Christian Living

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Scenario: A four-person, round table discussion about past lives.

“In my last life, I crossed the Delaware with George Washington.”

“Me? I was Queen of the Nile.”

“Oh! My sister dated Caesar before he met you!”

“I was Einstein’s brain.”

You’ve probably heard this before--when the topic is past lives, it’s strange that nobody was an ordinary, run-of-the-mill average Joe. Past identities, it seems, don’t include a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker. What about a stenographer? Or the poor Medieval sap who got stuck cleaning the chamber pots? And nobody—nobody—claims to have been a cockroach that got zapped with a can of RAID.

Now, I don’t mean to sound flippant. These are legitimate questions—red flags—that should warrant attention from anyone considering reincarnation as a belief system.

As a Christian, I don’t dispute past lives. I’ve got one, and I know exactly who I was: a sinner with no hope of saving myself.

I speak of the life I lived before I knew Jesus. I think that’s the only past life I’ve got. Mincing no words, Hebrews 9: 27 says, “Just as man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment,” (NIV)

The Bible could not have made it any clearer. It might as well put “Reincarnation” on a target and shot it to smithereens.

Fact is, I did not cure, command, or conquer anything and the reason is simple.

I wasn’t here to do it.

My first encounter with a past life advocate was during my junior year of college. Traveling by bus from Washington D.C. to suburban Baltimore to visit a friend, I was seated next a young man who claimed to be a former resident of the 16th century.

Grinning, he said, “I was a mischievous, rather adventurous young man. One night, my friends and I stole Blackbeard’s ship.”

“You…hotwired a pirate’s ship?”

“Blackbeard was livid,” he said. “After my friends and I went on a joy-sail through the Caribbean, Blackboard caught up with us. He pierced my heart with his sword…I bled to death on the beach.”

Despite the imagery that sells historical novels, I was skeptical and this irritated the man. Determined to make me at least consider the possibility of former lives, he asked me to close my eyes. Next, he had me tell him the first thought or picture that came to mind when he asked a question. We did this for several minutes.

From this exercise, he suggested that I had lived during the 1700’s—a rather well-to-do young woman who had been in love with a sailor. The sailor was killed in an accident that involved a bridge, and I spent the rest of my life at a roll top desk, penning love letters—to a dead man.

Even if I believed in past lives, I’d be thankful for not remembering this one! Oh, I’m a sucker for romance—even the tragic ones like Romeo and Juliet—but I sounded pretty pathetic, void of coping skills and the power to move on. I’d hate be tormented by the question: whatever became of me?

Of course, I don’t believe I was here…or there…whatever. That being the case, nothing became of the poor girl at the roll top, so says the Word of God. And if Jesus is who I follow, then I must believe what the Bible teaches.

Even if the Bible were silent on the subject of past lives, I’d still have trouble embracing the concept.

Reincarnation is supposed to result in a better world—and is that what we see? Sure, folks are smarter and medical science can amaze. Travel and technology would boggle the minds of our ancestors. We can look better and feel better than someone twenty years our junior…but hearts and morality have taken a deep nosedive into the pits. Just spend five minutes watching the news--the daily recaps alone will leave you chilled to the bone, your jaw hanging open, your mind perplexed and your fear radar ricocheting off the scale. This isn’t what reincarnation is supposed to wrought—and frankly, I’d have a hard time latching onto a belief system that appears to be failing. Miserably.

Like everyone, I’ve got dear loved ones who have passed away…and I find no peace from the idea that they’ve been recycled as who knows who, or what. To think that my dad now walks the earth as someone I can’t recognize is…well, about as comforting as hugging a cactus. Same goes with beliefs about our spirits being sucked into the universe. My nephew, Scott—part of the landscape outside my window? A guy who thrived with activity and life is now one with the willows—and happy about it? When cows bark.

What gives me comfort—what joyfully sustains me—is knowing that my loved ones are alive and well with the Lord, and that someday I’ll see them again, that a reunion is being planned as I write. The Bible assures me that more hugs, conversation and good times await with these people I will continue to know and love, only it’ll be richer and better in Heaven, a place so wonderful that Paul said “to die is gain.” ( Philippians 1:21)

Many people are petrified by the idea of annihilation—they grasp for something to validate the continuation of life in some shape or form. It baffles me that they take shots at the Christian faith, the belief system that has exactly what they crave—eternal life! And a great one at that, if they choose Christ.

“However, as it is written: No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him.” (1 Corinthians 2:9, NIV)

I’m glad I don’t believe in reincarnation, or anything except the promises of the Bible. My personality type would dictate a life of fretting over everything—like the fly I swatted yesterday. What if he was Great-Great-Great Uncle Zebadiah, the horse thief? I can’t imagine how much sleep I’d lose, worrying over who—or what—I’d come back as in my next life.

I much prefer relaxing and rejoicing in the teachings of the Bible.

In my last life, I was a sinner…in my next one, I’ll be a saint!

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