Eugene Peterson, pastor, professor, and writer passed away today at the age of 85 after battling dementia and heart failure. Peterson authored 35 books in his lifetime. The most popular among them was The Message, which has […]
For a long time, I had considered going to church. As someone who had never gone before, religion fascinated me. As someone who was always a thinker, I always believed that there just had to be something out there. We had to have come from some sort of Surpeme Being.
For part of high school, I had made a deal with myself that I’d start going “when I got older.” At least when I had a car, and could take myself.
Then, one week as a senior in high school, it dawned on me, “I have a car.” And I decided to go that Sunday. That first church service was ten years ago this weekend (February 29, 2004).
The year before, I had taken a humanities class where we spent a quarter of the year talking about the various world religions. I wanted answers. I wanted to know what was true. I was in a group that ended up getting B’ahaism (which I was pretty sure wasn’t true). I pretty much wrote off the eastern religions, because I questioned “if reincarnation were real, how are there so many more people now than there used to be?”
Before you argue that logic, let’s just remember that I was 17.