“Life was easier then, but I don’t want to go back.”
Those are the words that ended my last post in this series, months ago. A lot has happened in that time. I’ve been to North America and back. I’ve visited a number of Mennonite Churches where I experienced true and heartfelt hospitality and welcome. I’ve shared the heartbreaks and hopes that we’ve experienced in Calais so far. And, finally, I came back to France, only to shortly afterwards receive news that there was a shipwreck on the English Channel in which at least 12 people perished, and very likely even more. Most of them were women and children. I’d gone from a joyful time of fellowship with families and loved ones to the lows of reality for people on the move here in Calais.
Perhaps that’s what I meant by the above quote. My life is incredibly complicated now, filled with so many emotions each day that I don’t know how my soul manages to contain them. I’ve experienced joy beyond measure, but for every joyful moment there’s a time when the waves of darkness sweep over me like those at the beach. This is because of the task I’ve set for myself, following the calling I believe I received from my commitment to Jesus. Life is difficult now, but I don’t want to live it in any other way.
While I’ve been considering this, I’m taken back to the moments when the seeds for what my life would become were planted. I realise that I briefly touched on my high school experiences with Shane Claiborne and the development of my theology in my last post. My family life was just as complicated though. It was around this time that my parents began to broaden their worldview somewhat. It was small at first, little things like being allowed to listen to contemporary Christian music like they played in chapel at my Lutheran high school or attending a Catholic mass with me for a school project. One thing that I’ve found to be almost universally true is that you can’t put yourself into new and different cultural contexts and still maintain the same level of prejudice that you had before. That’s one of the reasons my wife and I chose to bring our kids to France with us to work with the refugee population.
And I still struggled with some cognitive dissonance as well. Having been raised believing that only my church provided the path to salvation and the truth, I was trying to understand how these kids of other denominations could truly be Christians, as they appeared to be. That’s something that took many more years for me to work through.
Along with my parents’ broadening, my world opened up. I was now allowed to go to movies with my friends, sleep over at their houses, go to school dances, and the like. These are all things that had been denied me in the years prior. I took the opportunity to rebel in some ways, though I had the problem of always being perceived as the “good kid,” so much of my rebellion fell on deaf ears. What seemed significant to me then is quite laughable to me now. For example, I would sometimes go to parties with my friends and drink alcohol when I was 16 or 17.
What you can see here is something not too different from what would be considered a “normal” teenage experience by most measures. I would drink with my friends on Saturday night, then I would go to church on Sunday and secretly judge everyone else for being hypocrites. I know, I know. My logic was flawed, but I was experience teenage angst and undiagnosed depression at the time, so I’ve learned to be easy on myself.
The rest of my high school time was relatively uneventful. I thrived at my new school, even though I was a little lazy and didn’t always do the best I could. I broke a couple of hearts and had mine broken pretty significantly when I was a senior. I’ll never forgive myself for the immature and unkind way I treated that girl at my senior prom. She had every right to break my heart. I know she’s happy now, so I’m glad to see that.
Overall I cherish my high school memories. It was the time when I started to become the person that I am today, and I thank God often for the people that he put in my life to guide me. My only regret is that rather than continue on that trajectory I chose to attend a fundamentalist Baptist college. It was a mistake, but I met the love of my life there, so I guess it could have been worse.
What about you? Do you have memories that you cherish from your high school days? Do you ever wish you could go back?
Coffee & Theology 