Monday, September 24, 2007 at 1:01am
When I was born again
Column: Woman at the Well
I was in Hawaii this summer, sitting alone in a cottage on a beach in Kauai, resting after a glorious morning in the waves, when there was a knock at my door. Two young Mormon missionaries smiled warmly at me when I answered. Their eyes sparkled with that wonderful glow of the Spirit that shines when faith is new and assurance runs deep.
I invited them in and we talked of our faith, what we had in common and what separated us. We agreed that the first was more important than the latter. It was a lovely visit that set me to thinking about the kind of faith I experienced at about their age.
I was 19 years old. My world was full of chaos. I knew I believed in God, a creative power and presence that had intervened more than once in my life, helping me through difficult times, guiding me to make better choices, even as I continued to be exposed to every twist and turn of those troubled times (not to mention the twists and turns in my own mind).
It was Aug. 3, 1969. I was invited to a party by a friend of a friend. She was a self-proclaimed Jesus freak and had recently been "born again." At the party where everyone around us was drinking alcohol and passing joints, she and I declined. She said she was "high on God." I said I was too, but the smile on my face didn't feel authentic. I began to feel my façade was about to crack. As I compared my inward chaos and confusion to her outward serenity and joy, something inside me broke open.
I started to cry. I left the party early, still crying. At home I slipped into my bedroom and continued to cry. All I could think of were the simple words of the Lord's Prayer. As I spoke them, they seemed to unlock a wellspring of healing tears inside me.
I cried for four hours. I recited the Lord's Prayer only once through. Each word was full of meaning and inspiration for me. The tears felt like a healing baptism coming from my insides out. When I awoke the next morning, I felt as intensely alive and assured of my faith in the power of Jesus Christ as my friend had been the night before.
I was a newborn Jesus freak and as obnoxious in my witness to encourage others to follow my lead as any Jesus freak before or since. I approached strangers on the street, challenged my family's more traditional faith and was on a campaign to convert the world.
A week later God slowed me down a bit. I was in a head-on collision car crash that totaled two cars and left me in the hospital with five broken bones. But that's another story.
(To be continued.)
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.
I invited them in and we talked of our faith, what we had in common and what separated us. We agreed that the first was more important than the latter. It was a lovely visit that set me to thinking about the kind of faith I experienced at about their age.
I was 19 years old. My world was full of chaos. I knew I believed in God, a creative power and presence that had intervened more than once in my life, helping me through difficult times, guiding me to make better choices, even as I continued to be exposed to every twist and turn of those troubled times (not to mention the twists and turns in my own mind).
It was Aug. 3, 1969. I was invited to a party by a friend of a friend. She was a self-proclaimed Jesus freak and had recently been "born again." At the party where everyone around us was drinking alcohol and passing joints, she and I declined. She said she was "high on God." I said I was too, but the smile on my face didn't feel authentic. I began to feel my façade was about to crack. As I compared my inward chaos and confusion to her outward serenity and joy, something inside me broke open.
I started to cry. I left the party early, still crying. At home I slipped into my bedroom and continued to cry. All I could think of were the simple words of the Lord's Prayer. As I spoke them, they seemed to unlock a wellspring of healing tears inside me.
I cried for four hours. I recited the Lord's Prayer only once through. Each word was full of meaning and inspiration for me. The tears felt like a healing baptism coming from my insides out. When I awoke the next morning, I felt as intensely alive and assured of my faith in the power of Jesus Christ as my friend had been the night before.
I was a newborn Jesus freak and as obnoxious in my witness to encourage others to follow my lead as any Jesus freak before or since. I approached strangers on the street, challenged my family's more traditional faith and was on a campaign to convert the world.
A week later God slowed me down a bit. I was in a head-on collision car crash that totaled two cars and left me in the hospital with five broken bones. But that's another story.
(To be continued.)
— — —
Rev. Kristi Denham is pastor of the Congregational Church of Belmont, California (United Church of Christ). Her email address is {email RevKristi@aol.com}RevKristi@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Kristi Denham.