I was born into a Christian family, my parents met at a local non-denominational church, and that was our church for the first eight years of my life. As such there was never a time I didn't believe in Jesus. When my grandfather had a stroke, I was nearly four years old; my parents wanted to try and talk about life and death, and also led me through the Sinner's Prayer so that I could "accept Jesus into my heart". It's one of my earliest memories, which is also why I can say that I really didn't know what I was doing. I believed in Jesus before, I believed in Jesus after, because again I was raised in the faith.
Several years later I experienced a crisis of faith, or as much of a crisis of faith a child can. I tried to explain to my dad that I was afraid that I didn't mean it when I asked Jesus into my heart. Specifically, I didn't know how to know if I meant it or not. Went through the sinner's prayer again, just to make sure it "stuck" this time--but again I still didn't know how to know if I was sincere enough or not. I knew I didn't want to go to hell, but I had no idea what making Jesus my "personal Lord and Savior" meant; as opposed to the belief I already had in Him.
When I entered into adolescence puberty offered a whole new slew of confusing feelings and struggles. I knew the moral teachings about purity, and righteousness, and holiness that I learned about at church; but all these new feelings and thoughts seemed at odds with what I was taught. I experienced tremendous guilt throughout my teenage years. At the age of 12 my family had already been attending a Pentecostal church after our old church had kicked us out because one of the elders created false charges against my mother in order to avoid discipline or scrutiny for his adultery. A traveling evangelist came, and at the evening service there was an invitation to receive "the baptism with the Holy Spirit". I went up, hands were laid on me, I fell over.
But I was still filled with guilt in all those years afterward--I still struggled with the whole "knowing that I'm saved" part. I was told if I was sincere when I asked Jesus into my life, I was saved--but I didn't know if I was sincere or how to know what that sincerity looked like or felt like. I also was taught at my current church that being saved meant that I would grow in holiness and closeness to God. But I always felt like the more I tried to be holy, the harder I struggled to do what was right, the more I wanted to be obedience, the more obvious and apparent my sin and unrighteousness was. Instead of being less sinful, it always seemed like I was more sinful. I would have days where I would literally lay prostrate alone in my room, on my floor, praying and begging God, until I was literally red in the face and exhausted. What small catharsis I sometimes, but not always, felt was temporary and fleeting. On days where I felt nothing, no matter how desperately I was crying out to God, I entertained thoughts that perhaps I was simply too sinful to be saved. That grace could save sinners, certainly, but that I was too wicked, too perverse, and that no matter how much I wanted to be saved I could never truly surrender my life over to Jesus, that I could never truly invite Him in to become my personal Lord and Savior, and therefore could never have forgiveness because I could never truly have real saving faith. After all, if I had true faith, I would have assurance of my salvation; but I didn't have any assurance; if I had true faith, I'd be living a godly Christian life and overcoming sin.
When I was 17 the pastor of our Pentecostal church asked my parents why I had never gotten baptized. So my parents asked if I wanted to get baptized. I was initially hesitant, for one I had been taught that baptism wasn't really all that important because it was just a public ritual to affirm my faith to the rest of the congregation. And for another, I was still struggling to know if I was even a Christian at all to begin with. I had heard of many people who thought they were Christians, but then fell away, and I was told they were never true believers in the first place because once saved always saved. That, again, gave me immense fear and anxiety over my salvation--what if I was one of those fake believers, one of those false Christians I was warned about so many times?
With a bit of prodding my pastor and youth pastor, along with my parents, convinced me getting baptized was a good thing to do. So I agreed, and finally got baptized. So I didn't receive baptism until I was almost an adult.
The next few years were complicated. My mom passed away from cancer, my dad had moved across the state because of his job, I was still in high school and living with my grandmother. I had been reading the Bible more, began to question some of the ideas I had been raised to believe. By the time I was out of high school I didn't really have a church anymore. I visited church with friends, but had no church to call my own--and I had a lot of questions and not many answers.
I eventually became Lutheran (at least in my thinking and theology) in my early 20's, the road to becoming Lutheran was unexpected, long, and even then it would be several more years before I was regularly attending church again. I had been looking at a lot of different church backgrounds and traditions during this period of questioning and churchlessness, what I call my wilderness period. Lutheranism wasn't really on my radar at all. I did finally discover that assurance and confidence that I had been seeking, because fortunately people finally stopped telling me to look at myself, and to look at Christ.
Over the years since I've had people ask me when I "got saved", usually wanting some definitive conversion event. I don't think my story has that. When I look at my life and story I can't think of a time when I didn't have faith in Christ--that faith was preached to me even when I was still in diapers. I can point to moments of growth, moments of struggle, moments of lapse--but there's no singular definitive moment where I went from non-believer to believer.
From my current Lutheran perspective, instead I can see how Jesus was there the entire time, present in His Word and Sacraments, being the loving Good Shepherd.
There was no dramatic Road to Damascus moment for me--just a slow burn of highs and lows, of moments of growth, moments of lapse, struggles and complexities of life. Christ was there in them all, loving me, calling me, saving me.
Today when, occasionally, someone tells me that I didn't have a genuine conversion experience it doesn't bother me. My assurance and confidence comes from the Gospel, not my experiences. And that's the kind of testimony I want to have: It isn't about me, it's about Jesus.
-CryptoLutheran
