Early Memories

I was born in 1960 into a religious family and always regarded myself as a Christian. From my earliest memory I said my prayers and went to church, and considered myself to be a reasonably decent person. It's not that I thought I was perfect, but I felt I had principles (unlike most people) and I certainly didn't swear, smoke, make crude jokes or take drugs. I considered myself to be above all that.

The religious sect we belonged to was known as the Taylorite Exclusive Brethren, a group which believe they are the one true church and teaches that members must practice "separation". This meant we had to keep ourselves apart from the outside world by not socializing with anyone not in membership. We therefore grew up in isolation from the wider community, although we were close as a family and had an active social life within the sect.

Separation required that we avoid all unnecessary contact with outsiders, and to not share anything - even meals - with "worldlies". Televisions, radios, record players, etc, were also prohibited because they brought the world into our homes. Having never had such things, we didn't miss them, but at school it was difficult to integrate. I felt out of my depth whenever the conversation turned to TV, and the other boys thought me weird for insisting on eating my sandwiches alone, and for refusing invitations to their houses. I wanted to fit in, but had no longing to be like them - they displayed all the features of worldliness I'd been warned about.  They all seemed to be obsessed by TV and pop music, and many grew their hair long, swore and smoked cigarettes. Fitting in continued to be a problem when I left school and started work. My desire to integrate was in tension with a fear of compromising my religious beliefs. My first job was for a worldly employer but within a year I'd found a job working for Brethren, and life became a lot easier.

In 1984 I became engaged to a Brethren girl, but was instructed by the leadership to keep away from my fiancé until I had a certain amount of money saved up. I didn't manage to keep to these instructions, and was excommunicated as a result. My family was split in half by the event, as the Brethren also deemed Dad, Mark and Helen to be contaminated by me and expelled them as well. The other half of my family (Mum, Angela and Daphne) stayed in. Under Brethren rules, they had to sever all contact with us. Mum therefore left Dad and obtained a legal separation. During our isolation the priests would come and visit us, looking for signs of reform. I  was desperately keen to comply with their instructions and reunite my family, but I never seemed able to satisfy the priests. After about two years my hopes of reunion had altogether faded, the priests seemed to enjoy my anguish and I became thoroughly disillusioned by the Brethren.

Dad had been particularly desperate to be reinstated, and when this didn't materialize, he became deeply depressed. His depression contributed to the strain we were all under at the time, and after a while Helen and Mark moved out. I had nobody I could talk to about my struggles and this was an intensely lonely time of my life. During this time I witnessed the execution of an unarmed man - shot at in the street over a car-parking dispute. Watching helplessly as that poor man's life spilled away into the gutter seemed so terribly wrong and unjust. My religion had taught me that God was kind and just, punishing the bad and rewarding the good. Where was God that day? If he was so big, why didn't he turn the bullets into feathers? Wasn't God just another fictional product of my religious upbringing? Such questions wouldn't go away, and further undermined my concept of a God who rewarded good and punished bad. I felt deeply confused and overwhelmed by an intense hatred towards the gunman.

Later that year, an IRA bomb exploded in Enniskillen, Ireland. 11 people were killed. I was at a neighbor's house as a survivor told his story to the TV news cameras. The man chokingly told how he and his daughter Marie had been trapped under fallen masonry, how they'd failed to save her, and of her last words "I love you Daddy very much". The man's grief was palpable, and we all sat in stunned silence as he was asked how he felt about the bombers. His response shocked me. I remember him saying that he bore no ill will and held no grudge against them. He seemed to be hurting so badly yet carried no malice. My friends reacted angrily to him, seeing his attitude as offensive and weak. They felt he was somehow approving the murderers and condoning terrorism. But I saw something else; a strength I'd never seen before. I saw something incredibly beautiful and immensely powerful about the man's attitude. In a moment of clarity I could see that if ever there was a cure to the war in Ireland, it was here.

The bomb victim's attitude in the face of such overwhelming pain affected me a lot. It took me back to some of the things Jesus said about loving your enemies and doing good to those who abuse you. I looked up some of his teachings in the bible, and found stuff I'd never really taken in before. I found that he'd told his followers to let someone suing them for their jumper have their coat too, and to walk two miles with someone who has forced you to walk one. At one time such teachings made no sense - wouldn't being gracious to criminals give a wrong message and somehow reward them for their crime? Didn't justice demand that goodness be rewarded and perpetrators be punished? Yet now I was beginning to see the bigger picture - that the greatest need for every single one of us is not justice but forgiveness.  I think this was the first time I began to see the foolishness of my own philosophy, and the profound wisdom in Jesus's words. The more I thought about it, the more I longed to be rid of hatred, and craved to love as Jesus loved.

I'm a Fraud

One thing I could now see was that the "faith" I thought I had was not much more than religious indoctrination. I had always understood faith to mean an ability to believe the impossible, but suddenly I could see the foolishness of such thinking. I was determined to no longer live with my head in the sand - I'd had enough of second-hand beliefs and was thirsty for reality. My new interest in the teachings of Jesus Christ and the growing conviction that he somehow held the secret to life was new and thrilling. I was reading the bible a lot (something I'd never done back when I'd been told I should!) and intrigued to find so much of it saying the opposite to what I'd been taught. Once, when I was reading the letter to the Romans, some bits stuck out that I'd never seen before. It said that we were all hopelessly corrupt and selfish, and I suddenly knew this was true of me. I realized that the 'decent bloke' I had presented to the world was actually a fraud. For years I'd looked down on those "worldlies", but I was worse! At least they didn't claim to be good, while I had claimed to have principles and values I had never lived up to.

 Seeing my hypocrisy, I wanted to change. More than ever before, I wanted to be different. At that time it seemed that if I could be more self-disciplined, I could rid myself of my inconsistencies. But I found that I lacked the power to change. For example, I had begun to see how dishonest I was. So when I noticed a lie, I would get upset with myself and promise myself that I wouldn't do it again. But when I next in a similar situation, I would lie again. Meanwhile, I was wrestling with some more stuff I'd come across in the bible (in Romans again). It talked about faith bringing peace and freedom from guilt. It also spoke of  forgiveness as an utterly unconditional free gift from God. The bit that stuck out was the whole idea that faith (trusting in God, not myself) was the way to peace. I could see that I was constantly trying to gain control of my life. If God really was the ultimate source, the creator of everything, then I was understandably powerless to change myself - it was he who had to change me! I think this gradual realization (that independence was the problem, and faith the solution) was the key to everything that followed.

The Way, Truth and Life

I guess I've said too much! I'm still learning, I'm still changing, and what I think now may not be what I think next year! But I'm not worried; I can only see what God wants me to see, so I can't be anywhere else but where I am right now. I'm safe in my Daddy's care, and he's leading me now. He's gently weaning me off my old dependence on stuff like money, status and health and showing me his trustworthiness. I used to say "Jesus saved me from my sins" but I didn't know what that meant. In fact, I still don't! All I know is that I've seen something of the wonder of Jesus Christ. I want to go the way he'd want me to go. I want to fearlessly speak truth like he spoke truth, and I want to live my life the way he lived his life. But of course, I can't do any of this unless God does it - unless he empowers me, unless he gives me his spirit, unless he changes me. And he does. But not the way I'd choose: He still uses pain and difficulty to shape my life, and I'd rather he didn't. But he knows best, so I'm trusting him to see me through life and to use me to bring peace and hope to others.