A conversion conversation

The number 863 bus from the Adelaide Hills will always hold a special place in my heart. At 7.33am on a Tuesday morning in July, 2004, on a 863 passing through the city, I felt something I’d never felt before.

Recently married, I had also recently started attending church. Indeed, the one begat the other––the priest who was marrying my intended and I insisted that we attend church if we were to have him officiate. We had heard good things about him and wanted him to officiate, and my soon-to-be-wife wanted her second marriage to take place in a church. Her first husband had died of cancer so we felt there was no moral impediment to her getting remarried in a church. I was agnostic, Vicki did have a belief in God but I didn’t care either way––it was something we could do together.

So shortly before our wedding, Vicki and I started attending a popular Hills church. Every Sunday the church was packed with worshippers, and the band that played was tight and uplifting. Much toe-tapping and leg stomping occurred in time to the music. At the front of the auditorium I found myself riffing syncopation with the drummer; ba-bap, bap-de-bap. I loved being at church, I had such a good time there.

After our wedding I found myself enjoying my Sunday mornings even more, and within a couple of months felt so at home that I offered to help out on the church’s visual system, displaying song lyrics up on a screen above the band.

Of course, this left Vicki to sit on her own, but I was a selfish man back in those days and didn’t even consider her views and feelings, let alone ask her how she felt about it––I just followed my own desires. I hadn’t gotten to grips with what married life meant yet, I thought married life was just a continuation of the single life but with added benefits.

But even at this stage of my church life, enjoying it immensely and enjoying the fellowship of fellow worshippers, I still didn’t believe in God. I was enjoying the friendship and the vibe, the feeling of belonging and being useful, but that was all. You could say I was building my house on sand.

So it was that I found myself one cold Tuesday morning on the 863 bus, passing through the CBD on my way to work, one stop before I was due to alight at Victoria Square, when I found myself thinking about religion, about the church life I was experiencing, and whether I should take this religion thing more seriously.

As if to answer me, what can only be described as a finger from the heavens pressed down on my head and buckled my knees. By this stage I was standing at the door of the bus, waiting to alight, and a tremendous weight pushed me downwards. I staggered off the bus and made my way to a nearby bench to sit and recover.

‘You alright mate?’ asked a homeless man sitting on the bench, his shopping trolley parked at the end. He was in his late 50s, I guess, but guessing a homeless person’s age is fraught with difficulties. Living on the streets ages one, I’d heard. He had a three-day growth and a missing front tooth. His blue tracksuit was worn, as were his sneakers.

‘I’m not sure,’ I replied. ‘Something strange just happened to me.’

‘Heart attack?’

‘No. More like a weight crushing down on my head, collapsing me.’

‘Weight, huh? That’s strange.’

‘I don’t know what to make of it.’

‘What were you thinking about when it happened?’

‘Well, I was thinking about God, and whether there is one or not.’

‘And what did you decide?’

‘I hadn’t made my mind up when the weight crushed me. It felt like a big index finger reached down from the heavens and lightly touched me on the top of my head. But the finger had so much power and strength that even though it barely touched me, the force buckled my knees. It could have been God’s finger.’

‘A sign, you reckon?’

‘Could be. I dunno. Hey, do you fancy a coffee? I’ll get us one from the coffee shop behind us.’

‘Sure, ta.’

Five minutes later I returned with two coffees in paper cups and I sat down again with my new confession-taker and counsellor.

‘What about you, Dave––do you believe in God?’ I asked.

‘Nope. I doubt the existence of a God who is both omnipotent and omnibenevolent. Such a God would not permit evil or suffering, yet look around you.’

‘But you could argue that God cannot be meaningfully justified, He stands above the fray. Some have even said that evil doesn’t exist.’  

‘Look at the world. Look at this city. Look at your life. Are you honestly telling me that evil doesn’t exist? A week ago I was beaten up while I slept, my head cut open and my shopping trolley taken.’ He pulled off his Crows beanie and showed me where the hospital team had shaved his head to get at the wound. ‘I ended up at the RAH with twelve stitches. I’d done nothing wrong. No evil, huh?’

‘When you put it like that…’

‘I used to have a successful business, a beautiful wife, two great kids. The wife left me for my business partner, she’s poisoned my kids against me and now they won’t have anything to do with me. My business collapsed and with it went my house. So now I live on the street and carry what’s left in a shopping trolley. What sort of God would allow that to happen? Just because I don’t believe and go to church?’

‘But, Dave, I had an overwhelming sense that the moment on the bus was designed to tell me something. The more time passes the more I feel, strongly, that the whole incident was a sign.’

‘A sign of what?’

‘I dunno. It’s timing––just when I was wondering if there was a God or not––seemed too much like an answer. Like God was touching me on my head and letting me know he’s here and paying attention. I can’t explain it any other way.’

‘I can. You had a momentary lapse of reason and your body had a spasm as a result.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘I do. Now, thanks for the coffee but I have to be elsewhere. Good luck with your mental wrestling.’

I left Dave to go about his day, after slipping him a $20 to say ‘thanks’. His words stayed with me, especially those on evil and benevolence, and gave me much to reflect on while I went about the days that followed. I never saw him again, despite looking out for him.

~~

Of course, that was waaay back in 2004. A lot has happened since then. My marriage failed, my business ventures have all failed, I haven’t earned a dollar since 2012. And with all this turmoil my bipolar depression reared its head and sent me plummeting down to a suicidal spot several times. I became a frequent patient at the Adelaide Clinic.

Along the way somewhere I lost the taste for God. I felt abandoned, unwanted, left to deal with my troubles on my own. So, I gave up my beliefs and fell back on science.

To me it was the only logical thing to do.