Doing Church: Teenage Years

Being painfully shy has its benefits. As a teenager, my social anxiety and introverted personality kept me out of a lot of trouble. I certainly wanted to do more bad things than I did, but fear restrained me. This means that my heart was far worse than my external behavior. That being said, I still participated in a moderate amount of visible badness. Such are the teenage years.

Patti, Mom, Pam, Jan, Cyrus, Tom  (June 18, 1973)

If it's common knowledge that the three U.S. presidents preceding Trump were known to have smoked pot in their youth, then why is it I'm so reluctant to publicly admit my indiscretions in that particular area? Hey, it was the seventies. My experimentation reached a peak in the eighth grade (1973-74). Some kids were getting high on a daily basis; a few stayed stoned all waking hours. For me, it was about once or twice a week for about a year. I'd have smoked it more, but had no connections (suppliers) outside of school. So I toked up with classmates when offered.

This is a milestone -- my first public confession of having smoked marijuana in my youth. Oh my. There goes any hopes for a successful career. Not all is lost, however. The U.S. presidency remains a viable option.

In a 2015 article by the American Psychological Association, Susan Weiss, PhD. said, "But there's a growing literature, and it's all pointing in the same direction: starting young and using frequently may disrupt brain development." So, just because cannabis is now legal in many states, doesn't make it safe.

I've experienced brain fog and a below-average memory all of my adult life. The only thing I can attribute this to is smoking marijuana as a teenager.

Here's Tommy! End of innocence for this 8th grader.  (Fall 1973)

Fortunately, my mother discovered a stash tucked in the back of my nightstand drawer. When I got home from school, Dad gave me an incredibly harsh chewing out. I lost privileges (TV, etc.) for a few months, along with the promise of worse repercussions if I were ever to be found using pot again.

I quit for about a year and rarely used pot the remainder of my teenage years. At that time I became a track and cross country fanatic. Distance running provided a motivation not to smoke dope. The evil weed is bad for the lungs and track runners need healthy cardiovascular systems. So alcohol became my drug of choice.

Back then, we started high school in the tenth grade. Sports kept me busy and mostly out of trouble, though I aimed to get drunk most weekends. This was my life for much of my sophomore year.

That spring (1976), someone invited me to a Young Life All-Area Club meeting. "Sure. Why not?" I may have said. It took place on a Friday or Saturday night in a large auditorium. High school kids from Young Life clubs all around the Eugene-Springfield area filled the place. There was a lot of energy, singing and good vibes. Then a fellow stood at the podium and spoke. The precise content of his message slips my mind, but he was clearly encouraging teens to accept Christ as Savior and Lord. I didn't turn to the Lord at the meeting, but the event impacted me deeply. I knew what I'd heard was true and that I needed to change.

When I arrived home that night, I entered my bedroom and prayed sincerely for God to enter my heart, save me and do something with my life.

That Monday at lunch, I sat next to a senior, Duane Swafford, who I knew was a Christian. I told him what happened at the Young Life meeting and how I prayed that night in my room. I asked Duane if there was something else I needed to do to become a Christian. He responded with a big smile, saying something like, "Praise God, Tom! You're saved! You've already said the right prayer!"

Though technically I had rededicated my life to Christ that night, I treated it as a first-time conversion. The weekend beer binges ceased and I plugged into the Thurston High School Young Life events. Besides the upbeat, weekly meetings, there were coastal outings, Bible studies, camps, etc.. The leader, Ron Sauer, became a significant, positive influence in my life. We hung out a lot, usually on long runs. He often worked out with the Thurston distance runners. Ron impacts me to this very day.

One particular Young Life small-group meeting stands out. It likely took place within a month of my rededication. The group had finished watching a Christian video and then began praying. I distinctly felt God's presence in the room. Others must have felt Him too, because some kids were weeping -- as in tears of joy. This was significant, because, prior to that, I had never experienced God in such a personal, intimate way. He was real and He loved me.

My first airplane flight -- piloted by Fred Brandenfels.  (August 12, 1976)

This experience, along with an overall spiritual well-being, marked my life during those first few months. I think this was the "witness of the Spirit" indicated in Romans 8:16-17, "The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs -- heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him."

It's interesting how that verse begins with a lofty spiritual peak and transitions to a low point -- suffering. After a few months, my spiritual high ended and I began to experience doubts, along with spiritual dryness. It felt as if God wasn't with me anymore. At the time, I didn't realize this shift from high to low was a common experience for young believers. In his lecture series, Spiritual Formation, Dr. John Coe analyses this phenomenon, mentioning how Christian thinkers ranging from St. Augustine (4th-5th century) to St. John of the Cross (16th century) wrote about these highs and lows. St. John of the Cross likens the new believer's spiritual high as an infant who derives pleasure and satisfaction from its mother because of her caresses, nursing and loving care. The infant becomes deeply attached to (loves) its mother because of the pleasure the mother gives him/her. This corresponds to a baby Christian loving God for pleasure's sake. God grants feelings of spiritual pleasure because this is what the new convert needs...for awhile.

The "dark night of the soul" soon arrives for the young Christian. The feeling of God's presence goes away. In fact, all spiritual pleasure vanishes. Worse yet, the pleasure is replaced by negative emotions and thoughts that flood the soul. This may involve demonic attack, where doubts about the faith bombard the mind. Eventually, the dark night goes away, replaced by more natural, down-to-earth feelings.

According to St. John of the Cross, God allows the dark night to occur so the infant will grow up. If the spiritual high continued forever, the Christian would remain selfish, only loving God for pleasure's sake. The ultimate goal, which takes a lifetime, is to love God for God's sake. The mature saint loves God for who He is, not for the pleasures and benefits received from Him. I'm definitely not there yet!

Dr. John Coe mentions the Jesus People movement of the 1960's and 70's. Many of these young people came out of a culture of drugs, sex and hedonism. They understood pleasure. Spiritual highs (from God, not drugs), were common to hippie converts. God knew they were babies developmentally, so He met them where they were at. When the inevitable dark nights came, some people grew up and others fell away.

C.S. Lewis, in The Screwtape Letters, focuses on a young Christian who is being targeted by a demon named Wormwood. Wormwood is mentored by an experienced demon named Screwtape. In a letter to Wormwood, Screwtape explains that the Enemy (God) will soon allow the young man to undergo a "disappointment or anticlimax" in his new faith. Screwtape describes this as follows:

 "Desiring their [new Christians] freedom, He [God] therefore refuses to carry them, by their mere affections and habits, to any of the goals which He sets before them: He leaves them to 'do it on their own.' And there lies our opportunity. But also, remember, there lies our danger. If once they get through this initial dryness successfully, they become much less dependent on emotion and therefore much harder to tempt."

Remember, the above quote is from a demon who understands, and attempts to thwart, many of God's strategies. Screwtape is describing a crisis of faith common to young believers. This is a huge spiritual battle, a matter of life or death to the soul. If Christians pass the test, they grow. If they fail the test, they may reject Christ and fall into the clutches of a demon. I survived the initial doubts and dark nights of my soul, and continued to plug away at the faith.

So what about church? As a high school sophomore, I had no connection with any local churches, and had long ago rejected Presbyterianism. Young Life filled the gap perfectly. Young Life is considered a parachurch organization. They aren't under the umbrella of any particular denomination, but try to work with local churches, gently encouraging kids to plug into some kind of larger fellowship that involves all age groups. For those who criticize Young Life for "stealing" kids from local churches, I respectfully and fervently disagree. Not only does Young Life fill an (otherwise) unmet need, but it provides a great way for kids of differing denominations to fellowship with each other. I highly endorse Young Life as a supplement to local churches.

It seemed right that I look for a "real" church that met on Sunday mornings. My parents still attended the Walterville Presbyterian church, and I reluctantly accompanied them on rare occasions. Ron Sauer attended the Eugene Faith Center, a Four Square church pastored by the late Roy Hicks. I asked Ron if I could tag along sometime. He obliged and so began my on-again, off-again journey with this vibrant church that practiced the supernatural gifts of the Holy Spirit -- which included speaking in tongues. Faith Center didn't overemphasize tongues and gifts, but I sure found the whole charismatic phenomenon interesting and exciting.

I'll backtrack a bit to my sophomore track season. As a newly-committed Christian, my faith was strong. I was even somewhat zealous, witnessing to a few classmates and even wearing a t-shirt with a bold message printed on the back that read: I RUN FOR CHRIST. I'd wear this t-shirt over my singlet at track meets while warming up, peeling it off just before the start of races. However, I felt really self conscious wearing it. An internal dilemma emerged. Was I really running for Christ or running for my own glory? Looking back, I was likely motivated by both. However, as a high school kid, I couldn't reconcile these competing aims. I may have stopped wearing the shirt before the end of the track season.

The whole topic of motivations is complicated and I could write several blog posts about it. Suffice it to say, we are a mixed bag, full of both noble and ignoble purposes. The good news is that God offers complete forgiveness for all our selfish motivations, whether obvious or subtle. I don't think I understood this back then. I experienced a lot of guilt feelings over my selfish motivations and other sins.

Is Coach DeWayne Cantrell trying to smile? The Thurston High School cross country team celebrates
 after running well at the district meet. We qualified for the state championships!  (November 1, 1977)

My faith remained strong until about the spring of my junior year, when I began to backslide. Weekend beer binges resumed, along with occasional pot smoking. My language became foul, especially in the locker room. It's hard for me to pinpoint just why I fell away. Certainly my relationship with God had become weak from neglecting daily prayer and Bible reading. I don't recall practicing any kind of consistent quiet time with God. Spiritual disciplines (even the easy ones) were foreign to me. That leaves one vulnerable to temptations and demonic attack.

By the start of my senior year of high school, I wanted nothing to do with God, Christianity or healthy Christians. Weak Christians were okay to hang out with.

I'll end this blog post on a positive note: for over twenty years I've been strong in my relationship with Jesus and I'm certain God will sustain me the rest of my earthly life and throughout eternity. Happy New Year!

Doing Church: Preadolescence

My own conversion experience may or may not encourage the reader. The good news is that for the last twenty-plus years I've been certain of my salvation. But really, the whole "assurance of salvation" thing has never been a huge issue for me. For many Christians, especially new converts, the doubts can be overwhelming.

When I was a young Christian, my concern wasn't so much whether or not I was saved, but whether or not Christianity was true. I'm happy to proclaim that for over two decades I've been certain that Biblical Christianity is not only true, but the only way to find one's ultimate meaning and purpose in life.

During late childhood, I was a fairly curious kid. Age-appropriate science books fascinated me and I loved building things, such as plastic model ships, balsa airplanes, rockets and even a replica of the gallows used to hang the conspirators in Abraham Lincoln's assassination.

 Lee and Ray Nash families (June 20, 1972).  Standing L. to R.:  Ray, Betty, Jan, Patti,
 Aunt Grayce, Uncle Lee, cousin Murray.   Sitting L. to R.:  Pam, cousin LeAnn, Tom, cousin Torrey

Really, my mind was all over the place. Occasionally I'd even ponder the things of God. I remember asking Dad some run-of-the-mill tough questions, such as "How do you know God exists?" or "Why doesn't God show himself plainly?" Kids start asking these types of questions as soon as they become self aware. But I must confess, I wasn't overly curious about God.

Dan Fisher, my best friend during my late childhood and teens, was a real blessing. We both shared a passion for building things and he ultimately became an engineer. I ended up with an English degree. Ha!

Dan was reared in an evangelical Christian home that differed significantly from the sleepy Presbyterianism that I was raised with. It was through him that I learned about faith in a personal God who is real and near. I also learned that I needed to make a decision for God -- to believe and convert. The details of all this hadn't sunk in, but it slowly became clear.

My father had made an effort to make the Faith relevant to our family. There was a time in my late childhood when Dad decided to lead weekly family devotionals (I think Sunday evenings) where he shared Christian truths with us. That may have been what inspired my testy questions about God. These family times lasted less than a year. I'm not sure how excited my sisters were about these family devotionals, but my own lack of enthusiasm may have discouraged Dad. Captive audiences are no fun. Nevertheless, I'm glad he made the effort.

Tom, Dan Fisher and Cyrus (April 22, 1972)

When I was about eleven years old (1970 or 71), Dan Fisher invited me to go watch the movie The Cross and the Switchblade, starring Pat Boone as the reverend David Wilkerson and Erik Estrada (of CHiPs fame) as the young New York street gang leader, Nicky Cruz. I really looked forward to seeing the movie because I'd heard there was a lot of graphic gang violence depicted in the "rumbles." I hadn't thought much about the plot, which involved pastor Wilkerson being called by God to minister to the street gangs.

Mom drove Dan and me to an Assembly of God church on 19th Street in Springfield, located just a few blocks from the Presbyterian church (demolished a few years earlier) of my early childhood. The Assembly of God church had been promoting The Cross and the Switchblade, which they were showing in their sanctuary. I remember enjoying the movie and being somewhat relieved that the violence was less graphic than expected. The courage of Wilkerson impressed me, as well as the dramatic conversions of the gang members.

When the movie ended and the lights came on, a man walked on stage. I assume he was the Assembly of God pastor. I wasn't expecting an altar call, but that's what happened. It didn't seem all that strange to me. I'd probably seen Billy Graham crusades on TV, so I was aware of altar calls. The pastor shared a few things (which I don't remember) and concluded by urging people to believe and accept Christ as Savior and Lord. It's possible that the actual prayer of salvation occurred while the audience was still seated. Then, after the prayer, we were asked to walk to the stage. And yes, I did recite the sinner's prayer and I did walk forward.

From the stage, the new converts were directed to a side room, where we filled out cards, prayed and talked with councelors. I remember only a small amount of counseling, but a lot of praying. I think we were told to confess our past sins to God and repent. My list was fairly short, but the fellow next to me went on at length, confessing sins that my semi-innocent mind didn't know existed. He was about thirty years old and looked like a biker-gang member. He seemed like a fairly hardcore hombre, but his tearful repentance seemed genuine. I found his dramatic conversion much more interesting than my own.

My mother and Dan must have been very patient as they waited for me to complete the conversion process. A few weeks later, someone from the Assembly of God church telephoned me for some post-conversion followup. They did the right thing by contacting me, but for some reason I was passive, non-committal and relieved when the conversation ended. It's not that I was rejecting my new-found faith. There was a certain amount of zeal in my heart concerning the things of God. I was reading the Bible, praying and even read David Wilkerson's book, The Cross and the Switchblade. Then I read, Run, Baby, Run by Nicky Cruz.

I'm pretty sure my conversion, at age 11, was real. I was sincere about it. However, within a year I had lost all interest in the faith. Although I was still quite shy and innocent, puberty with its passions beckoned. Worldliness seemed much more interesting than Jesus.

Nash family photo (April 6, 1971)

Strict, 5-point Calvinists would probably say I wasn't truly converted. The P in TULIP stands for perseverance of the saints. They would interpret this to mean that someone who has been born again (regenerated) and indwelt by the Holy Spirit, is transformed and will continually be transformed. This will result in visible, positive change in their behavior that will steadily improve over a lifetime.

My perseverance lasted less than a year. Now, there are less-strict Calvinists who interpret perseverance to mean "once saved, always saved." They would say that genuine Christians are capable of significant backsliding. God doesn't force Christians to seek relationship with him. We can turn to the dark side and still be saved, according to less-rigid Calvinists. I sure hope the flexible Calvinists are right, but I don't know for sure.

John Wesley's face marks the other side of the salvation coin. Wesleyans believe we can be genuinely saved, but can later lose our salvation. Of course, the question arises concerning when that point occurs. How low does a Christian need to sink before losing the gift of eternal life?

I tend to lean in the direction of the flexible Calvinists, who believe in "once saved, always saved." However, I'm aware of the tough Scriptures that seem to indicate otherwise. So, if a seemingly genuine Christian takes a nosedive into deep, long-term carnality, I'm sure not going to tell him that he's saved. If he shows no evidence of regeneration, why give him hope? He needs to repent and turn to Christ.

Salvation theology is a paradox. When we take a strong position one way, holes in our argument tend to appear. I say we should just bask in the mystery, while being open to compelling arguments from all sides.

Meanwhile, as I approached my teenage years, I couldn't have cared less about God and salvation. All I wanted to do was play sports, have fun and be increasingly naughty.

Doing Church: Childhood

May 10, 1964. Tom, Mom (Betty), Patti, Grandma (Grace Nash), Jan, Pam

One of my first memories of church was a cornmeal sandbox. As a four-year-old Sundayschooler at First United Presbyterian Church in Springfield, Oregon, I remember smelling the sweet, milled grain as it sifted through my fingers. I don't think I ate any of it. And yes, I'm certain we sang Jesus Loves Me, This I Know. It was then that I first heard the story of Jesus riding on a donkey into Jerusalem, while crowds of people tossed palm leaves on the ground. That image stuck. Sunday school was the fun part of church.

I dreaded those Sundays when Mom and Dad forced me to sit through the regular church service. As a four-year-old, I found the formal, written liturgy meaningless and boring, especially since I couldn't read it. Reverend Gardner would recite lines and prayers, and the congregation would respond in unison. We'd stand and sit, stand and sit. The hymns, accompanied by organ music and choir, piqued my curiosity, not over of the meaning of the lyrics, but for that drawn-out "amen" ending them all. What did that mean? It was the same word that came at the end of prayers. That much I knew.

Then came the sermon. I think Mom granted mercy by allowing me to scribble in a coloring book. She pacified my three older sisters by pushing back their cuticles. It was a productive thirty-minute distraction for the girls. Pam and Jan recently told me it was a good kind of pain.

My favorite hymn was the doxology, which I believe we sang a cappella:

July 1964. First United Presbyterian Church complex in Springfield

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;

Praise him, all creatures here below;          

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;          

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.           

Amen.            

(Words by Thomas Ken, 1674. Music attributed to Louis Bourgeois, 1551)

The singing of the doxology imparted within my heart the expectation of immanent release. But I had to endure the final, parting words from the pastor. Then, with a burst of organ music, it came -- the slow, orderly chaos of folks exiting the pews after nearly 1 1/2 hours of rigid formality.

I'd follow Mom out of the sanctuary to the church kitchen, located in another building. More curiosities awaited. The large coffee percolator fascinated me with the little glass ball on top full of bubbling brew. I loved the smell of fresh coffee, though it tasted yucky. Mom must have volunteered to prepare desserts and beverages for the post-service social time. She also served, I would learn, for a few years as the church secretary.

John Knox

For me, those childhood years at the Presbyterian church were all about sights, sounds, smells, and boredom. Though God was surely mentioned, I don't recall the spiritual or religious aspects of church. I couldn't have cared less about John Knox (1513-1572), the Scottish reformer and theologian who founded Presbyterianism. Nor did I know or care that Knox met and was greatly influenced by the protestant reformer John Calvin (which explains the Calvinistic roots of Presbyterianism).

Springfield's First United Presbyterian Church was demolished, I think in the late 1960's, probably due to the nearby construction of Interstate 105. The church was located where Mohawk Blvd. morphs into19th Street, very close to where the highway overpass and off ramp would be built. It survives in memory only. Funny thing, I can't visualize the people from that congregation. It's as if they are invisible ghosts. But they were there; I'm certain attendance was pretty high back then.

September 8, 1966. Day one of first grade with
 my best friend from childhood, Kelly Thomas

Faces and names began to stick in my memory after 1966, when the Nash family moved 20 miles east to the McKenzie Valley, in timber country. At that point, we typically attended the Walterville and Leaburg Presbyterian churches. I noticed people more when they hosted get-togethers at their homes. An autumn party comes to mind where homemade apple juice was offered and the host boasted about his stash of hard cider.

The larger Springfield congregation continued to meet at an Episcopalian church near Springfield Junior High School. They shared the sanctuary with the Episcopalians, who conducted their services at a different time on Sundays. After a few years, the Springfield congregation called it quits. The Walterville and Leaburg locations were all that remained. Of course, there were still a few Presbyterian churches in Eugene.

Mom and Dad made me go to church until I turned 13. As a teenager, I attended on rare occasions, only under intense pressure from Dad, who would say something like, "Your mother would really be happy if you went to church with us this Sunday. Okay?" I'd answer yes with a groan.

There's an irony about all this. Even if you've only skimmed through this blog post, you've probably deduced that I disliked church as a child. The formal and traditional aspects of the Presbyterian church bored me all the more. Back then, I may have perked up over a trendy, contemporary service. But the very things I disliked as a child, are what interest me now as a 57-year-old. I love old hymns from hymnals. I love ministers in robes and vestments who preach short sermons. I love reciting back-and-forth from a formal, written liturgy. I love pews and stained glass. Go figure.

July 16, 1964. Dad (Ray) and I in our backyard at Carter Lane in Springfield

The above-mentioned "traditional" qualities still exist in some mainline protestant denominations, but these churches are typically compromised on doctrine and don't adhere to Biblical inerrancy or even the less-rigid infallibility. I'd love to visit a traditional, reformation-style protestant church that is doctrinally orthodox and adheres to Biblical innerancy. Does such a church exist in Lane County? The closest I've found is the conservative Lutheran Church Missouri Synod, but they place too much emphasis on Communion, believing that the bread and wine become the true body and blood of Christ.
Occasionally, I enjoy visiting Grace Lutheran Church (Missouri Synod) in Eugene. They are a wonderful example of a Reformation style, traditional service. And the sermons are really short! God bless.