This is copied from http://www.pres-outlook.com/infocus-features/current-features/18447-finding-god.html. I believe it's a meaningful story of one man's powerful encounter with the God who wanted a relationship with him, and this was after years of religious service.
At the dawn of the 20th century, the philosopher and
psychologist William James published “The Varieties of Religious Experience,”
one of the ten most important religious books published by an American author.
In the book, James distinguishes between the once-born and the twice-born. The
once-born, he says, never know deep traumas in life. They go from strength to
strength. In a nice turn of phrase, he says these people are born with two
bottles of champagne to their credit. In contrast, the twice-born know what it
means to descend into the depths of despair and meaninglessness, and yet they
come out on the other side — stronger and more able to handle the vicissitudes
of life.
I always considered myself one of the once-born. One might
say I was predestined to be a Presbyterian. I was born, baptized and confirmed
in the Presbyterian Church. I was ordained to be a Presbyterian minister. Aside
from a brief and intense period in college when I entertained some serious
doubts about my faith, there really was no time when I thought I was not a
Christian or didn’t want to be a Christian.
When our two children were born, they were baptized in the
Presbyterian Church. I taught for seven years at Princeton Theological Seminary
and then became the president of Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary.
I published articles, reviews and books about Christianity and the Presbyterian
Church. I preached and taught in many churches throughout the U.S. I raised a
substantial amount of money for Louisville Seminary, one of the fine seminaries
of the Presbyterian Church, and helped rebuild its faculty, administration and
board of trustees. Still, I thought of myself as once-born — a person who never
knew himself as anything but a Christian.
Then, I crashed. It was September 11, 2002 — exactly one
year after the World Trade Center towers came down. I was physically,
emotionally, spiritually broken. My crash, I later learned, was the result of
undiagnosed bipolar illness and a pattern of drinking that had progressed into
full-blown alcoholism. But I was also morally broken. Alcohol had eroded my
moral core and my moral code, and I had done things that were wrong and made me
deeply ashamed.
I had to resign as president of Louisville Seminary, and
in the following year I struggled to deal with the physical, spiritual and
moral wreckage of my life. I went to 12-step meetings, and I drifted in and out
of abstinence — sometimes for four weeks, sometimes for six weeks, but never
more than two months. All the while, I prayed, “Please Lord, forgive me.”
Finally, a friend and fellow alcoholic, my doctor and my
wife convinced me that I could never get sober without going into treatment.
With a heavy heart and an anguished conscience, I left for a rehab program in
Atlanta. All the while, I prayed, “Please God, forgive me.”
When I arrived, one of the counselors described me as
carrying “a toxic level of shame and guilt.” And I continued to pray, “Please
Lord, forgive me.”
Nothing happened. I had no sense of God’s forgiveness. I
had no sense of God’s love. As another counselor said, I was “spiritually bankrupt.”
After two months in treatment and after praying
continuously for God’s forgiveness and the forgiveness of others, I simply gave
up that prayer. Instead, I prayed, “God open me up. Please open me up.” I am
not exactly sure why I prayed that prayer, except that I had reached the end of
my rope and didn’t know anything else to say.
On the morning of December 9, 2003, I was making breakfast
in the little kitchenette of the apartment I shared with three other men. They
were still sleeping. I was spreading peanut butter on an English muffin, when
suddenly I was surrounded by white light. It was not blinding or frightening
but warm and embracing. At first, there were no voices or sounds, but as the
light subsided, I eventually heard, “You are not alone.” And then the light
faded.
The staff at the treatment center told me later that this
event marked the beginning of my recovery. After I told my story in one of the
small groups, the counselor, who was a Jew, said, “All right. Get on with it.”
That’s an Old Testament way of summing it up: God says, “Turn around. Get on
with it.” It’s a perfect way of describing what it means to find God.
That encounter with God made a huge difference in my life.
It was a return from what was surely a form of physical dying and a spiritual
and emotional death. I had been dead to myself, to others and to God. I had
prayed for more than a year for God’s forgiveness, but then I gave up and
prayed: “God, open me up.” Only after I prayed to be open to God did God again
become part of my life.
Since then my life has been different. Most of the people
I have wronged have forgiven me, and we have been reconciled. Those in my
family, especially my wife, have recognized my sorrow at what I have done and
welcomed me back to life and health.
What I knew intellectually about Christianity has traveled
what’s called the longest distance in the world — the 18 inches from my head to
my heart. It’s like talking about Jesus for years and then, suddenly, meeting
him personally. What I have realized is that God didn’t simply want my
repentance in exchange for God’s forgiveness. No, God didn’t want a
transaction; God wanted a relationship. With me. Just as I am. Only after
experiencing God’s presence did I know God’s forgiveness.
Was it a conversion? Maybe, maybe not. Before my epiphany,
my life and ministry had been so abundantly blessed by God, and surely that
means I had some relationship with God. But at some point, I walked into the
swamp, and there I found God again. With the help of my wife and my family and
wonderful friends, I began to walk the path in what 12 Step groups call “the
sunshine of the spirit.” Perhaps the best way of describing my experience is
that it was the most powerful moment in my continuing conversion. And it came
in an epiphany from God.
It all began with a simple prayer: “God, open me up.”
I offer this story as a footnote to the moving and
insightful stories of 60 Christians in the book I’ve published called “Finding
God.” It’s a personal explanation of why I think their experiences and their
lives are so powerful and compelling.
These are the words of Jesus: “Ask, and it will be given
you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For
everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone
who knocks, the door will be opened” (Matt. 7:7-8).
We are not alone.
by John M. Mulder
