Rendezvous With Immortality
an exploration of what happens when we die.
Speaking on the strength of personal faith, one of my favorite lecturers, Fr. Tom Kiefer, asked: "What would you do if, when you answered the phone or a knock at the door, Jesus was the one calling? What things would you do differently if the Son of God himself was right there in your living room, sitting in your favorite chair, taking in your life? Would you continue to act the same? Carry on your normal routine? Crammed into a semicircle around the ever-powerful, picture-box ensemble, locked in? Probably not," he answered himself, pausing for a brief moment, letting the words linger throughout the congregation and then sink in. Not even a young child could be heard rustling in those few quiet moments of spiritual assertion; a gathered crowd's attention was captured.
Father Tom's Homilies (the priest's own words without text in a Catholic Mass) are notorious for grabbing your interest right off the bat. I couldn't help but wonder just how much Jesus' presence would affect me and my lifestyle. Although I do attend Mass on a regular basis, and I am a fairly decent, morally sound individual with a good deal of faith in the abilities of a higher power, my life would change drastically.
I would instantly change the tone of my disciplinary commands toward my children, perhaps being more positive and calm. Simultaneously, twenty-percent of my liquid intake would fizzle out and abruptly change. Also, it would be mandatory to leave the television off. Not much on the tube that would impress the King of the Jews. Besides, the beer commercials alone would tease and manipulate me just like the elusive powers of evil are said to do. The language I use would also be greatly affected. I could no longer talk like I was on a construction site, especially the occasional "Lord's name in vain" that has been to known to angrily slip out. In the company of such a powerful spirit, bad occurrences would be non-existent.
It is sad that individuals such as myself go through life paying tribute to some choice of religion without fully grasping the full set of halos. Flowing with societal traits, I am easily led astray from the common good by in-your-face capitalism. Without question, I enjoy my rather rambunctious lifestyle that is totally influenced by the overbearing effects of mass-media. Among various American pastimes: beer, explicit rated "R" movies, alcohol-induced, loosely- mannered socializing, and talking about other people's faults behind their back, I recognize the very noticeable hypocrisy in my own actions that I complain exists in many prominent religious followers. Perhaps the morally decent human being that I stare at in the mirror is the biggest hypocrite in the bunch. Thinking of actually sharing a room of my house with Jesus, I wonder just how good a person I really am.
Trying to be "a good person" as a whole, I believe most of the population strives for decency toward their fellow man, wanting to do what is right and morally unbiased toward each other. Although violence does play a very strong role in this insanely chaotic country of ours, we have to believe that respectable people, with the will to do good and help others, can still be found. But, skepticism is brought out by America's extreme lust for the "inside scoop" with a tabloid twist, "the real story, the dirty laundry." America's love for this overly informative trash has greatly reduced the public's belief that there are a few nice people left.
Soon, people start to fall victim to the bad and the ugly stories at five and eleven. They become locked into a populous mass that carries them along with the groove, everyone the same, until as a group they function in unison. Deeply affecting the lives of many, the plethora of dirty laundries blasted into our living rooms are enough to keep us all in disbelief, thinking only of the presence of bad. Liquor store robberies, senseless killings, racial disputes and domestic violence all play a part in our nighttime viewing. If Jesus and I watched together what was playing on my television fifty-percent of the time, I would ultimately be embarrassed. With heartfelt sympathy for my visitor, I would be crushed; disappointment and self pity would be inevitable.
No one could possibly prepare for a personal rendezvous with Jesus, completely. For me, knowing about the meeting prior to His arrival would leave me worried, confused, and on edge. Where was the cut-off, the fine line between good and evil? What were Saint Peter's inquiries at the big Gate?
I envision an awesome inner peace that would blanket my doubts and instill hope immediately after being blessed with such an incredible presence. My uncomfortable, concerned feelings would instantly be removed and replaced with extreme, overwhelming joy. Presumably, I could drift on the wings of the illuminating aromas of roses.
As earth dwellers learning to occupy the same planet, many different explanations and rationalizations about our history, our beliefs, and significant involvements with an eternal life have been developed and argued. Some even believe that religion in general, worshiping a higher power, is strictly the need for societies of the past to have a firm set of guidelines with good morals and beliefs to live by. Perhaps filling a spiritual void, or the need to belong to a larger, community-type whole has led to the development of the Bible and the gaggle of religious beliefs across this vast globe of ours.
A non-religious, history-oriented professor from Southwest Missouri State University once lectured that Moses was merely a folk hero, created as a device to convey morally sound, societal rules: The Ten Commandments. He later argued that there was neither a parting of the Red Sea nor a real person named Moses and that the original tale of the divided seas came about by means of great drought. Apparently, there are several months a year when the water levels of the Red Sea are so low that there is simply dry ground left to travel by, making a mockery of many heartfelt beliefs and traditions, equally stepping on the toes of Christian and Jewish followers worldwide. Wanting to rationalize everything, I have a tendency to favor such a plausible hypothesis; it seems believable. It is easier to conceive that the development of the human race was related to the geological and cultural events of history, than to try to imagine a supreme being, a higher power, that is guiding all of His worshipers to an eternal life of immeasurable happiness.
Choosing which way or how to worship and accept the span of man in the universe, many of us will be taken down deceitful paths. With thousands of religions, who is to say which one is better? I have my own views. Some are the acquired views of a strictly raised, Catholic youth. Others are individually achieved: developed beliefs from personal, spiritually-uplifting experiences have been the soul provider for many of my views. I often wonder if these emotionally moving events— such as believing I met an angel in Dillon's grocery store, parking lot, or watching a candle's ember burn to an unnatural level of seven-inches during a prayer session of circled jr. high boy's are really the works of a higher power pulling me down a trail to forever happiness, or simply a big fat hoax.
Truth or fiction, everyone chooses their own way to address the innumerable events of history and their involvement with religion. How we were developed, how we evolved, and our unknown, post-death destinies have grown into a consensual whole of mixed-up and lost souls; many are non-spiritual, bewildered and confused, unable to believe in God as the result.
A friend's wife once informed me of the importance of the Bible and its effect on people. She was arguing her point, claiming everything the Good Book had written in it was undeniably true, no discrepancies. My naive thoughts caused me to advance with arguments of the history of literature, using Shakespeare as an example, explaining to her that every piece of writing (especially the stuff hundreds of years old) has been revised thousands of times before reaching us. The main way I can substantiate my revision claims (revising the chosen Bible stories to fit new ethnical viewpoints and ideologies) is with the titles of two of my own Bibles: The Catholic Living Bible and The Catholic One Year Bible. The proof is in the pudding; the original stories were somewhat altered to suit changing traditions and mixing cultures of the Catholic Church, forgetting the massive role the Roman Catholic Armies had reshaping the world acting as vigilantes for Christ, killing for the good of the church. Troubled, my friend's wife was reluctantly inclined to agree, but had a powerful argument herself.
"Do you know what the letters B-I-B-L-E stands for?" she asked, leaving no time for a reply. "Beginning Instructions Before Leaving Earth," rolled effortlessly from her mouth and reached out to pinch me in a gotcha' thinking type way. I had my everything old has been revised theory still hanging there like a suspended animation when the big questions of our spiritual ties to a higher power were seemingly answered.
Trying to rationalize all that happens to me, I try understanding why bad things constantly happen to good people (i.e., when I was young, I dropped my shotgun, permanently damaging my right-hand) or why I am in a lonely, single-parent situation. "Beginning instructions," kept flowing over and over in my head as I rode out my enlightenment. Thoughts built and compiled, as if falling into place, solving a long, ongoing riddle; I finally had answers. Suddenly, everything began to make sense.
Why would God allow a fifteen-year-old boy to blow his hand to bits? Why would a decent human-being be forced into a single parent situation? Now, the answers are much simpler. I have a much higher tolerance for pain than anyone I know, able to turn off headaches or other bodily pains without needing the aid of even an aspirin. Also, because of my parenting arrangements, I have been forced to acquire responsibilities greater than my child-like disposition would have normally allowed. From our life's experiences, we can grow, learn and persevere.
If, at my death, I am just dead— no afterlife, no eternal happiness or specific task to do for an infinite salvation— so be it. What will I have lost? Perhaps the only rebuttal would be the time spent in places of worship. On the other hand, a lifetime devoted to God as a Christian, fraudulent or not, has no bad side effects. A person who spends their life practicing a found faith or religion only to die and be wrong, has not suffered.
A practicing Christian is exposed to a community of equal status among all members, and is given a sense of belonging to something, thus increasing that individual's confidence and well- being. A Christian also evolves around a lifetime of helping others and being kind, adding to their conscience a denouement of feelings, releasing suppressed guilt and making themselves believe they are a better person. It is scary to imagine a world without a belief in a higher power; too much dirty laundry makes Jack a bad boy.
Cultures, ethnic groups and traditions are manipulated and altered everyday. Religions are invented and reinvented, leaving suspicions of disbelief in the minds of many confused and lost souls, changing humanity's path with every preached word. In need of answers to the unanswerable questions of the afterlife, I have developed my own theories and rationalizations.
Because nothing bad can come of being a devout Christian throughout our short lives, I have chosen to continue walking the reverent trail. The time I spend in church or helping others through church activities will never become an issue of "Why? or "How come?" The journey to our own personal eternity will surely be different for all of us, ranging from misled ideas to significant, cultural beliefs. We must learn from our downfalls and prosper from our high points. Regardless, theories will be questioned and challenged. People will be killed tomorrow for nothing more than their choice of opinions and their love for their personal rendition of what God is to them. Preparing for brighter days as an immortal, I will take heed of life's little lessons. If the Truth prevails and the end is just as I hoped— beautiful, happy and peaceful— I can enjoy a comforting final look at a lifetime of trying to do good. My mortal existence will have been simply training, a set of neatly configured instructions for the eternal happiness of immortality.
Receiving the opportunity to meet Jesus, I would be nervous and a bit uncomfortable. With the given set of rules and guidelines, our naive, materialistic society has established, I do have reasons to feel discomfort and remorse. At the same time, I can look on with an honest eye, accepting my mortal life as a training mission, a mission that Jesus and I can conquer together. When it's my time to go, I hope to have the same force or guidance that pushed me through mortality. If created in my mind, the force has to be as equal, rewarding and profitable as what I believed to be true. I have strength, a good set of morals and a vision; time is now on my side, not working against me in fear of death. Every time the phone rings or there is a knock at the door, I will wonder if this the one— a rendezvous with greatness. If it is Jesus, I will not fret. Together, my visiting friend and I can accomplish anything. . .
T. Mez 15, July 1997
Revision 12, August 1997
Tom Mezzacapa
English 220, sec. E101
Mr. C. Closser, Instructor
16, July 1997
Descriptive Essay, Paper #4
Speaking on the strength of personal faith, one of my favorite lecturers, Fr. Tom Kiefer, asked: "What would you do if, when you answered the phone or a knock at the door, Jesus was the one calling? What things would you do differently if the Son of God himself was right there in your living room, sitting in your favorite chair, taking in your life? Would you continue to act the same? Carry on your normal routine? Crammed into a semicircle around the ever-powerful, picture-box ensemble, locked in? Probably not," he answered himself, pausing for a brief moment, letting the words linger throughout the congregation and then sink in. Not even a young child could be heard rustling in those few quiet moments of spiritual assertion; a gathered crowd's attention was captured.
Father Tom's Homilies (the priest's own words without text in a Catholic Mass) are notorious for grabbing your interest right off the bat. I couldn't help but wonder just how much Jesus' presence would affect me and my lifestyle. Although I do attend Mass on a regular basis, and I am a fairly decent, morally sound individual with a good deal of faith in the abilities of a higher power, my life would change drastically.
I would instantly change the tone of my disciplinary commands toward my children, perhaps being more positive and calm. Simultaneously, twenty-percent of my liquid intake would fizzle out and abruptly change. Also, it would be mandatory to leave the television off. Not much on the tube that would impress the King of the Jews. Besides, the beer commercials alone would tease and manipulate me just like the elusive powers of evil are said to do. The language I use would also be greatly affected. I could no longer talk like I was on a construction site, especially the occasional "Lord's name in vain" that has been to known to angrily slip out. In the company of such a powerful spirit, bad occurrences would be non-existent.
It is sad that individuals such as myself go through life paying tribute to some choice of religion without fully grasping the full set of halos. Flowing with societal traits, I am easily led astray from the common good by in-your-face capitalism. Without question, I enjoy my rather rambunctious lifestyle that is totally influenced by the overbearing effects of mass-media. Among various American pastimes: beer, explicit rated "R" movies, alcohol-induced, loosely- mannered socializing, and talking about other people's faults behind their back, I recognize the very noticeable hypocrisy in my own actions that I complain exists in many prominent religious followers. Perhaps the morally decent human being that I stare at in the mirror is the biggest hypocrite in the bunch. Thinking of actually sharing a room of my house with Jesus, I wonder just how good a person I really am.
Trying to be "a good person" as a whole, I believe most of the population strives for decency toward their fellow man, wanting to do what is right and morally unbiased toward each other. Although violence does play a very strong role in this insanely chaotic country of ours, we have to believe that respectable people, with the will to do good and help others, can still be found. But, skepticism is brought out by America's extreme lust for the "inside scoop" with a tabloid twist, "the real story, the dirty laundry." America's love for this overly informative trash has greatly reduced the public's belief that there are a few nice people left.
Soon, people start to fall victim to the bad and the ugly stories at five and eleven. They become locked into a populous mass that carries them along with the groove, everyone the same, until as a group they function in unison. Deeply affecting the lives of many, the plethora of dirty laundries blasted into our living rooms are enough to keep us all in disbelief, thinking only of the presence of bad. Liquor store robberies, senseless killings, racial disputes and domestic violence all play a part in our nighttime viewing. If Jesus and I watched together what was playing on my television fifty-percent of the time, I would ultimately be embarrassed. With heartfelt sympathy for my visitor, I would be crushed; disappointment and self pity would be inevitable.
No one could possibly prepare for a personal rendezvous with Jesus, completely. For me, knowing about the meeting prior to His arrival would leave me worried, confused, and on edge. Where was the cut-off, the fine line between good and evil? What were Saint Peter's inquiries at the big Gate?
I envision an awesome inner peace that would blanket my doubts and instill hope immediately after being blessed with such an incredible presence. My uncomfortable, concerned feelings would instantly be removed and replaced with extreme, overwhelming joy. Presumably, I could drift on the wings of the illuminating aromas of roses.
As earth dwellers learning to occupy the same planet, many different explanations and rationalizations about our history, our beliefs, and significant involvements with an eternal life have been developed and argued. Some even believe that religion in general, worshiping a higher power, is strictly the need for societies of the past to have a firm set of guidelines with good morals and beliefs to live by. Perhaps filling a spiritual void, or the need to belong to a larger, community-type whole has led to the development of the Bible and the gaggle of religious beliefs across this vast globe of ours.
A non-religious, history-oriented professor from Southwest Missouri State University once lectured that Moses was merely a folk hero, created as a device to convey morally sound, societal rules: The Ten Commandments. He later argued that there was neither a parting of the Red Sea nor a real person named Moses and that the original tale of the divided seas came about by means of great drought. Apparently, there are several months a year when the water levels of the Red Sea are so low that there is simply dry ground left to travel by, making a mockery of many heartfelt beliefs and traditions, equally stepping on the toes of Christian and Jewish followers worldwide. Wanting to rationalize everything, I have a tendency to favor such a plausible hypothesis; it seems believable. It is easier to conceive that the development of the human race was related to the geological and cultural events of history, than to try to imagine a supreme being, a higher power, that is guiding all of His worshipers to an eternal life of immeasurable happiness.
Choosing which way or how to worship and accept the span of man in the universe, many of us will be taken down deceitful paths. With thousands of religions, who is to say which one is better? I have my own views. Some are the acquired views of a strictly raised, Catholic youth. Others are individually achieved: developed beliefs from personal, spiritually-uplifting experiences have been the soul provider for many of my views. I often wonder if these emotionally moving events— such as believing I met an angel in Dillon's grocery store, parking lot, or watching a candle's ember burn to an unnatural level of seven-inches during a prayer session of circled jr. high boy's are really the works of a higher power pulling me down a trail to forever happiness, or simply a big fat hoax.
Truth or fiction, everyone chooses their own way to address the innumerable events of history and their involvement with religion. How we were developed, how we evolved, and our unknown, post-death destinies have grown into a consensual whole of mixed-up and lost souls; many are non-spiritual, bewildered and confused, unable to believe in God as the result.
A friend's wife once informed me of the importance of the Bible and its effect on people. She was arguing her point, claiming everything the Good Book had written in it was undeniably true, no discrepancies. My naive thoughts caused me to advance with arguments of the history of literature, using Shakespeare as an example, explaining to her that every piece of writing (especially the stuff hundreds of years old) has been revised thousands of times before reaching us. The main way I can substantiate my revision claims (revising the chosen Bible stories to fit new ethnical viewpoints and ideologies) is with the titles of two of my own Bibles: The Catholic Living Bible and The Catholic One Year Bible. The proof is in the pudding; the original stories were somewhat altered to suit changing traditions and mixing cultures of the Catholic Church, forgetting the massive role the Roman Catholic Armies had reshaping the world acting as vigilantes for Christ, killing for the good of the church. Troubled, my friend's wife was reluctantly inclined to agree, but had a powerful argument herself.
"Do you know what the letters B-I-B-L-E stands for?" she asked, leaving no time for a reply. "Beginning Instructions Before Leaving Earth," rolled effortlessly from her mouth and reached out to pinch me in a gotcha' thinking type way. I had my everything old has been revised theory still hanging there like a suspended animation when the big questions of our spiritual ties to a higher power were seemingly answered.
Trying to rationalize all that happens to me, I try understanding why bad things constantly happen to good people (i.e., when I was young, I dropped my shotgun, permanently damaging my right-hand) or why I am in a lonely, single-parent situation. "Beginning instructions," kept flowing over and over in my head as I rode out my enlightenment. Thoughts built and compiled, as if falling into place, solving a long, ongoing riddle; I finally had answers. Suddenly, everything began to make sense.
Why would God allow a fifteen-year-old boy to blow his hand to bits? Why would a decent human-being be forced into a single parent situation? Now, the answers are much simpler. I have a much higher tolerance for pain than anyone I know, able to turn off headaches or other bodily pains without needing the aid of even an aspirin. Also, because of my parenting arrangements, I have been forced to acquire responsibilities greater than my child-like disposition would have normally allowed. From our life's experiences, we can grow, learn and persevere.
If, at my death, I am just dead— no afterlife, no eternal happiness or specific task to do for an infinite salvation— so be it. What will I have lost? Perhaps the only rebuttal would be the time spent in places of worship. On the other hand, a lifetime devoted to God as a Christian, fraudulent or not, has no bad side effects. A person who spends their life practicing a found faith or religion only to die and be wrong, has not suffered.
A practicing Christian is exposed to a community of equal status among all members, and is given a sense of belonging to something, thus increasing that individual's confidence and well- being. A Christian also evolves around a lifetime of helping others and being kind, adding to their conscience a denouement of feelings, releasing suppressed guilt and making themselves believe they are a better person. It is scary to imagine a world without a belief in a higher power; too much dirty laundry makes Jack a bad boy.
Cultures, ethnic groups and traditions are manipulated and altered everyday. Religions are invented and reinvented, leaving suspicions of disbelief in the minds of many confused and lost souls, changing humanity's path with every preached word. In need of answers to the unanswerable questions of the afterlife, I have developed my own theories and rationalizations.
Because nothing bad can come of being a devout Christian throughout our short lives, I have chosen to continue walking the reverent trail. The time I spend in church or helping others through church activities will never become an issue of "Why? or "How come?" The journey to our own personal eternity will surely be different for all of us, ranging from misled ideas to significant, cultural beliefs. We must learn from our downfalls and prosper from our high points. Regardless, theories will be questioned and challenged. People will be killed tomorrow for nothing more than their choice of opinions and their love for their personal rendition of what God is to them. Preparing for brighter days as an immortal, I will take heed of life's little lessons. If the Truth prevails and the end is just as I hoped— beautiful, happy and peaceful— I can enjoy a comforting final look at a lifetime of trying to do good. My mortal existence will have been simply training, a set of neatly configured instructions for the eternal happiness of immortality.
Receiving the opportunity to meet Jesus, I would be nervous and a bit uncomfortable. With the given set of rules and guidelines, our naive, materialistic society has established, I do have reasons to feel discomfort and remorse. At the same time, I can look on with an honest eye, accepting my mortal life as a training mission, a mission that Jesus and I can conquer together. When it's my time to go, I hope to have the same force or guidance that pushed me through mortality. If created in my mind, the force has to be as equal, rewarding and profitable as what I believed to be true. I have strength, a good set of morals and a vision; time is now on my side, not working against me in fear of death. Every time the phone rings or there is a knock at the door, I will wonder if this the one— a rendezvous with greatness. If it is Jesus, I will not fret. Together, my visiting friend and I can accomplish anything. . .
T. Mez 15, July 1997
Revision 12, August 1997
Tom Mezzacapa
English 220, sec. E101
Mr. C. Closser, Instructor
16, July 1997
Descriptive Essay, Paper #4
Comments