The Power of...
I have stood at an altar and been prayed for, one man in front and two behind. I have felt something well up inside me. I have felt my knees weaken and give out as I fell into the arms of those behind me.
I have stood at the altar alone and felt the same feeling well up inside me, and felt my knees buckle, and fell to the floor with no one to catch me.
I have lain on the floor for 45 mins, whispering secret prayers in a language unknown to me.
I have stood at the altar and felt someone push me more than once. Sometimes, a hand on the forehead, lightly, other times jerky. Still other times, I have felt someone push my shoulders back. And I have resisted and remained standing.
I have resisted the draw to go up to the altar in the first place, both before and after I gave up on Pentecostal Christianity because I have recognized the manipulative altar calls designed to guilt people into coming forward.
I have preached a sermon to a youth group and issued an altar call that would lead to several people coming forward, possibly employing the same guilt trips I later learned to despise.
I have prayed for a young man and felt something pass through me into him, and watched a feeling well up with in him, and his knees buckle as he fell into the arms of my best friend and my brother who were standing behind him. And I have been overwhelmed with the idea that God used me to give someone else this kind of intimate spiritual experience.
I have seen visions, or at least, imagined things that I thought were visions while kneeling at the altar and asking God for direction.
I have felt something on my forehead as I prayed at the altar, when there was nothing and nobody around, and have interpreted it as the finger of God touching me in some way.
I have watched people jump up and down as high as they can, spin around in circles, laugh hysterically, roll and moan on the floor. Sometimes I have laughed. Sometimes I have looked on in wonder. And sometimes I have looked on disapprovingly.
I have listened to several people who have told me they have had a word from God for me. Sometimes I have been humbled and encouraged. Others I have been confused and amused.
I have issued warning to specific people that I believe came from God.
I have been driven home from the grocery store by an old, bearded stranger after I secretly pleaded with God to provide some miraculous way of getting me home with all the food I had purchased.
I have walked aimlessly more than once and ended up in an unfamiliar church where something has happened that seemed particular to me, something that made me feel like God was still around and interacting with me.
I have felt God in the wind, in the heat from a fire, in the warm rain of the summer, in the kiss of a girlfriend, in the emptiness of a black night and in the brilliance of a single flame atop a candle.
I have questioned all of this, endlessly and have reached no conclusions. I can see logically, natural explanations for each of these things. Yet in each case, they seem unsatisfying and incomplete. Still, I cannot give myself over to the notion that these were all the doings of the God Pentecostals believe in. Or any God, for that matter. I am rooted, firmly, somewhere in the middle. Unsure of what to make of all these experiences, and content to let the mystery remain a mystery.
I have stood at the altar alone and felt the same feeling well up inside me, and felt my knees buckle, and fell to the floor with no one to catch me.
I have lain on the floor for 45 mins, whispering secret prayers in a language unknown to me.
I have stood at the altar and felt someone push me more than once. Sometimes, a hand on the forehead, lightly, other times jerky. Still other times, I have felt someone push my shoulders back. And I have resisted and remained standing.
I have resisted the draw to go up to the altar in the first place, both before and after I gave up on Pentecostal Christianity because I have recognized the manipulative altar calls designed to guilt people into coming forward.
I have preached a sermon to a youth group and issued an altar call that would lead to several people coming forward, possibly employing the same guilt trips I later learned to despise.
I have prayed for a young man and felt something pass through me into him, and watched a feeling well up with in him, and his knees buckle as he fell into the arms of my best friend and my brother who were standing behind him. And I have been overwhelmed with the idea that God used me to give someone else this kind of intimate spiritual experience.
I have seen visions, or at least, imagined things that I thought were visions while kneeling at the altar and asking God for direction.
I have felt something on my forehead as I prayed at the altar, when there was nothing and nobody around, and have interpreted it as the finger of God touching me in some way.
I have watched people jump up and down as high as they can, spin around in circles, laugh hysterically, roll and moan on the floor. Sometimes I have laughed. Sometimes I have looked on in wonder. And sometimes I have looked on disapprovingly.
I have listened to several people who have told me they have had a word from God for me. Sometimes I have been humbled and encouraged. Others I have been confused and amused.
I have issued warning to specific people that I believe came from God.
I have been driven home from the grocery store by an old, bearded stranger after I secretly pleaded with God to provide some miraculous way of getting me home with all the food I had purchased.
I have walked aimlessly more than once and ended up in an unfamiliar church where something has happened that seemed particular to me, something that made me feel like God was still around and interacting with me.
I have felt God in the wind, in the heat from a fire, in the warm rain of the summer, in the kiss of a girlfriend, in the emptiness of a black night and in the brilliance of a single flame atop a candle.
I have questioned all of this, endlessly and have reached no conclusions. I can see logically, natural explanations for each of these things. Yet in each case, they seem unsatisfying and incomplete. Still, I cannot give myself over to the notion that these were all the doings of the God Pentecostals believe in. Or any God, for that matter. I am rooted, firmly, somewhere in the middle. Unsure of what to make of all these experiences, and content to let the mystery remain a mystery.
posted by deadwriter at 8:23 a.m.
2 Comments:
I don't really understand why it's so hard to believe that most of these experiences are God. Sure, churches have a way of trying to manipulate, and sure, sometimes we have a way of looking for something that might not be there, but some of your experiences don't fit in those two categories, so why not credit them to God? It's not all or nothing. If you've experienced God or the Holy spirit, it doesn't mean that you need to believe all the particulars of a certain denomination, does it? I wonder if, in your effort to separate yourself from the Pentacostal Church, you stripped more away than was necessary.
It is hard to believe it is God. But is also hard to believe it wasn't. If it was, to what end? Why would God do those things? If it wasn't, does htat mean that I was just a victim of trumped up emotions and desprate to make my experiences mean something?
No, it's not a straight either or kind of thing. God could simply be everything, including the experience. The experience could simply have been a side-effect to interacting with God, and I imposed meaning on it. Who knows?
And that's kind of the point. I don't and never will. It's hard to believe anything concrete about thos eexperiences, and I am ok with that.
Post a Comment
<< Home