball in college and then get a job working for ESPN.
Two years later I went to a Christian camp. The reasons I went were simple: girls and basketball. In God’s providence, my dad’s best friend was teaching from the Bible that week. His name was Tom, and he had sons who were slightly older than my brothers and I, but he became a father figure to us over time.
He would travel to professional sporting events and preach the gospel afterwards, and several times he would come back with gifts for my brothers and I. This always amazed me; he had his own kids yet was always thinking about us. Even during the time that I couldn’t care less about God, I loved Tom, because he loved and cared about me. That first night at the camp, Tom opened the Bible and repeated more or less the same message that I had heard for my entire life: that God created the world, that humanity rejected him, and that rather than punish humanity he sent His son to take responsibility for and save his enemies by dying for their sins before conquering sin and death by rising from the dead.
I could have articulated all of that information, but I didn’t love God. When Tom finished speaking, there was no voice from heaven or availing light, but it was overcome by an awareness that regardless of who I was or wasn’t and the ways that I had rejected him, Jesus loved me and suffered in my place. It wasn’t some sort of cold rational argumentation, but it wasn’t emotionalism either. In the span of minutes I went from having zero desire to know and obey God to only wanting get alone to spend toe with him by reading the Bible and praying. I was more shocked than anybody, I didn’t know any of the other kids in my cabin, and I spent the majority of that week getting alone to pray and read.
I was not (and am not today) some amazing, perfect person, but I was a new and different person and was set on a new trajectory by those new desires and convictions.
I say all that because I think Mandrik (npub1qex…82qk) is absolutely correct; there is no combination of words alone in English or any other language that can convince him or anyone else of the reality of God, because that’s not my experience nor the experience of many of Christians down through the ages. Spiritual reality is a revealed reality. Many of the people who put Jesus and his disciples to death were Bible experts. They memorized much of the Bible. Their problem was not primarily the content of their heads but what was/wasn’t in their hearts. If Jesus was who he said he was, it would be a tremendous shot to their pride. They would be forced to admit that they needed forgiveness, and that their family lineage and best attempts to please God were insufficient and all doomed to fail.
At the end of the day, belief is meaningless if it’s not grounded in reality. Jesus is either risen from the death and loose in the world, steering history to his ends or dead and guilty of deceiving (wittingly or unwittingly) billions of people into thinking about him in false and undeserved ways.
The Christian claim is that there is no middle ground.
My counsel to people who find themselves in the situation you describe is to put Him to the test. Ask Jesus to show you the truth, and to uphold you with a willingness to seek truth wherever it leads.
As hodlingj (npub1e07…w4rg) mentioned, we wrote TGATB to talk about this exact issue, and we’d love to send you a copy. I’m not at all saying that it’s some sort of silver bullet that will make every reader a Christian. Ultimately we care about and want people to find Jesus for the same reasons we want people to understand Bitcoin: because it’s true and it has fundamentally transformed how we understand and think about our lives.
He loved his dad and learned many things from him, but there were other things that he only learned from those men, whom he didn’t seek out and couldn’t ever have anticipated.
He came to faith in Jesus at an early age, much to the chagrin of his parents, who thought it was stupid. By the time it came time for college, my dad decided to go to a one year Bible college in the Adirondack Mountains, and his parents did everything to convince him not to go, arguing that it was a waste of time and that he ought to focus on his career. With the encouragement of folks from church, he went to the college, where he would later meet and marry my mom.
Mom grew up the youngest of three on a farm in Ohio, a surprise baby 10 years younger than her closest sibling. Her parents became Christians several years prior to her birth, and their lives changed dramatically. My grandfather was the kindest and strongest man I’ve ever known, and his life was radically changed by the love and grace of Jesus. He spent the later years of his life ministering to prisoners in the local jail, leading them in Bible studies and offering “graduation certificates” to those who completed the classes. He spoke about how moved many of the men, who had never completed high school or college, were to receive those certificates, in some cases crying on the phone with their family members telling them about their accomplishment. Several of those men came to his memorial service and told us how grateful they were for his life and ministry.
While they (especially my dad) had experienced life and reality both before and after Jesus, there was never a point when I didn’t believe. While I loved memorizing Scripture as a child, being a Christian was all I knew, and that familiarity bred contempt over time. I went to public school, and had few Christian friends. Being outspoken about my faith made me weird in the eyes of most of my peers, and over time the desire to have friends and be like surpassed the desire to be truthful about what I believed. By the time I reached middle and high school, my identity was completely enveloped in sports. I joke that basketball was my real god, and I worshipped at the altar for three hours per day. My parents forced me to attend church (never in a domineering fashion but just as a normal part of life) and while I went, I was miserable and had no desire to be there. I remember a particular day as a 14 or 15 year old when my dad sat me down and tried to help me see the important of reading the Bible and praying for a few moments each day. I remember holding up a copy of the Bible in front of him and saying, “This book is stupid. Why would I waste my life reading it?” before tossing the book down and storming up to my room.
This whole time I knew Jesus was real but didn’t want to surrender my life to Him. I wanted to do what I wanted to do. I wanted to play basketball in college and then get a job working for ESPN.
Two years later I went to a Christian camp. The reasons I went were simple: girls and basketball. In God’s providence, my dad’s best friend was teaching from the Bible that week. His name was Tom, and he had sons who were slightly older than my brothers and I, but he became a father figure to us over time.
He would travel to professional sporting events and preach the gospel afterwards, and several times he would come back with gifts for my brothers and I. This always amazed me; he had his own kids yet was always thinking about us. Even during the time that I couldn’t care less about God, I loved Tom, because he loved and cared about me. That first night at the camp, Tom opened the Bible and repeated more or less the same message that I had heard for my entire life: that God created the world, that humanity rejected him, and that rather than punish humanity he sent His son to take responsibility for and save his enemies by dying for their sins before conquering sin and death by rising from the dead.
I could have articulated all of that information, but I didn’t love God. When Tom finished speaking, there was no voice from heaven or availing light, but it was overcome by an awareness that regardless of who I was or wasn’t and the ways that I had rejected him, Jesus loved me and suffered in my place. It wasn’t some sort of cold rational argumentation, but it wasn’t emotionalism either. In the span of minutes I went from having zero desire to know and obey God to only wanting get alone to spend toe with him by reading the Bible and praying. I was more shocked than anybody, I didn’t know any of the other kids in my cabin, and I spent the majority of that week getting alone to pray and read.
I was not (and am not today) some amazing, perfect person, but I was a new and different person and was set on a new trajectory by those new desires and convictions.
I say all that because I think Mandrik (npub1qex…82qk) is absolutely correct; there is no combination of words alone in English or any other language that can convince him or anyone else of the reality of God, because that’s not my experience nor the experience of many of Christians down through the ages. Spiritual reality is a revealed reality. Many of the people who put Jesus and his disciples to death were Bible experts. They memorized much of the Bible. Their problem was not primarily the content of their heads but what was/wasn’t in their hearts. If Jesus was who he said he was, it would be a tremendous shot to their pride. They would be forced to admit that they needed forgiveness, and that their family lineage and best attempts to please God were insufficient and all doomed to fail.
At the end of the day, belief is meaningless if it’s not grounded in reality. Jesus is either risen from the death and loose in the world, steering history to his ends or dead and guilty of deceiving (wittingly or unwittingly) billions of people into thinking about him in false and undeserved ways.
The Christian claim is that there is no middle ground.
My counsel to people who find themselves in the situation you describe is to put Him to the test. Ask Jesus to show you the truth, and to uphold you with a willingness to seek truth wherever it leads.
As hodlingj (npub1e07…w4rg) mentioned, we wrote TGATB to talk about this exact issue, and we’d love to send you a copy. I’m not at all saying that it’s some sort of silver bullet that will make every reader a Christian. Ultimately we care about and want people to find Jesus for the same reasons we want people to understand Bitcoin: because it’s true and it has fundamentally transformed how we understand and think about our lives.
quoting note1a9v…49sjI'm not religious. There is no combination of words in the English language that you can use to convince me otherwise.
Sometimes, though, I wish there was. To admit anything else would be a lie.
Christianity is on the rise amongst bitcoiners, and I sometimes think of my own experiences with religion because of this.
I grew up in America with the Greek Orthodox church. I was an alter boy, and I went to Greek school after normal school. We were taught Greek culture, religious topics, language, etc.
The church was my social center. More than that, it was an aesthetically pleasing place.
The Byzantine iconography. The smells of incense. The feel of the pews. The beautiful hymns chanted in Greek. The taste of the Eucharist.
As a youth & young adult, the divine liturgy was an experience for the senses. I wanted to believe. The idea of a greater power watching over us is very powerful. It gives a man purpose.
Alas, I could not believe. I do not believe. It's not me.
True believers show up every Sunday, but there are also the ones present for the social aspects. It's what they grew up with. They go through the motions, live their lives as decent humans, but are likely too afraid to confront their beliefs.
I couldn't respect myself if I did this. I can't be inauthentic to myself and to the true believers in attendance.
Being honest with myself meant leaving the church. It was like denouncing the club, removing myself from a social circle that was the foundation for much of my life.
It left a space that I've done my best to fill.
I think the world would be a better place if everyone lived by the general teachings of Jesus. If we were kind to others. Love your neighbor, forgive people, and all that. This is decent human behavior.
I try to live my life this way, but it is not easy.
This post isn't a cry for help. Deep down, I'm not trying to be convinced. Much like my journey with the carnivore diet, and diet in general, only my own experiences will convince me. I remain unconvinced.
I'm glad some of you are true believers, and I wish you peace and happiness on your spiritual journies. 🧡