Gatlinburg TN
Yesterday, before we found the kittens, the campground owners packed up their car to return to Mississippi. Prior to leaving, Jimmy asked to talk with us for a few minutes. We sat at our picnic table to hear what he had to say.
Jimmy told us that we had committed sins in our lives. We had most likely lied, stolen, or done other sinful acts at some point. He told us that Jesus had died on the cross to save us from those sins and any others – that He had wiped those sins away with His sacrifice. He told us that anyone who believed this and welcomed Jesus into their heart would be saved and go to Heaven. He led us to believe that those who did not would go to Hell.
I asked him a question: What happens to people who lived prior to Christ or who lived/live in such remote areas of the world that they never heard of Him? What kind of loving God would send those folks to Hell? What I heard Jimmy say was that those people, with enough introspection and reflection, could come to the Lord on their own. That was a surprisingly Gnostic answer. Jimmy prayed with us and for us. He gave me a copy of a Bible, with “helps” – I was very happy to receive that Bible as I’ve been frustrated with every attempt to read the one my father gave me.
I was glad that Jimmy came by to talk with us about his beliefs. I appreciated his openness and his honesty. I was touched by the passion of his beliefs. My father used to warn me about “Bible thumpers”. He told me to be wary of people who brag about their beliefs. He told me that the real Christians are the ones who don’t shout out their beliefs at every opportunity, but who quietly live their beliefs every day. I suppose you could say that about any value, religious or otherwise. The two weeks I’ve been working, playing, and sharing meals with Jimmy and his family, I’ve seen them live their beliefs openly, but I never felt uncomfortable. I appreciated the time he took to talk with us, to share his beliefs, and to encourage me in my spiritual (he would probably prefer the word “religious”) growth.
My father hoped that a person might one day come to understand another person, but that the most important thing a person could do was respect other people. He believed that respect came from knowledge. With that in mind, he insisted we go to services at many different churches. So, we learned about Judaism in the local synagogue, about Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians at the local churches, about Catholicism from going to Mass (He tried to get me into Catechism classes, but the priest wouldn’t allow it.), and about Mormonism from the local missionaries. We went to Unitarian services whenever possible because he thought I’d get the best religious education from that fellowship. He encouraged me to take high school and college classes in religious studies so I could learn more.
My father was an Existentialist, with some reservations. He read the works of Existentialist philosophers and talked a lot about their theories. He was delighted when Camus made it to my required reading list in high school.
Of all the religious services we attended, he liked Catholic mass the best. As we’d enter the church, he’d usually whisper something in my ear about the church being a tomb for a dead God and the service being the funeral. He stopped going after they switched from Latin to English.
My father liked to watch Christian TV shows on Sunday mornings. We usually watched together, in the kitchen, while cooking dinner. We watched evangelists from the time we got a TV in 1961 until his death in 1999. He often told me that, as a teen, he’d been saved (“Washed in the blood of the lamb,” were his words.) by a famous revivalist whose name I cannot remember. He wondered whether he would go to Heaven because he had been saved, or if his falling away from religion would send him off to Hell.
There is a huge jump between thinking about something on an intellectual level, such as religious education, and believing or having faith in something. My father was never able to make that leap. I’m probably going to jump one of these days, but have no idea where I’ll land. Guess that’s the point.
I’m pretty sure, though, if there is a Heaven, cats go there. Remember the “All Creatures Great and Small” episode where Dr. Herriot is called to the home of an ailing wealthy woman? None of her dogs is sick, but she is near death. In her religion, Heaven is just for two-leggers. She told the vet that she didn’t want to go to Heaven if she wouldn’t be reunited with her dogs there. He stammered about for a moment and then reassured her that surely there were dogs in Heaven. Can’t imagine any place with dogs and no cats.
The kittens are still alive today.
Yesterday, before we found the kittens, the campground owners packed up their car to return to Mississippi. Prior to leaving, Jimmy asked to talk with us for a few minutes. We sat at our picnic table to hear what he had to say.
Jimmy told us that we had committed sins in our lives. We had most likely lied, stolen, or done other sinful acts at some point. He told us that Jesus had died on the cross to save us from those sins and any others – that He had wiped those sins away with His sacrifice. He told us that anyone who believed this and welcomed Jesus into their heart would be saved and go to Heaven. He led us to believe that those who did not would go to Hell.
I asked him a question: What happens to people who lived prior to Christ or who lived/live in such remote areas of the world that they never heard of Him? What kind of loving God would send those folks to Hell? What I heard Jimmy say was that those people, with enough introspection and reflection, could come to the Lord on their own. That was a surprisingly Gnostic answer. Jimmy prayed with us and for us. He gave me a copy of a Bible, with “helps” – I was very happy to receive that Bible as I’ve been frustrated with every attempt to read the one my father gave me.
I was glad that Jimmy came by to talk with us about his beliefs. I appreciated his openness and his honesty. I was touched by the passion of his beliefs. My father used to warn me about “Bible thumpers”. He told me to be wary of people who brag about their beliefs. He told me that the real Christians are the ones who don’t shout out their beliefs at every opportunity, but who quietly live their beliefs every day. I suppose you could say that about any value, religious or otherwise. The two weeks I’ve been working, playing, and sharing meals with Jimmy and his family, I’ve seen them live their beliefs openly, but I never felt uncomfortable. I appreciated the time he took to talk with us, to share his beliefs, and to encourage me in my spiritual (he would probably prefer the word “religious”) growth.
My father hoped that a person might one day come to understand another person, but that the most important thing a person could do was respect other people. He believed that respect came from knowledge. With that in mind, he insisted we go to services at many different churches. So, we learned about Judaism in the local synagogue, about Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians at the local churches, about Catholicism from going to Mass (He tried to get me into Catechism classes, but the priest wouldn’t allow it.), and about Mormonism from the local missionaries. We went to Unitarian services whenever possible because he thought I’d get the best religious education from that fellowship. He encouraged me to take high school and college classes in religious studies so I could learn more.
My father was an Existentialist, with some reservations. He read the works of Existentialist philosophers and talked a lot about their theories. He was delighted when Camus made it to my required reading list in high school.
Of all the religious services we attended, he liked Catholic mass the best. As we’d enter the church, he’d usually whisper something in my ear about the church being a tomb for a dead God and the service being the funeral. He stopped going after they switched from Latin to English.
My father liked to watch Christian TV shows on Sunday mornings. We usually watched together, in the kitchen, while cooking dinner. We watched evangelists from the time we got a TV in 1961 until his death in 1999. He often told me that, as a teen, he’d been saved (“Washed in the blood of the lamb,” were his words.) by a famous revivalist whose name I cannot remember. He wondered whether he would go to Heaven because he had been saved, or if his falling away from religion would send him off to Hell.
There is a huge jump between thinking about something on an intellectual level, such as religious education, and believing or having faith in something. My father was never able to make that leap. I’m probably going to jump one of these days, but have no idea where I’ll land. Guess that’s the point.
I’m pretty sure, though, if there is a Heaven, cats go there. Remember the “All Creatures Great and Small” episode where Dr. Herriot is called to the home of an ailing wealthy woman? None of her dogs is sick, but she is near death. In her religion, Heaven is just for two-leggers. She told the vet that she didn’t want to go to Heaven if she wouldn’t be reunited with her dogs there. He stammered about for a moment and then reassured her that surely there were dogs in Heaven. Can’t imagine any place with dogs and no cats.
