Meeting My Matchmaker

 

(This article, written by Myles, was originally published in the Nov./Dec. 2006 issue of Light & Life Magazine. It is reprinted here with their permission.)

“I’ll shout it from the housetops!” she said, between forkfuls of organic greens. “Jesus is my Lord and Savior!”

Oy vey! What have I gotten myself into? On one hand, she is the most beautiful girl I have ever been near. On the other hand, she’s a Christian, whatever that is. Still, those luminescent eyes, that olive skin, tanned from the summer sun. Her genuine sweetness, almost…could it be…goodness? No! I could not fall for a committed cross-waving Christian. My grandmother would roll over in her grave – surely an uncomfortable turn of events in the congested Long Island cemetery where we last saw her.

“Do you even know who Jesus is?” she asked.

Do I know …? Do I know…? Do I know…!?!” I sputtered, trying a different emphasis each time to express my exasperation. “You are a great young woman, Katharine, but I have been a seeker of truth since you were seeking your next spoonful of baby food. My quest has taken me through the great religious paths of history. I have meditated in the desert, unearthed the secrets of the organic European countryside, practiced yoga at an ashram and even been to midnight mass.”

+@#&*^%^#%! Myles, you are a dope. Your pride is as tasteless as this mashed bean garden-dirtburger with secret (puhhhllease keep it a secret) sauce. Besides, on one hand, none of those paths has brought true peace. On the other hand, she is so sincere. Enough hands! You sound like Tevye the milkman during his hippie period. 

“Have you ever even read the Bible?” she asked.

“Have I read…?!? I’ll have you know I went to Hebrew school three days a week for years, until my Bar Mitzvah delivered me from that cage. I still remember some of the prayers, I think. Anyway, everyone knows that the Bible has been mistranslated and has come down through the ages as a bludgeon to keep ignorant masses in bondage to a powerful few.”

She pressed on. “Have you read the New Testament?”

“The new…well, no, not really. But I have read The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ and many other eclectic, esoteric revelations of the deeper meanings of that guru’s teachings. Not everyone can divine the inner levels of these things, you know. Perhaps I could help you.”

“Perhaps,” she said with a smile, as her even, white teeth glanced through her naturally full lips.

It had only been a few weeks since I first saw her. The moment was choreographed from above, as if Jerome Robbins had permission from beyond to intervene in the lives of mortals. The scene was pure “West Side Story.” She seemed to glide into the crowded room on the smiles and laughter of her friends. I was 10 yards away, leaning against a countertop, trying to look cool in my hot discomfort. Social gatherings had become strenuous events. What was that light show – that glowing outline around her? Did time really stop, or did I just stop breathing? And what was that painful pleasure in my chest?

Things progressed quickly. Coffee. A date. A walk on the hill beyond my house. I wrote her songs. I was smitten. My friends laughed behind my back, but I didn’t care.

She was a challenge. She had morals. And she challenged me, as in, “I dare you to be intellectually honest and study the Hebrew Scriptures to see if Jesus is the Messiah!”

I determined to educate her, awaken her to the deeper things of spiritual life. I also made a big mistake. I asked the “sky” to send me guidance.

The next day, as I waited to attend an anatomy class at the local college, a strange man approached. He looked uncomfortably conservative in his golf shirt, tan chinos, short hair and big smile. We spoke about the music playing on the stereo of my brand-new red sports car. Turns out he was a musician. In fact, he had played keyboards on tour with Van Morrison, one of my favorite songwriters. This encounter was bigger than rock ‘n’ roll. My world was about to turn right-side up.

The wind began to blow leaves through the parking lot as he said, “You know, the real reason I came over here is that the Lord told me to go talk to the guy with the red car. You’ve been praying for guidance.”

It was as if I had “funnel vision.” Time stretched out behind me in a cone-shaped destiny that led me to this moment. He kept smiling, and told me there was a battle over my soul, and that Jesus wanted me to know Him. The wind kept re-circulating late summer’s fallen leaves as I stood and stared. I tried to excuse myself, wanting to escape from this zealot. No one could have known about yesterday’s “prayer.” I was in awe, quite spooked…and ready for something familiar. But the “familiar” patterns of my life were about to change forever. My new “friend” James handed me a tape of his Christian band’s music. As we tried to insert it into my showroom-new car, my old tape wouldn’t eject.

“That’s weird,” I said. “This car is only three weeks old!”

James noted that the enemy of my soul did not want me to hear his songs to the Messiah, Jesus.

I wanted to run.

We patiently dug out the old tape with keys, dimes and finally, a paper clip. My tape was bent, as if it had been melted, which seemed impossible.

I stared at James in silence.

“The devil is real, and he will resist your turning to Jesus. Don’t worry, though. Jesus is stronger, and will help you if you ask Him.”

“I gotta go,” I blurted. I reluctantly agreed to meet for lunch the next day. I needed to get centered, to think, to call Katharine. I wanted to tell her that her spiritual Master had sent an emissary to mess with me. The “messing” had begun.

Over the next few weeks, inexplicable experiences melded with Scripture to convince me of who He is. I came home to the God of my fathers, and the Messiah of Israel, Savior of the world, Yeshua, the One the Gentiles call Jesus.

Oh… and I married Katharine, the angelic messenger sent to me 20 years ago.