Left to right, above, are moi, Dwight Klassen, Ralph Higgins and Joe Medal.
In the comments section of the previous post, Ralph mentioned that during our time together we had talked about “deism, agnosticism, Christianity, and other topics.”
It was only natural.
We were all raised in “Christian” homes, our parents albeit on the “fundamentalist” side of evangelicalism. Plus, we became friends in a church group in San Jose, California in the late 1950’s and, in spite of a lot of questioning and exploration, for the most part endorsed our spiritual heritage – with some reservations, of course.
In fact, on a church outreach event, Joe once preached a sermon in a fundamentalist Walnut Creek church that had many of their members buzzing with fervent praise.
But in the ensuing years, we all went in separate directions with regard to our personal faith. Dwight, Ralph and I remained within the Christian confines, while Joe philosophically has struggled with his emergent, perceived “inconsistencies” of faith and deity.
He now considers himself an agnostic. To his credit, he doesn’t take the intellectually untenable position of an atheist. You’d have to be omniscient to make that assertion.
At one point in our talks I mentioned to Joe how meaningful my relatively recent involvement in the Lutheran Church had become. I tried to explain that in mainline Lutheran theology I’ve sort of been able to trace my spiritual heritage – my religious “roots”, if you will. He had no problem with that at all.
The three of us then pressed him a bit to indicate where his search for reality and meaning had led him. He responded very honestly.
“All I can tell you for sure,” he said, “is that I can’t be sure of anything.” “God can’t be proven – or disproven, for that matter – and that is why I’m ambiguous,” he intoned.
“I just can’t make the giant leap of faith,” he lamented, referring to theologian Immanuel Kant’s famous commentary. His integrity has not tarnished.
We left the discussion there, due either to other pressing things or to a need to catch a ferry. I hope we get to continue the dialog sometime soon.
In our younger days, Joe in many ways was an anchor in our group. I think he may be the strongest human being, pound for pound, of any I’ve ever met. When younger, he could "punish" his body more than anyone I’ve ever known.
He was a champion wrestler and a talented catcher in baseball. One day he caught three games, back-to-back and was none the worse for wear.
Another time, to win a short term weight loss contest with a friend, Joe ate nothing – no food, no water – for three days before the “weigh-in.” He won the event by drinking vinegar hours before the end to further dehydrate his body.
After his winning weigh-in, we all went to San Francisco for a seven-course meal. His opponent in the contest could eat nothing and nearly lost it all watching the ensuing developments. Joe ate everything offered. With no ill-effects.
One Thanksgiving, Joe ate a full turkey dinner with all the trimmings and then downed FIVE whole pumpkin pies. Again, with no ill-effects.
He was a superman.
Now, however, in later life, he’s dealing with a potentially life-threatening physical ailment. You’d never know it looking at him. He puts on a steely, strong front, as always.
“I probably should be dead,” Joe admitted to me on the way to the airport for my flight home, “but for some new, experimental medication I’m taking.” Apparently it’s working so far.
As I got out of the car at the departure gate, we gave each other a big bear hug (that’s about the only thing “real men” can do to show affection). I noticed a bit of involuntary mist in my eyes.
“Well, old buddy,” I told him, “I’m going to pray to the God you’re not sure of, with the expectation he’ll give you strength for the journey.”
He broke into a big smile, said nothing, got into his car, and drove off.
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