A story that needs telling.

So I am somewhat hesitant to write the following post, but I think it may be good to help me clarify a few things that have been rolling around in my head constantly over the course of the past month; also, to fulfill the multiple requests I received tonight to write it down. So here it is.

Also be forewarned: it's really quite long.

It has become clear to me that God exists. That is, the Christian God, of the bible. That said, I wish to preface my account below with a few clarifications. For starters, I don't mean for this to convince anyone of any faith or non-faith. This is not meant to be an argument. It is an account of what I have experienced over the last 7 years of my life, of the slowly growing realization that something incredible was happening, and my current acceptance of the fact of God's existence. Nothing more. I have been an atheist long enough to know that even logical arguments are largely futile to convince anyone of any fact about reality, given that there are just as many arguments for plenty of other ideas about existence. I've been in enough arguments and discussions with rational, thinking Christians (and plenty of irrational ones as well) over the years to know that much.

I also cannot yet claim to be a follower of Jesus. Simply acknowledging the truth of the matter has not yet given me the framework by which to make that leap, at least emotionally speaking. One person tonight said it thus: "You built your tower on one piece of ground, and now have to move it elsewhere. Not an easy thing." Poetic, and altogether accurate. I feel I am currently in the process of moving that tower, brick by brick, but that making the huge leap of dedicating my life to the service of Christ is something that, at this exact moment in time, I'm simply not ready for.

Lastly, what I will write about is only half of the story. The other half has been finding a church with incredibly lucid pastors interested in making logical, rational arguments, not just for belief, but how one can use that belief to free oneself from the tyranny of everyday concerns, and the tyranny of selfishness. A church full of people doing the best they can to live their lives in New York City, while at the same time trying to figure out how to do that while living the message of the Gospels. A church of people who, though I didn't share their faith and was at times even antagonistic towards it, accepted me into their community and treated me as one of them. But that's a post for another time.

What follows is merely an account of what I see as my encounters with the divine, and what actions they precipitated, and my message to anyone who may read it is this: you may not agree that what I have to say has any merit. You may think I'm crazy, or merely searching for an easy fix to get through the hardships of living as a freelance musician in NYC. I don't believe that I'm that easily swayed, and I think those who know me would agree. It is merely an attempt to as honestly as I can chronicle these experiences; by now you all know the conclusion.

So here is my story.

I was 20 years old, attending the Eastman School of Music. I was firmly an atheist (although I called myself an agnostic, I now believe that I was incorrect; after all, if you admit to the possibility of the existence of something, and yet not to the possibility of proving it, what really is the difference?), and would even occasionally debate the subject with some of the more vocal believers whom I counted among my friends. Now, the exact date of this event, and most of the others in what follows, eludes me. It was either in the Fall or Spring of my Sophomore year, when I had an incredibly vivid dream. A dream so vivid that I can recall the details, even seven years after the fact, not because it recurred, but because it was so crystal clear.

A meteor had just struck the Earth, at the center of the U.S., and my girlfriend at that time and I were driving around in a truck, in the middle of the desert. The last thing I saw was a huge boulder crashing through the windshield. I then awoke in the middle of a grassy field. There was a diner nearby, and in the distance a large black tower loomed menacingly. I realized that I had died and that this was the afterlife.

Not knowing what else to do, I started walking toward the tower (at times my girlfriend was with me, at times not; not an important detail, i think). At the base of the tower was a large parking garage (yeah, dream logic). After walking through the garage I reached a doorway, which opened up onto a stairway. On these stairs was a seemingly endless crowd of people, all walking downwards, in single file (the stairway was wide enough to at most accommodate two at a time). Not knowing what else to do, I joined them.

After descending several floors, I followed the line of people through another doorway and found myself staring at a seemingly endless cityscape. Huge modern skyscrapers rose up in every direction, and there were throngs of people, some driving around, others running, some flying (without mechanical aid. It was the afterlife, after all). The sky was gray and looked somewhat polluted, and no one seemed happy. Everyone had an expression of "must get on about my business" on their faces, and a general feeling of tension and unease was palpable. Realizing that I didn't really like this place, I went back into the stairwell.

Fortunately, as the people were all in single file, I was able to climb upwards. After quite a few floors, the throngs of people began to thin (although all were still choosing to descend), until at last I was alone. I finally reached a final doorway, and went through it. On the other side was a cluttered, cozy library, full of bookshelves and furniture with worn red cushions, and everywhere stacks of books. Overhead was a somewhat tarnished brass chandelier that lit the room in a very inviting way. I felt entirely at peace there, even moreso when I was greeted warmly by the room's only denizen, a somewhat plump elderly woman. She informed me that this was indeed hell, but that there was a way to get to heaven. I must spend time contemplating God, and come to the realization and heartfelt belief that I am one of God's creations, thus deserving of divine love. I must then use that realization to see all of humanity in the same light, that all are created by God in His image. Then I would be able to ascend to heaven. She said that it would take some time, but that if I really thought and prayed on it long enough, I would find my way.

I awoke with a more profound feeling of peace than I have ever experienced, before or since. I then recounted this dream to a friend of mine, who pointed out that this story is very, very similar to the one found in C. S. Lewis's "The Great Divorce", which he promptly loaned to me. This was my first encounter with God, and while at the time I merely passed it off as a "cool dream", I now can say confidently that it was the first time my heart was opened to the possibility of God's love. Before, most of the concepts of God I encountered I had found distasteful, in fact downright immoral. Both "The Great Divorce" and the dream showed me a vision of God that was both loving and logical.

Fast forward six years. Through some coincidence I had found employment at two churches, both of which presided over by pastors who speak clearly and rationally, using words and ideas that I can understand. I find it amazing that of all the churches I could have landed at, the ones I did showed me exactly the side of Christianity that I needed to see to give it any credibility. I had recently (and somewhat mockingly) said to God, "Ok, if you exist, show me, in a way that I can understand. If you don't, it's not my fault if I am damned, and you are not the loving God you pretend to be". Well, that prayer was answered, in spades.

My second (direct) encounter with the divine was, I believe, last July or August. It had been a difficult summer. It was too hot to play in the park, and I was barely able to make the rent. I was so sick of having my life so utterly dominated by the need for basic survival, and frustrated that I couldn't get beyond it (this still plagues me, for the record, but I feel things look a lot better now than they did then). To assuage the anxiety I drank heavily on a Saturday night, a foolish thing to do since, well, buying alcohol does nothing to ameliorate financial issues, and also I had to be up at 6:30 the following morning to make the trek to the Upper West Side, where I had been playing a church service for several months (this church is part of Trinity Grace Church, of which the Brooklyn church is also a part. I began playing for Brooklyn in September of 2009, and Upper West in May of 2010).

At any rate, I came into this service feeling both somewhat physically ill and emotionally wrecked. I went through rehearsal feeling pretty much numb. And then a strange thing happened. The service started, and I felt this bursting in my chest, this longing for something I couldn't characterize. I believe C. S. Lewis called it "Joy", although at the time it felt a lot more like pain. I hid it well though, as I always do, despite being on the verge of tears the entire service. Right when it was over, a Hispanic woman I had never seen before (and haven't seen since) came up to me and said simply, "God told me to pray for you today, and to tell you that, whether you know it or not, you are his instrument." Fighting back the urge to break down completely, I nodded to her, and she put her hand on my shoulder, and then left. One can easily write it off as "well of course this happened, you are in church, people do things like that". And of course, at the time I did so. But looking back, the timing was simply too perfect, her words too much exactly what I needed to hear. If such things happened more often I might today give it less credence, but the uniqueness of this event, over effectively two and a third years worth of services (18 months at one church, 10 at the other), makes it seem worthy of mention, and again I felt the hand of God. And again I ignored it.

Soon after this, I was again in some emotional distress. I was feeling empty and lonely; the reality is that I simply didn't have any friends I felt I could count on for emotional support, and it was beginning to wear on me. So I was thinking that maybe it would be time to join a "life group." This bears some explanation.

I joined Trinity Grace Church in Brooklyn for its very first service, hired to play in the worship band. I thought it would just be a one-off gig, for only the first service, but then I was asked to stay on permanently, and, as regular gigs are very rare, and the other musicians were quite good, I of course agreed. Now, from the get-go, the church was promoting these small groups called life groups, people generally from a certain neighborhood who would meet at a chosen person's house once a week, to share a meal, talk about their lives, read scripture, pray, that sort of thing. This seemed appealing to me, at least as a way to make some friends. But the idea of prayer and scripture reading turned me off, as I was not in the least bit religious, and just didn't want to be bothered with all of that rubbish.

At any rate, the event I began describing above occurred about a year after joining the church, that is to say, around September of 2010. I was lonely and considering this life group idea a little bit more strongly, although with the usual inward resistance. In fact that week, the pastor was giving a sermon on why joining a life group is so important. I was standing at the back of the church between songs (there's songs, a sermon, then more songs) lost in my own thoughts, not really listening. I was thinking that to give God a logical chance, it wouldn't be fair of me to just pass Him off without getting to know his followers better. I would have to join a life group to know God. And suddenly I look up and on the screen appeared, verbatim, the words "to know God".

Again, this bears more explanation. At my church, they use two projection screens to drive home various points of the sermons, sometimes as bullet points, and this was one of them.

I must admit to being somewhat stunned by this. However, as was my wont, I brushed it off as yet another coincidence, and went back inside my own head. Again I began thinking of my absolute isolation in the world, and I thought to myself, "No one in New York really knows me. How nice it would be to be known." And again I look up at the screen, and suddenly there appeared the words "To Be Known".

At this point I came to the following conclusion: IF God exists (and I was thinking that I had gone from a definite "no" to a definite "maybe"), than he was sending me a sign. It would be illogical to ignore that sign. You can't ask God, if he exists, to show Himself to you, and then ignore it completely when he does. And so I joined a life group, where I came into contact with people of such profound faith that it was impossible not to be moved by it.

Then one night, at life group, the leader (also the pastor of the church) asked for his son to pray for the group. Everyone else closed their eyes and so didn't see what happened, but mine were open and looking at the boy. He began praying for various people in the room, "various" being the ones in front of him. But first, he said "I pray for Brian" and turned and looked me directly in the eye. He then turned back and resumed praying for those in front of him, struggling to remember their names. And I felt the hand of God once again. That night I stayed up late with the pastor and shared this story that I am now sharing with you, and the barriers began to crumble. I began to see that we are all slaves to something, be it money, power, the self, sex - whatever it is that is most important to you. And that whatever it is, it will someday let you down. I began to see that service to God is not slavery, but perhaps the only way I will ever discover who I truly am.

I have had many other smaller signs, and plenty of little nudgings from various people along the way. What you have just heard is merely the skeleton of a much larger and richer story, a story of fellowship, of people who accepted and loved me as I was, who refused to ever judge me in my unbelief, of late night conversations, which sometimes turned into passionate arguments. It is also the story of Christianity itself, the arguments against which seem more and more full of holes, but that is again a different post for a different time. I know that this is only the beginning of the journey, but it needs to be shared. Take it as you will.