There And Back Again
The return journey to Baton Rouge from Nashville, by way of a Tuscaloosa coffee bar
I’m not going to lie, I am fried. Left Nashville just after ten this morning, and arrived home in Baton Rouge at 9:30 tonight. Stopped for an hour in Tuscaloosa for coffee with my friend Tricia, who gossiped hilariously about LSU head coach Ed Orgeron’s hotsy-totsy post-divorce love life, about which I knew nothing. Where else are you going to hear stuff about Coach O in the sack with a girl young enough to be his daughter if not in Tuscaloosa? My interlocutor also mentioned how much money Alabama head coach Nick Saban has given to the Catholic campus ministry there. The gal sure knows how to rub it in. We had a blast.
The coffee there — at Monarch Espresso Bar — is some of the best I’ve ever tasted anywhere (and so is their orange olive oil muffin.) Laughing with Tricia and drinking that coffee gave me a real life. I hated to leave, but I had many hours on the road ahead of me. That stretch from Tuscaloosa to Hattiesburg is quite a slog. Still, if you are passing through Tuscaloosa, Monarch is just a few minutes off the Interstate, in the downtown district, and it is absolutely worth the detour. If you’re lucky, Tricia will be there and will catch you up on all the local scoop.
Thanks to historian Tom Holland’s audiobook The Forge of Christendom, I know more about the miseries of life circa the year 1000 than I ever imagined possible. I know I keep telling you that Holland is a fabulous writer, but seriously, I can’t emphasize strongly enough how vivid are his historical narratives. If my brain weren’t so scrambled from the drive, I would find something significant to say about it all; maybe I’ll get to it tomorrow. One overwhelming fact about the era is its profound violence and inhumanity. Holland published this book in 2007, I believe; his most recent book is the highly acclaimed Dominion, which explores the ways the Christian faith shaped the Western world. Holland, who is not a religious believer, is emphatic in that book that what we all now regard as standard moral axioms of human rights came into the world primarily through Christianity, and were secularized in the Enlightenment. The Forge of Christendom goes into even more detail about the particulars of medieval life in western Europe, including Islamic Spain. I love the Middle Ages for its piety, its churches, and for the world-changing genius of Dante Alighieri — but my God in heaven, the gore, the rape, the pillage, the slavery, and suchlike. Truly it is hard to fathom it all. These days, we simply do not appreciate what an achievement civilization is, and how hard people had to fight uphill battles against our own natures to achieve it.
Holland’s discussion of what the great Cluniac abbot, the brilliant peace-making St. Odilo, did to gentle knights in Burgundy is illuminating. He says that Abbot Odilo led local knights to consider their roles in society as something they should consecrate to God. They had been rapacious bullies terrorizing the poor, but Odilo found a way to channel their passions toward something constructive, or at least less destructive. Over and over, we learn in Holland’s storytelling how violent, barbaric warlords came to be civilized by religion and by the effect of rising in the esteem of the world (e.g., being elevated in noble rank). It was the work of many generations, and of course always just beneath the surface there was bloodlust and anarchy. It is still there, of course, and always will be. That’s how it us with our species. The more you learn about history, the more you see the wonder of it is not that people were so wicked and vicious, but that anybody ever emerged out of those worlds as good for anything.
Anyway, what I find so interesting is how the wisest figures of the era seemed to work with men as they were. And, you have heard the saying, “God writes straight with crooked lines,” right? This period of history illustrates that in full color. Consider the Viking pirate, Olaf Tryggvason, who converted to Christianity then went back to Norway as king and converted others by the sword. (This is not the same man as St. Olaf, a subsequent Norse king.) Over time, Christianity greatly gentled and humanized the ferocious Norse raiders, whose ancestors were forced to accept baptism by the Viking warlord. History is endlessly complicated and paradoxical.
Before I conk out for the night, here are some more woo-woo stories from you readers. I am surprised and delighted by all the e-mail I’m getting from you saying how much you love these stories. Thanks to you readers who are sending them in. We’ll start with this great one from Tobias Klein, the Berlin-based translator of The Benedict Option into German:
When I first met the woman who is now my wife, she literally told me on our first date (!) that if we were supposed to have a serious and lasting relationship, I would have to walk the Camino de Santiago (the Way of St. James) with her. That‘s a 480 mile walk from the French side of the Pyrenees to the gravesite of the Apostle James in Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain.
I thought, “Well.”
At the time, I had just begun to make a bit of money as a freelance writer, but I still had a day job that, while being less than fulfilling, covered all my expenses. As our travel plans for the next summer progressed, it became obvious that I would have to take an unusually long vacation: My girlfriend, who had been on the Camino before, reckoned that the trip would take us 40 days. Meanwhile, I had been working overtime quite a bit and saved all my overtime compensation in order to add it to my summer vacation, so I thought things would work out. But then the personnel manager flatly refused to let me go on vacation for that long.
I had been growing dissatisfied with my job for a while, especially since I had started writing professionally. Now I felt that not getting the vacation I wanted and needed was the last straw. I thought about quitting my job, but financially that wasn‘t an easy decision, all the more so as I was planning to get married.
I still hadn‘t made up my mind when my (by then) fiancée and I attended a church event called "Nightfever" that centered on Eucharistic adoration combined with worship music. On the altar steps there were baskets from which people could draw little paper strips with biblical quotes for individual inspiration.
The question whether or not I should quit my job was heavy on my mind, so after I had prayed about it for some time, I went up to draw a paper strip from one of the baskets; and the verse I got – I kid you not – was Joshua 1,9:
"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."
All right, I thought, that pretty much settles the matter. The next step I took was to ask my fiancée what she thought of it; after all, if we were going to get married, I figured it was a decision that would affect her future as well as my own. Her reply was swift. She told me she was convinced that I was meant to be a writer and that doing any other kind of job was just a waste of my time and energy.
So I quit, and less than two months later my fianceé and I went on the Camino de Santiago together. After we had wandered through northern Spain for seven or eight days, I received news that confirmed I had made the right decision. We were in a tapas bar that offered free wifi, so I used the opportunity to check my emails and my Facebook notifications. Just then a former co-worker messaged me to tell me that my former employer had announced to shut down the whole branch of his firm in which I had had my job, so now all my fellow employees were facing unemployment.
Well, that's the story, more or less. My wife and I got married shortly after our return from the Camino de Santiago, and I have worked as a freelance writer ever since. Every now and then when I get worried about the future, the bible verse I drew from that basket comes to my mind, and it feels as if God were saying "Did I or did I not promise you I would not let you down? By now you might as well have learned to trust me."
From Colorado:
Back in 2000 when I was newly married my husband was putting one of his kids to bed. He always said a prayer over them before they went to sleep. As he was praying over his 7 year old son, he "saw" a demon (a small black form) crawl out from under our child's bed and leave by going through the ceiling into the attic. He assumed it left because of his prayer, thankfully, but he was very shaken and came into our bedroom to tell me and calm down before he went back. When he left our room though... I was terrified. A demon in our house! And he saw it! I started praying and as I was lying in bed feeling so fearful I felt a very real and strong presence. It filled the entire ceiling area of the bedroom, like a roof covering me. I immediately had a dramatic feeling of peace, calm and love. So strong was the love that I literally could have stayed in that place forever. I didn't want to leave, I didn't think of anything else except staying in His presence - I knew it was Jesus. He was there. My fear left and I am much more bold about the spiritual world. I also know that when my time has come to go and be with my Father in heaven, there I will be so full of joy.
From a woman who was an abuse victim:
Many years ago, I was a seminary student. I'd come from a very troubled background of familial abuse. I'd suffered a mental breakdown which led to a suicide attempt a couple of years previously, but had stabilized, although I still struggled quite a lot.
A friend of mine had begun attending a charismatic church known for "manifestations" such as shaking, falling, laughing, crying, etc. This was someone I highly respected, and I thought he had lost his mind. He went initially out of curiosity, but had his own spiritual experience there and became convinced it was a genuine move of God.
He persistently shared his experiences and thoughts with me and tried to convince me to go. Long story short, I finally broke down and decided to go with an open mind. I told God, "You know I don't believe in this, but I also know I need more of you, so if this is the way to get it, I'm willing to give it a try. Do what you want."
I accompanied my friend and his wife to a week of nightly meetings. Each night I went forward for prayer, and nothing happened. Nothing. No manifestations, no visions, no breakthrough, nothing.
Finally, by the last night, I was fed up. Deeply angry, I said to God, "I did it. I opened myself up, came here even though I didn't want to, put myself out there, and you did nothing." I didn't "try" or pretend anymore. I just sat there in a fuming black cloud of anger and resentment, not participating in worship. All of the hurt and pain from my past, as well as current circumstances (my younger siblings were doing very badly at that point in time) came rushing to the surface, and I began to really grieve for the first time.
At some point, my friend came over, put his hand on my back, and began to pray for me. For a little while, nothing tangible happened. I just remember dark and evil thoughts racing through my mind. Then, for a split second, I saw inside myself (it was like a black hole in my abdomen) and saw a demon looking up at me. It looked exactly like those Chinese dog (or whatever they are) idols, red and with a hideously ugly face. That vision lasted for only a split second. then there was a sort of "heave" in my diaphragm (it felt sort of like a swimmer kicking off the side of a pool), and it was gone. The demon had left.
In the aftermath, I felt curiously calm and flat. It felt like something that had been with me for a long time was gone.
My friend and I later compared notes. I told him what I had seen and felt, and he told me it concorded with his impression of what had happened, although he had felt there were two demons. I believe this is likely the case because it fits with what I'd sometimes experienced: two voices having a conversation in my head that was evil and senseless. However, I only saw one.
That following week was a raging spiritual battle. I felt like the demons were trying to get me back. My friend had the same impression: when he prayed for me, he had a picture of them like raging, snapping wolves hunting me down. All I could do was repeat the phrase, "Jesus is my life" to try to ward them off.
Then a week after the deliverance, I had a dream. Everything was pitch black. A man, who hated me with perfect, intense, totally focused, pure hatred was chasing me. He wanted me dead. He would not be satisfied until he had killed me. He had metal throwing stars that could dart and rise and fall that he was hurling at me. He'd already struck me glancing blows on the neck and the thigh, and I was bleeding. I knew if he hit me one more time, I'd be dead. All I had to ward off his weapons was a throwing star of my own in my hand, with which I tried to block his.
When I woke up, I called my friend and told him the dream. He told me he believed that man was Satan, and that he indeed wanted me dead. That I couldn't fight him off on my own. That I needed to surrender completely to Jesus and allow him to fill me, as only Jesus had power over the evil that wanted to destroy me.
That night, we went back to the charismatic church. I had been planning to go forward for prayer, but instead of one-on-one prayer, they were doing what they called "fire tunnels" - two lines of prayer ministers facing one another, between which people walked. As you passed, each person laid their hands on you and prayed for you. That was too much for me, so I refused. My friend told me he'd go with me, so I relented. As I walked through the tunnel, I felt nothing - internally, anyway. About halfway through, totally mystifyingly, I began feeling tightening in my abdomen that doubled me over at regular intervals, like I was bowing down. I left the prayer tunnel, and it continued. I had no idea what it was - more demons being cast out?
Again, I didn't feel anything emotionally, didn't see any visions, but from that day forward, everything changed. I felt that the presence of God through the Holy Spirit had come to live inside me. I had new power over sin, new understanding of the Bible, new boldness in evangelism. About a month later I was praying by myself in a room. I asked the presence of Jesus to come, and he did. As his presence lowered onto me, I felt like he "dropped" this prayer into me: "Lord, please give me a prayer language." This was not a prayer I'd thought of praying before, and it didn't originate with me. Immediately, my jaw, lips, and tongue began moving on their own, and I began to pray in what sounded like a language that I didn't recognize. I could start and stop it of my own will, but did not know what I was saying. It felt like I just had to let the Holy Spirit pray through me.
As well, the physical manifestations of abdominal contractions continued, mostly when I was praying, worshipping, or in the presence of God. My friend told me, and I agreed, that this was like God's "sign" that he indeed was with me and at work in me, as I am naturally inclined to extreme cynicism and pessimism.
Well that's the story...I was hesitant to share it, but your other reader's experience pushed me to it. I was also hesitant because to be honest many years later I feel like I've lost that sense of the presence of God, for many reasons that aren't worth going into here, but I guess it's good to be reminded of what God has done in the past and stir ourselves up to keep seeking him now.
One more, this in response to the story I told last night about being tormented nightly by a sense that I was being watched, then sitting bolt upright in bed, out of a sleep, and seeing a nasty little creature at the foot of my bed watching me:
When I was pretty young, maybe around 8 to 13 I had a similar experience. Around the same age I had begun having dreams about what would happen the next day and every day I'd remember the moment and experiment with changing my responses from what I had done in the dream. Well one night something like those things in harry potter was floating over me. This was of course many years before harry potter. I couldn't move and it was like it was eating at my spirit. Suddenly a well of rage shot through my entire body and I sprung out of bed. I sat there for a minute in utter terror as the thing flew rapidly in circles around the room. Terrified to death, I ran out to my parents to tell them what had happened. My parents said a prayer for God to send his angels to protect me and they put me back to sleep. For many years after that I'd ask God to send his angels before I'd go to sleep and for many years I continued to have dreams about the future. The worst part about that was that I was worried I'd have a dream about dying and not know if it was a nightmare or a premonition. Finally one day I asked God to stop seeing the future and it went away.
OK, that’s it for tonight. Again, I thank you all for sending these stories in. You pretty much wrote this newsletter for me this week while I was on the road.