From early childhood, I was as fascinated with politics as some kids are with baseball or football. When I was in the sixth grade, I stayed up into the early hours of the morning to see if Chep Morrison had finally been elected governor of Louisiana—he lost for the second time. In junior high school I sketched out my political objectives through my first term as governor of Louisiana. In fact I kept a picture of the Governor's Mansion secretly taped to the side of my desk. From the seventh grade until the twelfth, all my political objectives went as planned: I finished my senior year in high school serving as Student Body President, governor of Louisiana Boy's State, and vice-president of Key Club International. By the time I entered college I had already traveled and spoken around much of the South as well as parts of the Midwest and Northeast.
My decision to attend Louisiana State University rather than a private university was primarily a political one—LSU was the place to meet people statewide and to build a political base in Louisiana. Upon entering LSU, I began a campaign for president of the freshman class. Night and day I pounded the pavement, shaking hands, giving speeches, and laboring for votes. I missed nearly two full weeks of class in pursuit of this position. The night it was announced that I had lost to a friend of mine named Ralph, tears rolled down my cheeks. I had poured myself out on that race. But after a few moments of self-pity, I pulled myself together, went into the middle of the victorious crowd and started shaking hands. My next campaign began that very night.
As student issues in the late 60's became more involved and political questions more complex, I began to turn inward. I became serious about finding the meaning of human life. My major was history and my minor was philosophy. I read Plato, Marx, Nietzsche, Sartre, and Camus. It dawned on me that there must be more to life than satisfying my ego and achieving my political goals. The more I studied philosophy, particularly existential thought, the more I realized I was living in a world of unreality. I had developed one criterion for almost every move I made—how about the votes? What will this mean in the next election and what about twenty years from now? There grew an ever-increasing inner battle in my being. On one hand I felt if I could just make it to the top, it would all be worth it; on the other hand I felt like such a hypocrite. What about truth? Was my life worth nothing more than attaining to some political success?
By the end of my sophomore year I was riding high on the political scene at LSU. But the more my political front grew, the more I felt imprisoned. I couldn't walk across campus without dozens of empty hellos. I was on more committees and in more meetings than I could stomach. I really just wanted to be free. But how did a person become free? Was it by making it to the top at last? Was it by leaving everything behind and wandering around Europe? Or was it something inward?
That summer I took my third trip to Europe and ended up in Prague in late August—right in the middle of a nationwide uprising in protest of Soviet oppression. While tanks, tear gas, and soldiers filled my senses, and I witnessed human suffering and struggle as I had never seen before, I couldn't help but feel ashamed of my egotistical political ambition. What was I doing? It seemed that I was playing games with my life. All my values came into question. At the age of nineteen I had become trapped by ambition. Politics had become my master and success my chains.
I returned to LSU that fall and was immediately back in the rat race: committees, issues, politics, empty words, fake hellos, and vain activities. I found a little saying that I liked and put it on my bulletin board. It read: "Concerning the rat race the winner is still a rat." But I persevered and gradually became the acknowledged responsible student leader at LSU. I continued to make lots of friends and position myself for my final student election.
My years of careful political preparation resulted in my being easily elected president of the LSU student body in April of 1970. Inside, however, no one really knew the turmoil I was experiencing. In spite of all of my friends and this significant achievement, I was very much alone. My inward restlessness remained. By the end of my junior year, after only a month as the president of the student body, I realized my life was still empty.
About that time, I was taking an honors class specially arranged for a few students by the chairman of the philosophy department. We had been reading existential writers all semester. I was almost the last to present my final paper. What I read aloud to my classmates and professor that day was essentially this: "I've just been elected president of 19,000 students and have accomplished my political goals while here at LSU, yet I still do not find meaning to human life, neither to my life. In fact, I have no real reason to get up in the morning. There is no real purpose even in writing this paper. Death or life—what is the difference? Die now or later—in time, who will care and what will it matter? Success or failure—in ten thousand years it will mean nothing. It will all be swallowed up as a drop of water in the ocean. The endless sea of eternity will cause every finite achievement to mean nothing." The paper silenced the whole class. Dr. Bigger hung his head and could only tell us that the meaning of life was to continue the search for truth. He dismissed the class.
A student in that class, a friend of mine named Johnny, later told me that after hearing my paper, he realized he needed to rewrite his paper and present the gospel of Jesus Christ in his essay. The next week he did just that. As I listened to his paper it seemed as if his words were refreshing springs of cool water flowing out. He said we could live in one of two realms, either the realm of vanity or the realm he called Grace, which was just Jesus Christ Himself. Outside of Jesus, he said, everything, no matter good or bad, great or small, was just empty and vain. In Jesus, everything was real. Outside of Christ was bondage, and in Christ was real freedom. I was enthralled by his speaking. After class I quizzed him on several points.
Johnny and I had another class together that semester, Constitutional Law, and had arranged to study for our final at my house. I'll never forget that night. There were four of us in the room, two Christians and two unbelievers. As we discussed cases and concepts of justice and mercy, somehow late in the night the conversation shifted to Jesus Christ. I don't remember exactly what was said, but the hours rolled by. I was mostly listening that night, sitting in silence as the two Christians spoke of the reality of Jesus Christ. The words poured out of them like streams of living water, and I, thirsting for reality, drank in every word. It is hard to say exactly what happened. But as I listened intently, I knew He was real; I knew He was reality. It seemed as if light poured into my inner being. I could hardly believe it, yet I knew it—Jesus Christ was real. I was full to the brim and at peace, real peace, for the first time in my life. When the two Christians left, I remember saying to Chuck, the other unbeliever, "I can't believe it, but I've become a Christian."
On that day, May 22, 1970, my whole life changed. The next day as I walked on campus, everything looked different. I had been set free; Jesus had set me free. My heart was filled with love, real love, for everyone I saw. I couldn't care less if I never got another vote. I didn't need that anymore. I had Jesus. He was real. He was in me and I was in Him! The joy in my heart was beyond description. Actually it was only the beginning, but what has happened since then is another story for another time. Jesus Christ has set me free. Jesus Christ is Reality.
Colley Joseph, Oklahoma City, OK
If you would like to be released from the bondage of sin and experience the freedom found only in Jesus Christ, please pray this prayer in a genuine and sincere way:
Lord Jesus, I admit that I am a sinner. Lord, I have tried to be free and I have tried to be good, but I'm still bound by sin. I need You to loose me from the bondage of sin with Your precious blood. Lord Jesus, come into me as the law of the Spirit of Life. I receive You as my Emancipator. Lord Jesus, I love You. Thank You for saving me.
