Tuesday, April 05, 2005
AOTGA - Act 2 Cont'd
I returned with my friend to her house and we talked about the subject but didn't get very far. I finally got into my car and started home. As I drove I thought about a lot of things. One was that I had been puzzled ever since I had heard of the early Christian martyrs. In all my life I had never known anyone that I felt would have died for their belief in Christ. I could imagine most of them saying to themselves, if put to the test, "If I deny Him now I'll do more good alive than dead and I can change my stand later." But I had known most of the people at the meeting for a number of years, and within one short week they were different. How? I couldn't explain it. And I wondered if they just might be willing to walk into a lion's den for Christ. It was a challenging thought.
A sermon I had recently heard came back to me. The priest had said, "If there's anything wrong with your life -- any jealousy, bitterness, resentment, lack of love for other people -- it's because you don't love Jesus enough." That was probably the most frustrating sermon I had ever heard because I knew there were many things wrong in my life and I didn't want them there. I knew I didn't love Jesus enough, but the heartbreaking part was that I desperately wanted to love Him more. How do you make yourself love someone?
And then it occurred to me. That was what those people had found. That was why they were different. They had found how to love Jesus more. I realize now that this is sound theology since any experience with the Holy Spirit would reveal Jesus Christ more clearly, and the more clearly we see Him the more we love Him. But I didn't know that then. I only knew that they had something I didn't have. I prayed aloud while driving down Sepulveda Boulevard, "Lord, if this is of You, I want it." And right there God baptized me with the Holy Spirit, and I spoke in a language I had never learned. And that was the beginning.
The next morning I didn't believe a word of it. In the clear light of day how could I possibly believe that God, Himself, would give me a new language? Me, an ordinary person -- and to make it more unbelievable, a woman?
And yet, somehow, I couldn't abandon the idea. To prove to myself how ridiculous it was, I decided to make up a language. After all, any intelligent person should be able to put together something reasonable sounding. But when I tried my mind blanked out and all I could think of was the world "gobbledygook," which is hardly original.
My friend came to my house and talked some more. I listened but didn't respond. How could I believe God had given me that language when lightning hadn't flashed or thunder rolled -- in fact when nothing whatsoever appeared to have transpired?
Alone I prayed. And again I prayed softly in some words I didn't know -- and believe me when I say that I have never felt more foolish in my life. That just couldn't be "it"!
People from the parish asked, "Do you have what the rest of them have?" I told them I did not. I certainly did not have the peace or joy they all claimed to have. I felt miserable.
Many people attempted to set my thinking straight -- or to get my thinking the way they felt it should be -- depending upon which side they were on. I was as anxious as any of them to have my thinking clear, but didn't know what to do about it.
One day after talking to God in those little baby words I tracked down Joan Baker's telephone number. I had never met Joan but I figured her for the expert. I related what had happened and asked her if that could be "it." She said she couldn't tell unless I would speak in the language. Speak aloud for her to listen? I would sooner have passed out religious tracts in Times Square. So I wrote the words phonetically and read them to her over the telephone! She still laughs at that. Naturally she couldn't get much of an idea from my reading off a piece of paper over the telephone. However, she assumed it was probably from the Holy Spirit and explained that God was trying to teach me a language and that I should pray in it regularly to "practice" it. Practice what? I only had about four words -- and I didn't believe those.
One night after a prayer gathering I went home with a future seminarian and his wife. The wife had received the baptism of the Spirit in the bedroom while the seminarian had been in the living room telling Father Maguire why they were not interested in the phenomenon. Soon after the seminarian received.
That night we discussed the gift of the Spirit and Peggy suggested that I talk to Father Maguire. They arranged to have him present the next time I visited.
Father Maguire was the vicar of the Church of the Holy Spirit, the Episcopal Church in Monterey Park where the Bakers had been members when the Spirit visited them. Since that time he had been baptized with the Spirit.
During the discussion held at my second visit, I requested the three of them to speak in tongues. I wanted to see if it would be as striking to me as it was the first time I had heard it. It was not. It was simply three people all speaking in different languages.
Peggy said if I spoke in tongues Father Maguire might be able to understand it and might have the interpretation of the language. Father Maguire explained that would not be possible as interpretation is not something one turns on and off; rather, when God desires to say something through these media, He impresses someone to speak in a given language, and then He gives to that person, or to another, the explanation of what was said.
Peggy continued to push me to speak. At last I did and immediately Father Maguire interpreted. It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was for me, and I still remember it. At last I began to believe I had really received the gift of the Holy Spirit. But if so, how badly I had behaved. I had denied it and refused to accept the speech as having originated with God. How I must have grieved the Holy Spirit. Small wonder I was feeling miserable.
I made an appointment with my confessor and went to confession. There I poured out the story of how I had grieved the Holy Spirit and prayed for forgiveness. Such joy came upon me that both my confessor and myself ended up speaking in tongues. As I rose from my knees I understood three things that had baffled me for my entire Christian life, and I really understood them. No amount of explanation had ever clarified these doctrinal points for me, but now the Holy Spirit had done so ina few minutes. I suddenly knew the meaning of loving people in Christ; I saw how God uses the ordinary and makes it holy; and I understood what praise is and why it is important. And then the rain fell -- but it turned into a flood --
Click here for the Table of Contents
A sermon I had recently heard came back to me. The priest had said, "If there's anything wrong with your life -- any jealousy, bitterness, resentment, lack of love for other people -- it's because you don't love Jesus enough." That was probably the most frustrating sermon I had ever heard because I knew there were many things wrong in my life and I didn't want them there. I knew I didn't love Jesus enough, but the heartbreaking part was that I desperately wanted to love Him more. How do you make yourself love someone?
And then it occurred to me. That was what those people had found. That was why they were different. They had found how to love Jesus more. I realize now that this is sound theology since any experience with the Holy Spirit would reveal Jesus Christ more clearly, and the more clearly we see Him the more we love Him. But I didn't know that then. I only knew that they had something I didn't have. I prayed aloud while driving down Sepulveda Boulevard, "Lord, if this is of You, I want it." And right there God baptized me with the Holy Spirit, and I spoke in a language I had never learned. And that was the beginning.
The next morning I didn't believe a word of it. In the clear light of day how could I possibly believe that God, Himself, would give me a new language? Me, an ordinary person -- and to make it more unbelievable, a woman?
And yet, somehow, I couldn't abandon the idea. To prove to myself how ridiculous it was, I decided to make up a language. After all, any intelligent person should be able to put together something reasonable sounding. But when I tried my mind blanked out and all I could think of was the world "gobbledygook," which is hardly original.
My friend came to my house and talked some more. I listened but didn't respond. How could I believe God had given me that language when lightning hadn't flashed or thunder rolled -- in fact when nothing whatsoever appeared to have transpired?
Alone I prayed. And again I prayed softly in some words I didn't know -- and believe me when I say that I have never felt more foolish in my life. That just couldn't be "it"!
People from the parish asked, "Do you have what the rest of them have?" I told them I did not. I certainly did not have the peace or joy they all claimed to have. I felt miserable.
Many people attempted to set my thinking straight -- or to get my thinking the way they felt it should be -- depending upon which side they were on. I was as anxious as any of them to have my thinking clear, but didn't know what to do about it.
One day after talking to God in those little baby words I tracked down Joan Baker's telephone number. I had never met Joan but I figured her for the expert. I related what had happened and asked her if that could be "it." She said she couldn't tell unless I would speak in the language. Speak aloud for her to listen? I would sooner have passed out religious tracts in Times Square. So I wrote the words phonetically and read them to her over the telephone! She still laughs at that. Naturally she couldn't get much of an idea from my reading off a piece of paper over the telephone. However, she assumed it was probably from the Holy Spirit and explained that God was trying to teach me a language and that I should pray in it regularly to "practice" it. Practice what? I only had about four words -- and I didn't believe those.
One night after a prayer gathering I went home with a future seminarian and his wife. The wife had received the baptism of the Spirit in the bedroom while the seminarian had been in the living room telling Father Maguire why they were not interested in the phenomenon. Soon after the seminarian received.
That night we discussed the gift of the Spirit and Peggy suggested that I talk to Father Maguire. They arranged to have him present the next time I visited.
Father Maguire was the vicar of the Church of the Holy Spirit, the Episcopal Church in Monterey Park where the Bakers had been members when the Spirit visited them. Since that time he had been baptized with the Spirit.
During the discussion held at my second visit, I requested the three of them to speak in tongues. I wanted to see if it would be as striking to me as it was the first time I had heard it. It was not. It was simply three people all speaking in different languages.
Peggy said if I spoke in tongues Father Maguire might be able to understand it and might have the interpretation of the language. Father Maguire explained that would not be possible as interpretation is not something one turns on and off; rather, when God desires to say something through these media, He impresses someone to speak in a given language, and then He gives to that person, or to another, the explanation of what was said.
Peggy continued to push me to speak. At last I did and immediately Father Maguire interpreted. It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was for me, and I still remember it. At last I began to believe I had really received the gift of the Holy Spirit. But if so, how badly I had behaved. I had denied it and refused to accept the speech as having originated with God. How I must have grieved the Holy Spirit. Small wonder I was feeling miserable.
I made an appointment with my confessor and went to confession. There I poured out the story of how I had grieved the Holy Spirit and prayed for forgiveness. Such joy came upon me that both my confessor and myself ended up speaking in tongues. As I rose from my knees I understood three things that had baffled me for my entire Christian life, and I really understood them. No amount of explanation had ever clarified these doctrinal points for me, but now the Holy Spirit had done so ina few minutes. I suddenly knew the meaning of loving people in Christ; I saw how God uses the ordinary and makes it holy; and I understood what praise is and why it is important. And then the rain fell -- but it turned into a flood --
Click here for the Table of Contents
# posted by LeeSun @ 2:33 pm 
