Copyright by Shea Oakley
All rights reserved
So here I was, a new “former-Atheist” gravitating towards a particular world religion without yet knowing, at least consciously, just why it was happening. With the hindsight of 23 years I now realize that it was because of something deeply compelling in the thought that the same God who made the universe, a Deity that was by definition infinitely greater than His creation, might have once chosen to take on the form of that creation. The wonder of God becoming man is the central proposition of the faith once known as “The Way” and today known as Christianity.
Beyond this, as I read the Gospel of John it became clear to me that the God described there was willing to undertake this unfathomable condescension only because it was somehow the only way He could save people like me from the all-consuming darkness that then possessed and was destroying me.
What kind of love would compel such a being to do this? Moreover what kind of love would compel this being to be willing to then die at the hands of a creation that had decided he was such an imposition on their determination to have their own way at any cost that he must be murdered?
My imagination began to be captivated by this person I was reading about and what he did 2000 years before I was born. I can remember sitting in the hospital’s arts and crafts room and making copper-enamel crosses. Most of them were grey with a sprinkle of bright gold at the center. The grey, I think, was a representation of how my soul remained, for the time being, darkened and lost. The gold sun in the middle symbolized what was about to happen to that soul. It could only have represented hope, something I had not really known for a long, long time.
Around this time my mother, an Atheist herself and my spiritual model since childhood, was called in by my doctor for a one on one counseling session with me. It went down hill just about from the moment it began. Without warning I found myself spiraling into a rage against her unlike any I had ever known. I screamed and cursed at her for what I now knew was a train-wreck of a life caused by my embracing her worldview, a worldview that I now knew ended in hopelessness and despair. It wasn’t necessarily her intention for me to take after her that way, but that is just what had happened. At the end of this horrible tirade I broke down and wept. My mother simply walked over, kissed me tenderly on my forehead, and walked quietly out of the room.
Shortly thereafter I returned to my bedroom in the in-patient psychiatric unit I was living on at the time. My roommate sensed I was upset and graciously slipped out. I knew the reason I had bitterly hurt my mom was to try to make myself feel better at whatever the cost to her. Her response was the true love of a mother for her son and I understood now that I was capable of evil and that this evil was somehow intrinsic. At that moment I found myself acutely aware that I was not quite the wonderful; worthy person secular psychology was every day trying to make me believe I was. What I really was is described by another word I never would have used just a few months before. What I really was, in short, was a sinner.
It was fall.
I walked over to the picture window and looked up towards the autumn sun. From somewhere deep within me I silently cried out for help, for solace, for some answer, maybe for some absolution. At that instant I felt myself being flooded by a light that did not originate from the sun. It was at that moment that I first knew the presence of God. I cannot completely describe it, but I’ll try. It was as if a Love beyond any human love suddenly flowed to me and through me. No earthly high, and I’d known a few by that point, could ever equal it. Ten seconds of this Presence was greater than anything I had ever known. The word “profound” is inadequate to describe what happened to me that day. I have never been the same. I would not want to be.
Soon thereafter I found myself calling my mother, tearfully asking for her forgiveness, and telling her how much I loved her. I felt cleansed of anger and touched by hope. Not very long after that day I was released from the hospital.
But, as you will soon see, my journey to true faith was not yet over.
To be continued…