Does it make a difference?

I had planned to fast for Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement.

I had a cavity filled the day before. My dentist's assistant was fasting as well, but for Ramadan. I've known her since I was in my twenties. Am I supposed to hate her because I'm Jewish and she's Muslim? Does our religion make a difference? How many of our distant relatives have killed one another in the Middle East?

We debated the pros and cons of fasting: 24 hours for Yom Kippur vs. daylight hours only for 30 days for Ramadan. I made some comment about not being a very observant Jew. She in turn told me that she doesn't believe there's only one path to God. We both smiled and silently sighed in relief that we had gotten past a potentially awkward moment.

I made it through that night's fast okay, but at 2 pm on the way to Marin County the next day, I realized that I was not going to last. I was dizzy, sleepy, a danger on the road.

I pulled off the freeway in San Lorenzo and tried to find a Starbucks. They didn't have the particular breakfast sandwich I wanted, so I ordered another one on the recommendation of the barista. It was good. (Any food would have tasted good at that point.)

I wonder if God will forgive me all the sins of the past year since I broke my fast. I have a lot to atone for. Does it make a difference to Him?

Then again, as a Messianic Jew, our sins are forgiven through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, "Yeshua Mashiach," as they say in Hebrew at the synagogue I have been attending. So then, why do they all fast? Tradition? This inconsistency is part of why I have such a hard time believing.

After refueling at Starbucks, I mistakenly drove past the freeway entrance and had to make a U-turn. As I waited at the stoplight, I saw two women who could be in their 30's, 40's, or maybe their 60's; I couldn't tell. They'd been on crack or methamphetamine so long that they looked like death warmed over, one of them talking around a cigarette hanging from her thin lips , the other vainly pulling at jeans falling from her bony hips.

I wondered, had they ever been in rehab? If they had, it obviously hadn't made a difference. Was it too late for them now? Would God forgive them their sins? Does addiction count as a sin?

It looked as though they hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. Did that count as a fast in God's eyes, or did they need to repent and turn away from drugs to achieve salvation? Would God have mercy on their souls? It looked as though they had suffered enough in this lifetime; couldn't they have a chance at a beautiful afterlife?

So many questions. No answers. At least not until I got to Marin. More on that in the next post.

Salvation

I know an irreverent, excessivly liberal Jesuit priest (who will remain anonymous to protect his identity). I'm not quite sure how he has gotten away with his outspoken, liberal beliefs, except that I'll bet he's drawn more converts to Catholicism than not.

He and I talked about life after death and the popular Christian notion that if you don't believe that Jesus is the Messiah, you will spend eternity in Hell, a concept that I have always struggled with. This priest surprised me by saying that he believes in universal salvation.

"Universal salvation!" I exclaimed. "You mean, everyone goes to Heaven to be with God? What about the atheists?"

His answer was perfect--soft-spoken and concise, with a wryly humorous undertone: "I think they'll be very surprised."