“Almost everyone can agree that one of the big differences between us and our ancestors of five hundred years ago is that they lived in an ‘enchanted’ world, and we do not.”
Charles Taylor
If I had to distil my entire life into one thing, it would be the search for ‘magic.’ From an early age, I was fascinated by other and bigger things. I remember running around in the yard trying to dig up fossils, reading books about ancient Egypt, and going to the science centre for my birthday (all I wanted were Pokemon Cards). I loved reading books like Eragon, Harry Potter, and The Chronicles of Narnia. My favourite video games as a kid were anything with a sword or gun, but in particular, it was The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time (OoT), released on November 21 1998, that I loved the most. I played the heck out of that thing. For those who don’t know, OoT is the first attempt at an open-world 3d game and is considered by many to be the greatest video game of all time, scoring almost a perfect score on every gaming website. In the game, you could trek into deep forests, climb high mountains, swim rivers and lakes, visit populated villages, and save princesses. But the most essential element in the game was that the world felt more alive, authentic, and meaningful than the one I lived in.
Now, you can chalk all this up to a young boy indulging in escapism, having a wild imagination, not yet matured. I get that. If that’s the case, I’ve never grown up. Maturity, for me, has been less about searching for the magic in the world and more about realising it was here all along. Western Culture (the Church has a massive role in this) has veritably done away with the world in the wardrobe, the sacred groves in the forests, the transcendent high places that strike awe in the beholder, and traded it in for formulas, fast food spirituality and living—a bland, tasteless existence. Can you hardly blame me then for chasing hedonism in place of ‘magic?’ The moment I was able to, I chased women, started clubbing, and partying in a desperate bid to experience the world afresh. However, much like the Preacher in Ecclesiastes, it was all meaningless. I needed more. I wanted more. I craved something more until, one day, I tasted a bit of that lost ‘magic.’
I would love to tell you that once I met Jesus, everything changed, life got better, and the drudgery of life washed away in a sea of awe and wonder. It didn’t. The decision to follow Jesus has been met with suffering and hardship: death, divorce, broken hearts, depression, and a lot of uncertainty and doubt. Christianity hasn’t made things clearer for me. What it has done, however, is rebuilt me through trials in a way life never would have in and of its own.
When I met Jesus, it was off the back of a failed relationship that had gone through an abortion. I was still interested in something other than life, but ultimately, the decision to try out Jesus was just another day and another choice. There was no voice from heaven, no beam of light, no stirring deep within my soul. I just decided that Jesus probably had some good things to say and was worth listening to. Since then, over the years, slowly but surely, Jesus has peeled back the layers of my disenchanted heart and shown me that what I was looking for was under my nose the entire time. Salvation for me has been a slow transformative process, not a single instant event. The Cross is less about (but not void of) any atonement theory and more about a pathway into the world unified unto God, the created world, and My Self. As I nerded out over theology, the bible, and spirituality, I realised every church and gathering could be a sacred grove. Every door opened could have a Narnia behind it. Every road travelled could be turned into a pilgrimage. I’ve been a Christian for over ten years, and I can say that God hasn’t finished turning this mess into a slightly less mess.
I look forward to where He’ll have me in another ten. For now I will leave you with this quote:
The Christian story of incarnation in the body of a boy- a boy whose ancestors were both famous and infamous – is one that can spur us towards living with the courage that is indigenous to us. To be human is to be in the image of something good, and image comes from imagination. To be human is to be in the imagination of God, and the imagination is the source of integrity as well as cracks. To be born is to be born into a story of possibility, a story of failure, a story of imagination and the failure of imagination. To be born is to be born with the possibility of courage. Hello to courage.
Pádraig Ó Tuama
Scribbling Theology 