Like you, I have long been searching for the meaning of life. Sometimes in the wrong places, of course…the bottom of a wine bottle, the feel of an accelerator pedal of a very fast car, the rush of sexy new things to own, the possibility in relationships to experience, on occasion places to be. Over time, when none of these satisfy, we begin to hope that there is something else and hopefully it’s something more, something bigger than what so obviously is lacking in our physical world. Call it God, for a word…but my search for a belief in God has taken me in all kinds of different directions, although on the surface I might still appear to be a practicing Catholic.

Out here in RV-land many of the folks I run into are either (a) very settled in their beliefs and generally are fundamentally true to a Christian God (and generally don’t want to hear about any different possibilities), or are (b) not searching at all and don’t think even about a god, much less God. In between these two points there are people who are sure of themsleves in many different religions, including, in our brief wanderings, commited aetheists (stretching the definition of religion) as well as Jews, Muslims, Amish, and Muslims, plus some real hell-fire Baptists and other interesting Christians. All interesting folks and I keep waiting for lightening to strike and to tell me something that will save my own soul. So far it hasn’t, although occasionally it seems that Somebody IS trying to tell me something, and as example let me share with you an experience I had at a gas station in Wisconsin just a couple of days ago.

The older fellah that stepped gingerly out of a newish green pickup truck, other than being bigger than most guys and a little more crippled up, walking with aid of a cane, seemed pretty ordinary, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans like most folks in this cool wooded area, but his truck carried a neatly-printed sign saying “Lay Catholic Apostle for Christ” , or some such. I asked him what that meant, if he was, for instance, an ordained Deacon in the church, a position that’s always interested me for its level of commitment and one that I had explored, briefly, for myself.

“Nope,” he said. “I’m strictly a lay apostle. But I’ve been out here doin’ this for 25 years!”. Doing what, I asked? “Preachin’ to the sinners,” he said with a smile. “I’ve got 1.68 million miles on my cars doin’ this!” Man, I said, that is a LOT of miles! Where do you go? “I go where the sinnin’ is,” he replied. “Wherever the tough ones are! Here,” he said, “let me give you a present!”

I nodded amiably…thinking I would get another brochure or something, followed by a request for a donation, of course. Instead, he handed me two professionally-published books and two accompanying CDs. “One for you, one for a friend!” he smiled, clapping me on the back as he turned to go into the gas station to pay for his purchase.

Well, I thought, here it is at last…the meaning of life, coming to me unexpectedly, as I somehow knew it would, in this most banal of all places, a Wisconsin gas station….Paul being struck down from his horse by God on his way to war…that kind of unexpected visitation, albeit a trifle less dramatic. Nice….the meaning of life, in a book and a CD.  I placed a $20 bill on his seat while he was still inside, tossed the stuff into our car and took off.

I wish I could tell you that they did contain the meaning of life. I mean, entitled as they are “God Speaks, Will You Listen?”, clearly they were directed exactly towards my search…how could they be wrong?

Well, the publishing is certainly the high point of their existence. The content is trivial…simple readings with no explanations done by a fellah whos ounds like he might be still in his teens, a monotone recantation of the same things I’ve read for myself in the New Testament, not that there’s anything wrong with the readings, there isn’t, but it doesn’t go any further, doesn’t tell me a thing, just sorta pissed me off that it doesn’t INFORM me or inspire my belief or anything at all.

Well, I can take hope in the fact that, although it appears I’m still looking in the wrong places, the places I’m looking are beginning to appear to be more like the right places. And, maybe like Paul, I will be struck with belief at some point. Or, maybe like Jimmy Buffet says, it’ll just turn out that the Hokey-Pokey really IS all it’s all about, after all. In any event, it’s nice being out here, and I can still look around…we’re in Minnesota now…and it’s still all green and lovely and all, and while it doesn’t NECESSARILY prove the existence of a god, it doesn’t say there isn’t one, either. And it’s a nice place to hang out, this world, isn’t it?