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An evening like many others. Gathered around a fire, my friends and I discussing for hours the mysteries of life and what lies beyond.
“I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.”
– Jeremiah 29:11-13, the Bible
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I was about 14 or 15, and we were spending every weekend in a small village in the Laurentians just outside Hull, Que. Around the fire, we searched to find answers to our many questions, questions about the powers of the subconscious, life after death, extraterrestrials, spiritualism, transcendental meditation. These exchanges often filled us with fear and kept us from sleep, but our curiosity and our thirst for answers repeatedly pushed us to return to our discussion and to try out some of our theories – to make contact with a long dead parent or to access by meditation the invisible world.
One evening, some friends arrived with hashish and related how it had helped them discover new aspects of life. It was not long before the group began using hashish and then more powerful drugs. Soon, we could not imagine an evening without them. The situation deteriorated, and pleasure gave way to dependence and paranoia. My questions about life and the after-life were many and remained unanswered. I was deeply dissatisfied. There had to be more to life than the dreary routine of getting up in the morning, going to work or school, going to bed, getting up again the next morning, returning to work . . . and finally dying. There had to be something else, and I needed to find it.
When I was 17, a friend invited me to a meeting that would “give answers about the meaning of life and other great mysteries”. We went to a meditation centre. The guru guided us into some incredible and fascinating experiences. Nevertheless, the sense of a void inside me persisted. I was missing something important, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I had to pursue my quest. I wanted to go to the source of knowledge, which I believed to be in India.
The next months were devoted to saving money and preparing for my trip. During the last months of school, I met Cindy. Her joy, dynamism and love of adventure captivated me. After several meetings and dates, she decided to accompany me on my trip to India. After a few more weeks of preparation, we would depart.
On a shopping trip to buy some things I would need for the trip, I was the only passenger on a bus in Laval, a suburb of Montreal. The driver began to talk with me. I explained that I was going on a trip and was making my final preparations. He asked me several questions about my trip and then said, “You should go as a threesome.” Surprised, I wondered if he wanted to come with us. “You should take the Lord with you,” he added.
“For sure,” I replied. For me, the Christian faith was a path like any other to reach God or “the Supreme Power”. I saw this “Power” as the summit of a mountain, which could be reached by several different paths. His was religion; I had nothing against it, but it was not my path. I got off at my stop, very glad to have had this spiritual exchange with the sympathetic driver.
A little later, when I got back on a bus to continue my shopping trip, I found myself with the same driver. We continued our discussion until once again I got off. After making some purchases, I needed to pick up a backpack that I had put aside. I got on a bus only to find, once again, the same driver.
The morning was passing rapidly, and I still had several errands to run. I was waiting for a bus again, when, to my great surprise, the same driver picked me up. I asked him if he was the only bus driver in the city of Laval. We had a good laugh about it. Maurice (for I was soon calling him by his first name) told me a little more about his faith, but I had to get off again to pick up my passport. I was starting to get interested in his faith in God. He spoke passionately, and his faith seemed authentic.
After several hours of waiting for my passport, I could finally return home and finish my packing after only one more bus ride. I tried not to think about the possibility that I might see Maurice again; four times in one day was already remarkable. The bus arrived. Yes, it was driven by Maurice. This time, he offered to come and drop off a New Testament (part of the Christian Bible) in my mailbox that evening. This he did. I had a chance to see Maurice one more time before my departure.
We flew to Casablanca in Morocco in January 1978. I was 18 and Cindy 19. With eyes and ears wide open, we took in everything that was going on around us. One day, when we were walking through a desert region in the south of Morocco, we met François, a Quebecker like ourselves, who had already been travelling for several months. He was returning from India. He loved adventure as much as we did, and did not hesitate to leave the beaten path to discover new regions. As we were coming to a chain of mountains, we decided to follow footpaths which passed through isolated Berber villages in the High Atlas Mountains. After several days of preparation, including buying a donkey we named “Quebec” and supplies of water and food, we set out on the track to the peaks of the High Atlas Mountains. During this trip, we got to know François. He also was searching, and was reading the Christian Bible every day. So that others could also benefit from his reading, when he finished reading a section, he would tear out the pages and give them to someone else. I had brought along the New Testament that Maurice had given me, but I never took the time to open it.
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.”
– Matthew 7:7-8, the Bible
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After several weeks, we parted from François to go our separate ways. The months flowed away. We had now passed through Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia. The trip was entrancing, but we had not yet found anyone who could answer our deep questions. On the contrary, we met many young adults in these countries who were also on a spiritual search. Many asked us the same question: “Who is Jesus Christ?” What a question! We didn’t know how to respond other than to say, “He is the Son of God.” This standard Christian answer was far from satisfying them. They always answered that they didn’t know how God could have a son. Who was Jesus Christ? We really didn’t know.
Finally, after more than six months, unable to travel through Libya, we retraced our steps to go to Europe. After reaching Spain and overcoming several misadventures in customs, we decided to return to Canada. In Canada, Cindy and I took different paths, each drawn by different projects. For my part, my search remained unsatisfied, and I still felt the need to go in search of the answers that I so much wanted to find.
After a few months, it was time to go again. I took the road south to Florida. I knew that the parents of our friend François, whom we had met in Morocco, were spending the winter there. I wanted to say hello to them, and when I went there, to my great surprise, François was there. He decided to accompany me on the next leg of my trip to Mexico. We crossed the southern United States, rounded the Gulf of Mexico and found ourselves in a small fishing village on the Yucatan Peninsula. This tranquil region was not yet frequented by travellers. We rented a small hut, in which we slung our hammocks. Every morning we got up early to contemplate the sunrise and then read the Bible. François had a new Bible, and I opened for the first time the one Maurice had given me.
I was fascinated by what I was reading. As I read what the Bible had to say about Jesus, I had the impression that this Jesus was the answer I had been searching for. I wanted to know more about Him, to the point that I decided to go off on my own and reflect more on what I was reading. I took the road south, passing through Belize and entering Guatemala, where I went up into the mountains to be quiet and read. Jesus’ words from the Bible – “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28); “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12); “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me” (John 14:6) – entered deeply into my heart.
The $250 that I had brought with me for food and shelter had already stretched beyond three months. I used my last 25 cents to phone my family and tell them that I was returning home through western Canada. During this journey, I discovered a God in whom I could put my trust. Thumbing it all the way to Vancouver, I never lacked anything. Was it a miracle? I cannot say, but I do know that God took care of me. Three times I was forced to get into a vehicle at gunpoint, and as an innocent bystander I found myself in the middle of a terrorist attack which blew up the Spanish embassy in Guatemala – and each time I escaped unscathed. I was discovering a God who was alive, and I wanted to know Him better.
In Vancouver, I lost my backpack and the little New Testament that Maurice had given me. I gradually forgot all that had happened in the last few months, and I put aside God, Jesus Christ and the marvels of the Bible. I began to hang out with a gang, and it was not long before my life had turned in unsavoury directions. After a few weeks, I managed to get a train ticket and find my way back to Montreal.
A little after my arrival, I began to experience disturbing symptoms, and was hospitalized for jaundice. Since I was contagious, I was kept in isolation and had ample time to reflect on what had been happening in my life. I realized that when I was reading my Bible and learning to trust God, my life had a whole different character and I felt really good. I had maintained a relationship with God during that time, and I wanted to return to that. I prayed, asking God to restore my relationship with Him and to give me a Bible to read. I immediately fell asleep. The next morning, Cindy came to the door with a gift. While I had been away, Cindy had taken a spiritual journey like mine and had also discovered the beauty of the Christian faith. That morning, she had brought me a Bible as a gift. It was an answer to my prayer. I was touched, and excited to know that she was going in the same direction as I was.
Some time after, Cindy and I were invited to a meeting, where it was explained more clearly why Jesus Christ had come to earth. Since that evening, in April 1980, I have understood the love that God has shown to us through Jesus Christ. I understood not only that Jesus died on the cross, but also that He rose from the dead and is still alive, desiring to have an authentic relationship with us. That evening, I came to believe that Jesus really is the only way to God, as He said, and I made the decision to follow Him.
Today, I see how God took care of me on my travels. This “Supreme Being” that I was searching for everywhere, had been there beside me all along, calling me and wanting to meet me. Since that day, I have sought to walk with God and encounter Him every day in everything that is going on around me. I try to let him shape me. When I neglect to stay close to Him, I experience the same thing I did in Vancouver, quietly forgetting Him, until I search again and find again all the good things that He gives.
I married Cindy seven months later. We have three wonderful children, Marie-Ève, Rémi and Patricia.
| Patrice Nagant is now in charge of starting new Mennonite Brethren Christian churches in the province of Quebec. This article is translated, with permission, from the May 2002 issue of Le Lien. |
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