That Time God Spoke To You
Readers send in accounts of their own mystical prayer experiences
Hello from Nashville. What a long drive! As predicted, I’m wore out, but you all came through by sending me stories of your own mystical encounters with God in prayer. Believe it or not, there is a limit to the number of words one can put into one of these e-mails, so I’m going to have to choose from among the best of your accounts. — RD
From an Evangelical pastor in Europe:
Thank you very much for your writings and your thoughts, they are helpful to me in so many ways! And I really appreciate the more "spiritual bend" you've taken in your substack newsletter.
Now, concerning my uncanny experience — it's not particularly mystical, but strange nonetheless, too strange to be a coincidence.
The ministry and church I work for is filled with love for the Lord and His Word, but it's also full of opinions about what is true and what not (we're Bible only Christians). I've witnessed some bitter separations over matters of theology, while all parties involved are godly, well-meaning and not in the least cynical. They were and still are good men who just wanted to obey the Bible and the voice of the Holy Spirit in their life. And yet, they came to mutually exclusive findings, unable to find common ground, despite the sincere prayers and best of intentions on part of all of them.
That's when I began to search for answers in Church History, for who could guarantee me that I had it right in those given controversies when men, much more godlier and experienced than me, couldn't even arrive at an agreement. Obviously (for you and most readers, I guess), I soon discovered that the Early Church hadn't much in common with our Evangelical sect except for the love for Christ. My search urged me in the direction of the Orthodox and the Catholic Church (I'm still praying and seeking where God would lead me).
Needless to say, I also discovered Marian devotion and the cult of the Saints. For a Bible-only-Evangelical this is a really tough nut to crack. One morning, in my office, I read an old prayer to the Virgin Mary, and it warmed my heart in a way that was new to me. Immediately, I cried out to God within the depths of my heart, not asking for a sign or an answer, just exclaiming that I really didn't want to become an idolater and that I wished nothing more than to give all glory to God.
In exactly that same moment, to the very second, the daily mail concerning my work was brought to me (I'm an editor for an Evangelical publishing house). I picked it up to distract myself, and opened a random letter. I began to read, not paying attention to the sender. I was flabbergasted and literally jumped out of my chair (good thing I was alone in my office).
An old monk from a monastery in [the mountains] had written to me personally to tell me that there would be no revival in these last days if Protestants wouldn't rediscover ancient devotion to the Mother of God and blessed Virgin Mary.
He, a Roman Catholic, who has never written to me before and who was a reader of our free-church, fundamentalistic, Evangelical magazine, had felt the need to tell me this; and his letter arrived at the very same time in which I had read a prayer to Mary, had been touched by it and had cried out to God, earnestly assuring Him that I didn't want to be deceived.
What are the odds?
Since God is love — He's not cynical — and since I don't think the devil has this kind of foreknowledge and such a scrupulously precise control over seemingly mundane events, I believe that God has spoken to me through this monk and has told me that it indeed is according to His will to honor the mother of God the Son and to ask for her intercession. — Sure, one could say, these were only funny coincidences, but only when one believes that there is no God at all or that, if He is, He can't or won't react to our prayers. For a Christian neither position is feasible.
This might only be a small uncanny experience, but I can assure you that for an Evangelical believer such as myself this has been and will remain a huge divine intervention.
From a woman who grew up the child of missionaries:
We were in Ethiopia until 1978, living in a remote area of the country, when the king was killed and Communism filled the void. As a result, with the exception of the national religion, Coptic Orthodoxy, all religion was suspect and routed out where it had too much power. At the beginning of that time, before things got ugly, my dad was tasked with establishing a site in the region where we lived for the mission to add another air-strip. Because there were no roads, it involved him trekking to the mountain ridge and sussing out the possibility. To do that, he would need to travel through an area in which a witch doctor held significant power. Witch doctors were only in very remote areas at that time but they were legit. It wasn't just smoke and mirrors. They possessed real spiritual and political power, some more than others, including this guy. So dad spent several days trekking to the mountain range of this witch doctor. Before entering the witch doctor's area, he met with him to ask permission to proceed, explaining who he was and the purpose of the visit. Over tea, the witch doctor listened and granted dad permission to continue. Dad didn't proselytize or pray or anything. And that was, in my dad's eyes, that. Soon after, it became too dangerous for Americans, especially Christian Americans, to stay, the airstrip idea was scrapped and we returned to the states.
Fast forward fifteen years when Communism had done its worst and, found wanting, was on the wane. My parents were invited back to Ethiopia to do some short-term teaching. When they got back to our home, dad met with his old Ethiopian friends, many of whom had been tortured for their faith. In the discussions, they explained that anyone who wielded power, including spiritual power, was considered a threat and either tortured or killed. This included the witch doctors, who held enormous sway in that region. One witch doctor was shot in front of his family, one was taken up in a plane and thrown out over his land. When my dad asked what happened to the witch doctor on the mountain ridge, he was told that nothing had happened to him. When people asked why he wasn't killed, he would respond, "When the white man walked across my land, all my powers disappeared." Dad loved this story. For one thing, he had done nothing other than be an actual vessel for the Holy Spirit to do its work. But how generous of God to include my unwitting dad to be part of his plan, even though obviously God didn't need dad at all. And the icing on the cake was how God thwarted the evil of Communism's power by making a man so weak that it saved his life.
A Southern woman:
The loss of religious faith among my generation has been deeply, deeply troubling to me. I was raised in the church (Southern Baptist) and have long thought my generation's problem is apathy when it comes to spiritual matters. Morality has become a matter of preference, not of objective right and wrong. Combined with the general anti-intellectualism that pervades evangelical Protestantism, my frustrations, and God Himself, have driven to work on another degree: a Masters in Cultural Apologetics from Houston Baptist University online. It's been wonderful! Finally, the intellectual depth and rigor married with sound doctrine and heartfelt belief.
Here's the thing that made me write: I've been reading and have been immersed in stories all my life. It's in my blood and part of every breath I take. Writing has always been my passion, and I recall one instance, quite clearly, looking up from a book (the title is irrelevant) and seeing a radiant figure clothed in, and radiating, white, seemingly walking into my front door. I was perhaps around the age of six, but she (I had the feeling the figure was a she) didn't scare me in the slightest. I don't recall if she had wings, but I'm convinced she was an angel. I blinked, and she was gone.
Second experience: when I was older, maybe a young teenager, and praying about my future, I heard as clear as a bell: "Write, and I will guide you." Despite this being completely antithetical to the professions of my family, who are heavily involved in the maths and sciences, I kept myself immersed in writing and eventually became an attorney. I kept writing, but because I wasn't getting published, I decided to give up. My thought process was something along the lines of, every year and every time I give my all to publishing, it doesn't work out--so I'm done. I foolishly disregarded the voice of God and threw myself wholeheartedly into another passion. Through a series of divine, unfortunate events, I ended up with an injury that prevented me from participating in my second passion. It shattered my heart. I'd lost the only other thing I loved as much as I loved writing.
God works in mysterious ways, though. It seemed like God was snapping His fingers in my face, asking if He'd gotten my attention this time. Well, He had, so I started writing again, despite darkly believing it was another dead-end road, and was drawn into the apologetics program. As easy as pie, and quickly as it takes to blink, I received a publication offer. I couldn't believe it. My lifelong dream came true, when I stopped trying to make it happen of my own accord, and there are more offers possibly on the horizon. And the icing on the cake? I healed so well from my injury that I'm now back competing in my second passion, after my physical therapist said I would never be able to again. Both of my passions are back in my life. I'm blessed.
From a reader in NYC:
I've been struggling for some time with some form of spiritual warfare in my life. It started in 2015 around the death of my dad and it has been a slog on my part, trying to claw my way back to feeling God's presence and assurance of my salvation. I can't really explain it because intellectually I can read the bible and see the truth, but I "knew", as clearly as I know I'm typing this right now, that God left the room I was in during the initial crisis. For a few years, I would wake, terrified of a black form at the foot of my bed. A recurring dream was discovering that I had been left on earth while all other Christians had been taken to heaven. The scariest thing about the dream is that the world was exactly the same as it always was, just without God. I have slowly, through the prayers of my husband and a couple friends, been able to mostly come out of this period. The dreams are gone, the form is no longer there. But every so often, the fear returns. Last week was one such time. I sat here at my computer, consumed with dread. I prayed for God to remove the dread, to please just bring me assurance. And like your cold breeze, I felt a warm energy fill me. Nothing huge, no vision, but I had also done nothing to conjure it up except ask. It was a quiet, otherworldly peace that He was there and I was safe.
A male reader:
Once, while engaged in prayer with a friend seeking God's guidance, and joined by two others, I “heard” this strange sentence in my mind, “It’s OK to Love”. It was clear and steady, not a passing thought. Our friend had just asked for prayer for discernment of God’s will for her life. She did not reveal any areas of her life that were of concern, or give us any specifics behind her request. It was a really out-of-the-blue thought.
At the end of the prayer, I said “You know, while we were praying I believe I “heard” God saying ‘it’s OK to love’”. Well, her eyes got big and she flashed a small smile at that. She said that since a divorce years earlier she had been afraid to be in another serious relationship. But now she was experiencing a growing attraction to someone and didn’t know if she should allow it to progress.
We all believed this was a true word of knowledge from God for her benefit. She finally felt free to follow her heart. I wish I could remember clearly how it worked out for her( I think well) but it’s been 40 years since then and we’ve lost touch. These are not things that happen often, but they are gifts we should appreciate.
A woman in New Hampshire:
In Feb. 2009 I flew alone from our home in New Hampshire to southern California to visit my parents and help them pack up their belongings and get my childhood home ready to sell. My mother was suffering from Alzheimer's and a recurrence of cancer which necessitated their moving to an assisted living/nursing care facility so my Dad would have help taking care of her. Actually his plan was to take care of her himself as much as possible but not have to worry about fixing meals or maintaining a house and yard anymore. I am an only child so there was only me to face this with them. It was quite a surreal week of saying good-bye to the surroundings I grew up in and of facing my Mom's major loss of her own identity and lack of clear identification with my Dad and me, as well as her bewilderment about all the boxes and talk of moving away from the home she had loved for more than forty years. It felt like I was losing part of myself too.
Near the end of my week there I went to bed one night feeling overwhelmed with impending grief and disorientation. A deep pit of despair seemed to be opening up before me. I could sense (but not see) in the room the presence of evil beings, taunting me and tempting me to disbelieve in the goodness of the God I had known and trusted in since childhood. I felt so helpless, alone and unable to defend myself. All I could do was cry out from the depths of my soul (not even audibly), "Jesus! Help me!" Soon after that I fell soundly asleep, and I slept straight through the night.
The moment I awakened in the morning I heard someone whisper in my ear, "Remember Gethsemane." I opened my eyes and felt this wonderful peace envelop me. No one physical was in the room but I no longer felt alone. The deep sadness and despair was gone. I even felt a sort of indefinable joy. I don't know who the whisperer was--the Holy Spirit? an angel sent by Jesus? (I suppose if I were Catholic or Orthodox I might wonder if He sent one of the saints. Well, I'm Anglican but I'm somewhat open to that!) Anyway, it seemed like Jesus had come and sucked out all the poison from a snake bite. Somehow I knew that "all manner of thing will be well" after that. And it was.
Eleven years later, I have no doubt that this experience was real, although I don't understand exactly what God did or how He did it. Did he do an amazing work in my subconscious mind that bolstered my faith while I was sleeping, but which I couldn't remember upon waking? He must have shooed away the evil spirit(s) that I believe were harassing me. I still continue to unpack what "Remember Gethsemane" meant, especially during Passion week every year since then. One thing I do know: He willingly drank the poison cup for me and defeated the darkness and death on the cross and in His resurrection. Even now as I write, I ask what was in the poison cup He drank for me? Fear, ontological angst, despair that drives one to insanity, mental pain and darkness, for sure.
In the year that followed that visit a curious peace sustained me. My parents sold their house cash down within a week or two of being put on the market. They moved to Artesia Christian Home where my husband and I both were able to visit in July. That August my Mom passed away peacefully, an incident which has its own uncanny story. My Dad missed her terribly after 55 years of a close marriage but was greatly blessed by moving to NH to live near us for 8 years and with us for his last 2 years. He died this past July after a long, brave bout with prostate cancer. And God answered my prayer to let me be with him when He took him home.
A female reader who was once a practicing pagan but is now Orthodox:
First, to answer a question you raised: the effectiveness of prayer does depend on what you are praying to both existing and being GOOD. Many years in neopaganism taught me that the hard way, and regular prayer to nothingness or demons doesn’t ultimately have even therapeutic or social value. It’s like spiritual solitary confinement at best and harmfully dark at the worst. The happiest neopagans are the ones who ultimately don't believe in anything, but enjoy the aesthetic and politics.
So I could tell you uncanny stories about praying to demons from my past, but I would really rather tell you about praying in church this Sunday.
Brief context, I had a bad year. It was the kind of year that breaks people irrevocably. But the Holy Spirit held me fast, leading me to a deeper life in Christ. Glory to God!
Due to that experience and under new guidance my prayer life has transformed. Daily prayer with the guidance of a priest has built a resiliency in me that I'm astounded by. I see people talk about the Benedict Option as an external thing a lot, but for me I have found I have to start within. One thing that has really changed is my church experience. Great Vespers and Divine Liturgy are no longer lovely, reverent theological statements but profound encounters of a miserable sinner with a merciful God.
I pray constantly in church now, mostly the Jesus Prayer. From the beginning of Orthros until the Eucharist I am pleading for mercy. Although I know God, in His love and mercy, forgives what man will not, my ongoing repentance is still deep and keen. The multi-sensory experience of Orthodox worship is intensified as I pray silently while listening to the service, filling my head with so much holy noise that the evil one has no room.
We talk a lot about church being a solution, a balm, but church is also the source of a lot of temptation. Pride for being recognized in volunteering. Our one chance that week to dress up and look our best. The person we cannot forgive might be in the next pew. Our squirming children tempt us to anger. So many things.
The other day as I drove up to church I saw a fellow parishioner, a single man that I had met long before joining the parish, and I suddenly saw him in a new way. In a new context, I could see how very attractive he was, and I despaired. My experience is that church relationships don't work out, and when they end one of the people ends up finding a new church. And I need my church, and I need God, so much more than I need any romantic entanglement. Men have hurt me a lot in my past relationships, and I don't want to be tempted to make the same mistakes as before.
So I'm praying fervently, both the Jesus Prayer and begging to be spared from temptation, to be preserved from my weaknesses. I'm standing there praying, willing to suffer if it brings me closer to God, but asking that I not suffer so much that I fall into my weakness: my tragic need to be loved. I prayed from the beginning of Orthros to the homily. (For those unfamiliar with Orthodoxy, that's over an hour of intense prayer.) By the homily my heart was so washed clean of earthly cares by prayer and repentance that I was completely open and attentive to the sermon.
The sermon was based, per usual, on the Gospel text: this Sunday was Luke 8:41-56. The woman with a flow of blood had lived 12 years in shame and isolation, receiving no hug, no touch. Unclean. Anyone aware of her situation would have treated her much like a leper, and in a small religious community who doesn't know? Isn't every church to some degree a haven for gossip and judgement, despite our best intent? She wanted healing but not more shame and humiliation. She didn't approach Jesus, or call out to Him. She didn't introduce herself or formally ask for healing. In her deep pain and desperation she merely touched the hem of His robe. People were pressed closely about Jesus, and so did she hide her face to make her way to Him? Because in the jostle she was making those around her unclean. Had she been discovered, might they have stoned her in their anger?
But Christ God doesn't let us hide in our sin and shame. So Jesus called out, knowing who she was and what she had done, but wanting her to come out of hiding. And she fell down before him, hiding her face, and told Him before the shocked crowd of her shame and what she had done, and how even though she did things the "wrong way" He had healed her.
He calls her Daughter. He praises her faith. He declares her whole. He blesses her with peace.
After over an hour of intense prayer this story, and my priest's sermon on it, filled the wounded places in my soul, covering me in a healing balm. When my priest said her humiliation and shame made her believe she was unworthy of healthy relationships, but that was untrue... well... I bawled like a baby. Right there in the pew. Thank God for social distancing and masks because no one noticed. All my pain just came leaking out and I breathed deeper and felt lighter.
You see, no matter how many times I am reminded that I am forgiven, I forget, and feel so wretchedly unworthy.
Had I not prayed so fervently, would the sermon have had the same healing effect? Had I not found temptation at the temple, would I have prayed so fervently?
I received the Eucharist so gratefully, using the name of my patron saint, an outsider woman with a past that Christ not only forgave, but honored: Photini. My temptation and weakness will always be with me, but I was supported not merely by the prayers of friends, by my guardian angel, by the prayers of my patron and the Holy Theotokos, but by Christ Himself, my King and my God, calling me daughter.
From the sermon to the very end of the service my silent prayers were of praise and thanksgiving, so grateful for God's gift of mercy and forgiveness, which He bestows more abundantly than any mortal ever could. And then the uncanny thing happened.
Despite being raised in the church, I am in some ways like those pagan converts in Corinth. I am new to Christ and His Church. The Orthodox faith has opened my heart and mind and soul to the truth and beauty of the Gospel in ways I could not ever have imagined. So I intellectually believe, but my faith is weak. And I hear wise words, comforting words, I pray and I take heart, but then I drive home and gradually return to feeling unclean and outcast. I don't really believe anything in my life will change, or that I will ever be seen as anything other than my sin and weakness.
At the end of the service there are memorials, blessings, announcements. This Sunday was a blessing for a couple's 25th wedding anniversary. Oh, it was so lovely. This middle-aged couple stood before, crowned as they were on their wedding day, receiving a blessing from the priest who originally married them so many years ago. I prayed along with everyone else for them, sharing in their joy.
But even the most devout among us get distracted or glance around. I am guilty of this, especially when there are small children running about in church. And so I glanced out over the sparsely populated, socially distanced pews.
And the man I had noticed, when my weakness had used his attractiveness as an opportunity for temptation through no fault of his own, was staring at me.
He was staring at me openly, plainly, thoughtfully. As if imagining standing beside me wearing a crown. As if I were a possibility. As if I were valuable. As if I were worth noticing. And when I noticed him he didn't look away, but I sure did.
In truth, he was probably thinking the back of my head looks a bit Fred Flinstone-ish, or trying to remember where he knew me from, or maybe wondering if he should buy a similar dress for a female relative. I have no clue what was going through his mind. And what he was thinking for the purpose of this story is unimportant.
Because I was seen. In the age of pandemic, with masks and hiding and isolation, I was seen. In that moment this man was revealed for what he truly is, a living icon of Christ, and through his eyes I saw God. Looking at me not as a problem or a humiliation, but as a soul worthy of love and consideration. I know they say God works through other people in our lives, but this was intensely profound. I was seen by God. Despite my pain, weakness, sin, humiliation, and unworthiness, God looked at me through eyes He knew would have a healing effect.
I'm almost 40, so a man looking at me, usually because I'm performing, trying to be funny and charming, or because of their own lust, isn't something foreign. But this was different.
I'm telling you I saw God. Not like Paul or Jeremiah or John or Moses. Just like all those icons in my home and in my church where Christ looks at you patiently and soberly, as if He's listening, I saw Christ in a pair of living eyes.
Two days later and I am still stunned. I am seen. I am daughter. I am healing. My faith is bearing fruit. I am at peace. Not as an abstract concept. I know this in my heart.
How marvelous that God makes us strong in our weakness! How glorious that the Church, so full of music, icons, beauty, incense, prayer, scripture, and wisdom, bolsters our faith and lifts us up from where we have fallen! How wonderful to know that if we are faithful we will be transformed!
This isn't a love story. No romantic comedy. That's not what is happening. But an uncanny answer to prayer? A cracking open so profound that the light heals all your pain? You betcha.
A reader:
I have two ‘mystical phenomena’ to pass along.
The first happened almost exactly 7 years ago while on a mission trip to Haiti. We flew into Port-au-Prince on a Saturday and after a 2-hour road trip arrived at the mission compound for a week-long stay. By Tuesday of the following week I was starting to feel poorly. For the rest of the week I suffered with some kind of G-I bug. The effects were typical of this malaise: diarrhea, loss of appetite, lethargy and generally feeling miserable. No other illness in my life has come close to how bad I felt by that Friday, the day before we were scheduled to fly back to the States. That Friday night, still feeling pretty wretched, I was in bed and asleep by 8:30 but was awakened around midnight by an approaching thunderstorm. My bed was in a dormitory room next to a window that was screened (and barred!) and had a thin set of curtains across it but without a window pane. As the storm approached, it began to rain and the wind began to blow open the curtains. As I reached up to grab the curtains in an attempt to keep the rain from blowing in on me, a single raindrop hit me in the middle of my forehead. My first reaction to that cool (almost cold) drop hitting me was “Oh, that felt good”. My next realization was that my whole body felt well, refreshed, cleansed. The question of what had just happened and the startling answer to that question simultaneous came to me – God had graciously reached down and with His finger touched me through that raindrop and healed my body. After that thought, my next awareness was the sun coming through the window the next morning. As I got out of bed that Saturday I felt a freshness, peace and clarity that I had never experienced before in my life. Amusingly, my appetite was also back full force. I enjoyed a hearty breakfast that morning and when I got to the airport, I ordered and quickly consumed a quarter-pound sausage dog. If that doesn’t demonstrate a healing miracle, I don’t know what would!
The second event happened one day on the way to work. Typically, I listen to a Christian music radio station when driving. The song ‘Holy is the Lord’ came on and I started to sing along, as it was one I was familiar with. As you can see in the lyrics below, the words of the chorus are written in the 3rd person. With this particular song, whenever it came on the radio or it was sung at church I had decided to sing it in the 2nd person: “Holy are You Lord God Almighty, the earth is filled with Your glory”, addressing the song directly to God. So on this particular day as I was singing the chorus I was suddenly overcome with a sense of God’s presence, not just in the car with me but actually in me. It was the most affirming, intimate, overwhelming and otherwise indescribable feeling I have ever experienced and I sobbed the rest of the way to work trying to process what had just happened and why.
Holy is the Lord by Chris Tomlin
We stand and lift up our hands
For the joy of the Lord is our strength
We bow down and worship Him now
How great, how awesome is He
And together we sing
Everyone sing[chorus]
Holy is the Lord God Almighty
The earth is filled with His glory
Holy is the Lord God Almighty
The earth is filled with His glory
The earth is filled with His gloryWhat did you I learn from these experiences? How did I come to believe they were true?
There is no doubt in my mind that God was the source of these experiences. I have never been one to expect or desire emotional or pentecostal encounters with God. In Haiti, I was asleep and sick as the events began to unfold. I don’t even remember praying for healing that week. I was too miserable at that point. And as for the intimate encounter on the way to work, I was just singing along with the radio, like I did most days on the way to work. These two things were outside of myself.
What did I learn? I have believed in God since I was a boy, growing in the faith primarily through intellectual understanding and acknowledgement of His goodness and love. But these experiences described above and others have helped me realize that there is more to belief in God than intellectual assent. He has personally demonstrated His love and care for me and His desire for intimate relationship.
A Baton Rouge expatriate:
It was in my most formidable years that two different Christian women in Baton Rouge mentored me in the things of the Holy Spirit. By their example, I learned to anticipate the voice of God to speak to me through His Scriptures and in my surroundings, sometimes in very supernatural ways. I began to have a very intimate relationship with Jesus and would often find Him communicating to me through dreams and "mind's eye" visions like you experienced in your twenties. Many of them, as you also articulated, are too intimate and personal for others to really appreciate; however there is one I'd like to share with you because it relates to an event that affected us all.
When I was 21 I was alone in my flat around 10:30 or 11:00 at night on September 10, 2001. My roommate was out and I just felt compelled to sit on the floor in the center of our living room and spend time with God. I asked the Holy Spirit to help me to tune into what He was wanting me to meditate on or how to pray in that moment. Typically, when I spend time with God He will impress a scripture on my mind as a place to begin. He might have done so that night but I can't quite remember. What I do remember is that I began to have these very terrifying images in my mind of planes in the sky and explosions. I could sense people on the ground terrified and screaming from pain and confusion. I began to weep and pray for the next 15 to 30 minutes for God's mercy over this vision. I had a strong impression in that time of prayer those in the planes were Islamic terrorists. I had spent the three previous years praying consistently for Islamic jihadists and persecuted Christians around the globe. All I could do was weep, pray, and wonder what on earth the Holy Spirit was warning me about. The vision came into full focus the next morning on September 11 as I saw the explosive impact of two planes crashing into the World Trade Center and the mass terror and confusion released into the atmosphere. In hind’s sight, I can only speculate why He would have me pray preemptively. Perhaps it was to more fully connect me with His grieving heart over the loss of life and so much more that would ensue in the aftermath. Perhaps it was an invitation to be intercessory support for our nation and its neighbors. I’m not one hundred percent sure and probably won’t know this side of Heaven. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that the God of the Universe felt it necessary, to some degree, to give this ordinary college student a heads up to the terror of the following day.
From a man in Canada:
I was a troubled teen who grew up in devout Christian Reformed family. My dad is a big personality and as a son you want affirmation from the big personality in the home. But I take mostly after my mom. She is an artist who was never given permission to draw. An academic at heart who never had the opportunity to study. She came from a poor northern Ontario family (think the Canadian version of Apalachia). There was no money. Girls didn’t do that. So she went to clerical school and learned to type. Mirroring is a thing. I stumbled around in my teen years looking for approval in the wrong places and turned to the wrong crowd and drugs and the like. I overdosed and ended up in the hospital. I flatlined during that experience. There were no tunnels of light for me. It was all darkness, fear and thirst, tremendous thirst. At 19 it shook me to the core. I led me to ministry and ordination.
My second story was during a time of intense prayerfulness in my life. There was one day that I was sitting at the table in my kitchen praying and all of a sudden I could feel myself being swept away, like a wind was blowing through me. Time seemed to stop and I lost physical sensations. I could not feel the floor or chair or table at which I sat. There was just a wind, I believe the Spirit of God, blowing through me and I was in a sense swept away. I am not sure how long it lasted, it seemed like several minutes, but it could have been shorter or longer. There was no message or content, just the inescapable sense that I had been in the presence of God, in that liminal space that ordinary physical reality (sin tainted reality) seems to deny us.
My final experience was one morning when I was leading worship (after leaving the ministry) and I was in a particularly cynical space about ordinary congregants and their willingness to be “dynamic” Christians. Then during one of the prayers, I lifted my head with my eyes closed and I could see the image of the head of a lion hovering over the people in the pews. It was God’s answer to that day’s bitterness within me. He was saying to me, however imperfectly these people gather, they gather in my name and I am here with them. It was very humbling. It forever changed my negative opinions of congregants.
From Kentucky:
Several years ago I had the closest thing to what I would consider a mystical moment in prayer that I have ever experienced. I was doing my normal morning prayer and found myself working through a lot of regrets about past sins. And in that moment, I had the most palpable sense of Jesus right there with me. I couldn’t see him or anything, but it was the unmistakable presence of Christ. I don’t think I actually moved physically, but my entire soul recoiled and turned away from him in shame and I began to weep for sadness to be such a sinner in His perfect presence.
And then something even more extraordinary (to me) happened. I felt Him actually touch my face, ever so gently, and turn my gaze back toward him, as if to say, “No child. Don’t look away from me. You are my child for whom I died and who I adore. Look at me.” And I was overwhelmed with gratitude and the most immense sense of love and forgiveness I have ever known. I must have wept in joy and awe for some time until the sense of His immediate presence eventually faded.
In my darkest moments or amid my greatest doubts, I can always turn to the memory of that prayer and the grace He poured out on me that morning.
From a reader:
It was the summer of 1999, and I had just converted to Catholicism from mainline Episcopalianism. I was on a week-long silent retreat at the Jesuit House of Prayer, a retreat center in the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, that has since closed, about to start law school the following month. My spiritual director told me to go pray for half an hour about something – I can't remember exactly what. I went to pray on the front porch. It was a beautiful day, weather probably in the low 70s. I closed my eyes and went very deep into prayer, in a way I don't think I ever had before. At one point in my prayer, I started contemplating why I should bother being a good person and following all of the rules if, at the end of my life, I could make a sincere act of contrition and be forgiven. I continued to wrestle with that until, clear as a bell, I heard a voice inside my head say, "Do it because you love me." As with many prayer experiences, it is hard to articulate exactly how I was so certain that this was not from me, as it were, but instead from God. But it was. I can't say that I have always followed that advice, and I would go on to sin during law school more than I care to admit. But that bracing and clear experience of being spoken to in prayer has never left me.
Another Canadian reader:
I'm an occasional reader of yours in Ottawa, Canada. But I wanted to respond to your invitation to share mystical experiences.
The first was when I was about 14 - no interest in religion, lots in hockey and girls. I was listening to the Grateful Dead - a particularly long, drawn out jam - and experienced very clearly an "out of body" experience, where I was about 3 feet above my body and looking around.
Another, after I was a Christian, but struggling existentially as a university student - I took magic mushrooms and experienced an incredibly intense exposure to all the things I had done in my life to that point. Very strangely, Timothy Leary (who I had never read but only once saw his photo) appeared and invited me to join the chaos - give into it as it was totally meaningless anyway. The experience strengthened my resolve in my faith (in purpose and meaning to the universe) but certainly seems that it could've gone the other way.
Finally, when I was early in my marriage with two young children, I woke up in the middle of the night and was literally "consuming" letters - my mouth was open and I was being filled with letters and eating them. It was a very tangible experience of delightful eating. This was clear for me that the "Word" was the source of all things and would fill me and nothing else would fill me in such measure in this world. It was a deeply moving experience that has stayed with me deeply.
I have now been married 23 years and have nine beautiful kids. Deo Gratias. Peace to you - keep up your mission. Courage!
A woman:
Thank you for this beautiful post. I too have had an experience of a cool breeze blowing past my face, when I was alone in my kitchen, windows and doors closed, winter so no AC on. I was stunned by how clear and out of nowhere it was. It was deep encouragement that a) I'm never alone and b) I don't know everything about what's possible in material reality, and this is great news.
It feels almost embarrassingly small a moment to share, but if it adds to our collective celebration of mystery, I offer it up.
A Lutheran reader in Finland:
I have two past spiritual experiences that I have been carrying with me for years, for they had such an impact on me.
The first one happened when I was in high school. It was Monday. On Sunday I had visited Pentecostal church with my Lutheran friend. We had sat in the back row in our leather jackets with our arms crossed, not really participating but observing. On that Monday I was deep in thought while making a short bicycle trip between classes, before returning to school.
I was wondering, what should I think of the charismatic phenomenon. Did those prove that the truth is found in the Pentecostalism? What about Lutheranism?
I stopped in a small park, not that far away from our church, thinking these thoughts, alone. Suddenly I was filled with a very deep, divine love. I felt so sorry for every ill thought I had thought of others in school that morning, the feeling was very overwhelming: love, joy.
And as I was filled with this feeling, I heard a gull scream. I turned and saw a gull sitting on a street lamp. No, two gulls ..no, three! Three gulls sitting on the same smallish lamp. And then they flew away together.
As I left the park I was trembling. If I had only felt the divine feeling of love, that could have been just a psychological phenomenon. But combined with this seemingly Trinitarian external sign, I had no doubt.
After that experience I was convinced: miracles happen also in my Lutheran church - and I shouldn't use charismatic phenomena to discern whether a church has correct doctrine or not.
The second one is easier to explain. When I was 20 years old, I had had no luck in the area of relationships. When I was 18 I had had a girlfriend for a couple of weeks but it had been a big, big mistake - even if I learned important lessons from it.
Finding a girlfriend was something I prayed for with my two friends. It was nearing the end of the year 2007 and I hadn't had much success. But then, one day I heard this inner voice tell me: next year you'll have a girlfriend. Never before and never after have I been so convinced, it was like a fact I was just told. I knew it would happen. And so it did - and now we have been married over 11 years with three children. (She's a social conservative like me, at home in the liturgical Christianity and very family centered - a combination that is not that common at all among young ladies in Finland).
That’s all I have room for tonight. Please keep them coming, if you like: roddreher — at — substack.com
Readers, on Sunday afternoon, Bari Weiss, Natan Sharansky, and I are going to do a live webcast in which we will talk about what it means to live in truth today. Weiss is the liberal New York Times opinion writer who resigned in protest recently over the way left-wing ideologues have taken over the paper and are crushing dissent within. Sharansky is the most famous Soviet Jewish dissident of the 1970s and 1980s, and spent nine years in a Soviet prison for his public defense of human rights there. Please register to join us — it’s free. The event, sponsored by Tablet magazine, will take place on Sunday November 15 at 1pm Central. Click here to register.