Tuesday, April 05, 2005
the Acts of the Green Apples - Jean Stone Willans - Act 1
I cannot say the actual date that I was born but I remember the day distinctly. My Father had seen that I was nourished and cared for prior to the day that I was exploded from the womb of my churchmanship into an experience so real that everything in my life lost color by comparison.
The event of my conversion (the terminology is accurate, though I would not have approved of it at the time) was a curious blend of Catholicism and Protestantism. I had been nurtured for a short time in an Anglo-Catholicism (High Church Episcopalianism) which made me more catholic than the Catholics, and yet my personal experience of the living God has delighted almost all Protestants who have heard it, with the exception of one Plymouth Brethren elder who claimed my conversion couldn't be genuine unless it was based on some particular Scripture verse!
For approximately two years I had been religious. It is strange to make such a statement when I was christened as an infant in the Episcopal Church, raised in that doctrine, and had a brother who was a priest. And as a child I prayed. I think everyone has prayed to a God he knows the name of or to a God he does not know the name of, but I think this has very little to do with what I am talking about -- that vital personal encounter with the Creator through the Redeemer by the operation of the Holy Spirit.
Immediately prior to my birth I was kneeling before a crucifix saying my regular morning prayers when I suddenly knew I was a sinner. How ridiculous. What had I ever done that everyone else hadn't done at one time or another? As a matter of fact, I was a very respectable member of the community. But I knew. I can't say how I knew. And at the same instant I knew Jesus Christ had died for me. Of course my doctrine included the fact that Christ had died for the sins of the world -- but really now! No one had ever told me that if there hadn't been anyone in the world but Jean, He would have died for me. But I suddenly knew that it was true and that He had. It was as though the Universe had split and revealed to me a truth unknown by anyone else -- a truth of such magnitude as to transform my entire life. Somehow I understood within my innermost self everything: why He died, why it was necessary that He die, why I needed Him. The enormity of God Himself bothering with me was too much for my finite being and I prostrated myself upon the floor and burst into tears.
I looked up at the crucifix in thanksgiving and was surprised to see light streaming from it. Foolishness. Emotion. I looked again. It was there. My mind inquired what it could mean, and I finally came to the conclusion that God was trying to tell me that this experience was important. But I couldn't name what had happened to me or explain why it should be important, except that any experience with God would be important.
So that was my birthday. Afterward things became more complicated.
Outwardly I remained the same: dedicated to the church, narrow concerning other denominations, deeply devotional and steeped with an avid curiosity to discover more concerning what I would have called "the Faith."
But inwardly there was a difference. First, I possessed a peculiar feeling of assurance that I was eventually going to make it to heaven. Concerned that this was bordering on the sin of presumption, I discussed it with the rector (the priest in charge) of my parish. He was not at all enthused. I couldn't reason it out very well because I didn't understand it myself, and yet it appeared so terribly real that I couldn't let go of the thought easily. I remember arguing, "But Father, if God is love, then He must be more concerned about our getting to Heaven than we are. I know we aren't very good, but if we are really trying, doing everything and believing everything we know how, do we have to be so nervous about it? Couldn't we relax in the knowledge that if we do our bit He is certainly going to do His and see that we get there?"
Father shook his head and said doubtfully, "Well, I suppose you can believe that if you want to." And I did believe it. Oh, how I believed it! I knew in Whom I believed and I knew where I was going, but as for the doctrine of my belief -- I couldn't have explained it at all. And as for a scripture verse to base it on -- well, at that time I thought the Old Testament was the history of the Jewish people and that my church had written the New Testament.
There was another difference. Before this peculiar experience I was satisfied. I had a strict Rule of Life which gave me a certain amount of gratification in the doing. I worked in the parish in a number of unrelated capacities which fulfilled both my pragmatic and my creative needs. I was active and busy as well as prayerful and devoted to God and to the church.
Suddenly it all changed. I was happier but no longer satisfied. It seemed to me there was something wrong with my life. Had God made a mistake somewhere and made me a woman when I should have been a man? Because of that I could not enter the priesthood. Why had he allowed me to marry? Now I could never be a nun. A growing sense of frustration developed. Surely there was more to service for God than fundraising fashion shows, pancake suppers, and Altar Guild duty. Why did I have to be a woman?
I took my problem to the rector. I told him I followed my Rule of Life faithfully by reading Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer with the accompanying scriptures, saying prayers at noon, attending Mass almost every morning, as well as all extra services and a regular teaching class. I gave service to the church in many ways, even instigating and organizing an infant nursery so people with small children could attend worship services in comfort. I felt I really had a private relationship with God as well, and yet there was something missing. He looked sorrowful and said he understood exactly what I meant -- that he felt the same way.
My frustration grew. And then I went on retreat and an Anglo-Catholic monk said some things that changed the parish, changed me, and made news in both the secular and religious press throughout most of the world.
Click here for the Table of Contents
The event of my conversion (the terminology is accurate, though I would not have approved of it at the time) was a curious blend of Catholicism and Protestantism. I had been nurtured for a short time in an Anglo-Catholicism (High Church Episcopalianism) which made me more catholic than the Catholics, and yet my personal experience of the living God has delighted almost all Protestants who have heard it, with the exception of one Plymouth Brethren elder who claimed my conversion couldn't be genuine unless it was based on some particular Scripture verse!
For approximately two years I had been religious. It is strange to make such a statement when I was christened as an infant in the Episcopal Church, raised in that doctrine, and had a brother who was a priest. And as a child I prayed. I think everyone has prayed to a God he knows the name of or to a God he does not know the name of, but I think this has very little to do with what I am talking about -- that vital personal encounter with the Creator through the Redeemer by the operation of the Holy Spirit.
Immediately prior to my birth I was kneeling before a crucifix saying my regular morning prayers when I suddenly knew I was a sinner. How ridiculous. What had I ever done that everyone else hadn't done at one time or another? As a matter of fact, I was a very respectable member of the community. But I knew. I can't say how I knew. And at the same instant I knew Jesus Christ had died for me. Of course my doctrine included the fact that Christ had died for the sins of the world -- but really now! No one had ever told me that if there hadn't been anyone in the world but Jean, He would have died for me. But I suddenly knew that it was true and that He had. It was as though the Universe had split and revealed to me a truth unknown by anyone else -- a truth of such magnitude as to transform my entire life. Somehow I understood within my innermost self everything: why He died, why it was necessary that He die, why I needed Him. The enormity of God Himself bothering with me was too much for my finite being and I prostrated myself upon the floor and burst into tears.
I looked up at the crucifix in thanksgiving and was surprised to see light streaming from it. Foolishness. Emotion. I looked again. It was there. My mind inquired what it could mean, and I finally came to the conclusion that God was trying to tell me that this experience was important. But I couldn't name what had happened to me or explain why it should be important, except that any experience with God would be important.
So that was my birthday. Afterward things became more complicated.
Outwardly I remained the same: dedicated to the church, narrow concerning other denominations, deeply devotional and steeped with an avid curiosity to discover more concerning what I would have called "the Faith."
But inwardly there was a difference. First, I possessed a peculiar feeling of assurance that I was eventually going to make it to heaven. Concerned that this was bordering on the sin of presumption, I discussed it with the rector (the priest in charge) of my parish. He was not at all enthused. I couldn't reason it out very well because I didn't understand it myself, and yet it appeared so terribly real that I couldn't let go of the thought easily. I remember arguing, "But Father, if God is love, then He must be more concerned about our getting to Heaven than we are. I know we aren't very good, but if we are really trying, doing everything and believing everything we know how, do we have to be so nervous about it? Couldn't we relax in the knowledge that if we do our bit He is certainly going to do His and see that we get there?"
Father shook his head and said doubtfully, "Well, I suppose you can believe that if you want to." And I did believe it. Oh, how I believed it! I knew in Whom I believed and I knew where I was going, but as for the doctrine of my belief -- I couldn't have explained it at all. And as for a scripture verse to base it on -- well, at that time I thought the Old Testament was the history of the Jewish people and that my church had written the New Testament.
There was another difference. Before this peculiar experience I was satisfied. I had a strict Rule of Life which gave me a certain amount of gratification in the doing. I worked in the parish in a number of unrelated capacities which fulfilled both my pragmatic and my creative needs. I was active and busy as well as prayerful and devoted to God and to the church.
Suddenly it all changed. I was happier but no longer satisfied. It seemed to me there was something wrong with my life. Had God made a mistake somewhere and made me a woman when I should have been a man? Because of that I could not enter the priesthood. Why had he allowed me to marry? Now I could never be a nun. A growing sense of frustration developed. Surely there was more to service for God than fundraising fashion shows, pancake suppers, and Altar Guild duty. Why did I have to be a woman?
I took my problem to the rector. I told him I followed my Rule of Life faithfully by reading Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer with the accompanying scriptures, saying prayers at noon, attending Mass almost every morning, as well as all extra services and a regular teaching class. I gave service to the church in many ways, even instigating and organizing an infant nursery so people with small children could attend worship services in comfort. I felt I really had a private relationship with God as well, and yet there was something missing. He looked sorrowful and said he understood exactly what I meant -- that he felt the same way.
My frustration grew. And then I went on retreat and an Anglo-Catholic monk said some things that changed the parish, changed me, and made news in both the secular and religious press throughout most of the world.
Click here for the Table of Contents
# posted by LeeSun @ 2:37 pm 
