"Greet Priscilla and Aquila,
my fellow-workers in Christ Jesus. They risked their lives for
me. Not only I, but all the churches of the Gentiles are grateful
to them. Greet also the church that meets at their house."
Romans 16:3
This is the story of how God saved me, alone in my college
room, near midnight in February 1985, as I read the verse above...
*************
Years ago, I was a Quaker. I wasn't brought up Quaker, but
adopted the religion when I was about 12 or 13yo. I believed
I was a Christian. Evangelicals disturbed me. When I first came
across them, in university, I argued with them, pretty much the
same way as many people on the Internet groups do now. I was
very aggressive, very threatened by them, but their arguments
and their tracts did not move me.
Gradually, I tired of the arguments, I hung around with some
Muslim friends I'd made, avoiding Evangelicals as much as possible
and got on with my life.
But life didn't get on that easily. For a start, I had this
constant, nagging feeling that I was not "all right",
I was actually very wrong. My religion taught me to "draw
near to God in the stillness", in the silence of a Quaker
meeting. I remember the words they used to quote from one Quaker
writer "When I went into the silent assemblies of God's
people, I felt the evil weakening in me and the good rise up".
But when I sat in the silence, I felt as if we were waiting on
the station for a train that never arrived, and the evil in me
started shouting to be heard. It did not weaken. To outward appearances,
I was just the same, but inside, I realised my battle against
this evil was not a battle I could win.
I tried to distract myself. Read fantasy novels, find out
about Eastern mysticism, Islam, Buddhism (this was all in the
space of about 6 weeks). Anything really, just so I could escape
this terrible feeling that I was not right with God and He was
far from me. I had thought I had some kind of relationship with
God, but now I realised that was just wishful thinking. I tried
reading the Bible, but it was just words. I began to give up.
One evening, I returned home from visiting my Muslim friends
to the student residence (an apartment block). As I walked past
one girl's room (Sarah), she was playing a Keith Green song "Asleep
in the Light". Unlike most of the cheery Christian pop-songs
Sarah was given to playing, this song was different. The singer
seemed to be pleading with the Church to take their message seriously.
You could hear the emotion in his voice. It stopped me in my
tracks.
After standing there for a couple of minutes, listening, I
popped my head around the door and asked Sarah about it. She
started talking about Christian music, but the conversation quickly
degenerated into an argument about her "trying to convert
me". I don't know why I did that. I was spoiling for a fight
really. Anyway, I stormed off, and returned to my own room.
I was restless. I tried various things to distract myself,
but I couldn't concentrate on anything. I was disturbed about
my minor argument with Sarah, but I knew it was nothing about
her or what she'd said, or even her gospel music. Finally, on
an impulse (or so it seemed), I opened the Bible that they left
in all the college bedrooms.
I browsed rather absentmindedly, and the page fell open at
the last chapter of Romans. I read:
"Greet Priscilla and Aquila, my fellow-workers in Christ
Jesus. They risked their lives for me. Not only I, but all the
churches of the Gentiles are grateful to them. Greet also the
church that meets at their house."
Boom. My brain did a frantic series of logical connections:
If the Bible was made up, why put something so [b]mundane[/b],
so utterly irrelevant to anyone other than Priscilla, Aquila
and their friends? What was it doing there? How could it possibly
teach anybody anything? Unless Paul really did write it and this
was a genuine sign-off from a genuine letter. Unless what Paul
wrote in the letter was about real events. Unless Jesus Christ
really was the Son of God. Unless...
Then I knew. Beyond a shadow of a doubt I knew that what Paul
wrote was the truth, that the whole Bible was the truth and although
my knowledge of it was sketchy, I knew this: that God was Holy
and I was not.
I cannot adequately describe what happened next. All that
I can say was that I tried to pray in the dignified, Quaker fashion
(sitting in silence), ended up on my knees and almost immediately
after that, ended up on my face, sobbing, and begging God to
help me, out loud. I am not the sort of person given to this
kind of behaviour. The Quakers teach that we commune with God
in stillness and quiet, not wailing into the carpet!
It was as if I were being pressed into the floor by some huge
weight and I sensed God's anger. I had never thought of God as
angry before. I was terrified. I wonder if on Judgement Day,
sinners won't be thrown into Hell, they'll be throwing themselves
down there just to get away from Him!
I remember wanting to escape, to run away, but I knew there
was nowhere to run to. I know just how Jonah felt. Yet, even
though I was terrified and in this state, the thought of losing
His presence was even worse. I can't really describe it: shame,
terror, beauty and joy all mixed up together. So I said "Lord,
I don't know what to do. I don't even know how to pray properly.
I know I don't deserve it, even though I'd give anything to deserve
it, but please, if there is any way at all, please get me out
of this!"
And then it was just like the story when Jesus calms the storm.
He said peace, and there was peace. I listened, almost expecting
the Angel Gabriel himself to appear or something, but there was
nothing but a sense that everything was going to be all right.
The next day, a Christian young man approached me with a tract,
and was somewhat surprised when I asked him if I could have a
copy and did he have any more? He sat down with me and explained
the Gospel to me, and I confused him because I said "Oh,
I wondered how he was going to do it".
"Do what?" he said. So I told him. I don't know
if he believed me! I think he thought it was a devious trick
to persecute the Christians again.
That was around 16 years ago and much has happened since then.
I have often wondered why God blessed me with such a dramatic
conversion. I have felt guilty that people might try to think
I am attempting to out- do them and I've sometimes been reluctant
to share my testimony. But God does nothing without a reason.
Perhaps it was because I was so stubborn, perhaps it was the
prayers of all those poor Christians I persecuted, perhaps it
was to sustain me through the difficult times later in my life.
I know that typing it in this evening has renewed my faith considerably,
and I thank God from the bottom on my heart for his wonderful
mercy and love.
It is an overwhelming thought that he has forgiven me. If
he had destroyed me, I could not have come up with one single
word of argument. When people argue and bicker about what God
"should" or should not do, I think they they have no
conception of our God. They have no conception
of holiness. If they experienced His presence as I did, they'd
be on their faces too.
Written by Anna
Hayward (c) 2001. |