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Friends United Meeting |
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July 1997
I was an atheist, then Jesus spoke to me.
By Eric Robinson
My father was a minister, my uncle was a minister, my oldest brother was a minister and my oldest sister is a minister's wife. It's the family business: the business of "love God and your neighbor."
But, as I grew up in the church, I witnessed racism and saw that it was acceptable. How can one "love God and your neighbor" and be a racist? This confused me. I asked my father to baptize me, thinking the magic of baptism would cure my worries about Christianity. It didn't work.
I left the Church certain that I would not return. I enjoyed my new freedom from the Church. I gave thousands to charities, and volunteered hundreds of hours, determined to prove that I could live a more "Christian" life than those hypocrites. I moved up the local corporate and political ladder, filling my life with "important" stuff. Although I felt certain of my direction, I was lost.
But, since I made my own rules and used my own map, I didn't even know I was lost. Then one day, in New York City at a million-person peace rally, I met Martha, my wife-to-be. A way was opening for me, I just didn't know it yet. My wife is a life-long Christian. She was Roman Catholic and had remained faithful.
We tried various churches. I went for the political, social and business contacts; my wife went for the religious community. Eventually we settled on a very large Catholic Church in our neighborhood in Chicago. Most of the church was non-white, so I felt safe from the racism I had experienced in my childhood. Our three kids were born and went to church with us.
Then one day our nation began bombing Iraq. My wife wanted to go to church for Christian solace and to find a haven for peace. Yellow ribbons were on the altar, proclaiming support for the war effort! I will never forget her stunned silence. Just as I had years earlier, Martha felt betrayed by her Church.
We tried some other churches, but never felt comfortable. After drifting for another couple of years we decided to try again. As a teenager I had attended a Quaker Meeting. I had been impressed by a perspective different from other churches.
We found a small Meeting across town and met a very small group of people. I appreciated the "fact" that Quakers were a self-defining religion where I could make up my own faith as I went along. I appreciated the "fact" that there were no explanations, no doctrines, no common beliefs.
The truth is that my "facts" were wrong! Despite my ignorance, I applied for membership. My Clearness Committee for membership was a major disillusionment. I felt no concern for my spirituality and little interest in my discernment for a faith commitment. There was little interest in my authenticity or sincerity of my understanding of what membership meant. I was stunned. The process seemed to be perfunctory. I felt betrayed by yet another Christian sect.
But why would this upset me, a confirmed atheist? I needed time to "think" about it and 'though I didn't admit it at the time, I began praying. A leading came to me: "Just because some Friends are inauthentic doesn't mean I can't be a Friend. I want to be a Friend."
I realized that membership within Friends meant something important and personal. My family was attending Illinois Yearly Meeting when I received this strong leading, so the next week we planned to attend Western Yearly Meeting to which our Meeting is also affiliated.
I had never been there before and I didn't want to go. I was tired and emotionally drained. Plus I was scared because Western is a programmed Yearly Meeting. (I had been warned about "that kind of Quaker." I heard bad things about them: they were nasty, Bible-thumping, Crucifixated Christians. I understood that unprogrammed Friends, "real Quakers," should shun them. )
As we drove into the parking lot, all my fears were realized. People had suits or dresses, and worse, they had Bibles. There I was with my big bushy beard, long stringy hair, raggedy shorts, and an "Olive Oil" T-shirt. I didn't fit in. I knew we would be leaving within an hour.
We were made to feel welcome, ate a great meal, and my children had the greatest time at the children's program. Then I was struck numb as I watched (with contempt and complaint at first) the business proceedings.
"What is this," I thought, "these people aren't scary! These are polite, energetic and humorous Friends. They just do things a little different, that's all." My mind had been opened.
Saturday morning we were late to the celebration of the Recording of Ministers, and quickly sat in the pews near the front left door. Everyone else was sitting in the center towards the back. The celebration opened with "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee," and I began to sing.
A strange sensation came over me. I froze. I felt this overwhelming sense of elation. Big tears were streaming down my face. I hadn't cried, except at my children's births, since the trauma of my sister's near fatal car accident when I was twelve. Here I was, a big, strong atheist, crying during worship!
Then it happened: a voice spoke to me. It was loud, and clear. I turned to see who was speaking to me. No one was sitting anywhere near. I saw 350 Friends, many pews away, singing. How could I hear this voice so clearly? Slowly, confidently, without any hint of reservation, the voice spoke, "You're home. You're home. You're home...."
I couldn't stop crying. A "miracle" was happening to me. Why didn't everyone stop singing? Couldn't anyone else hear? It was so clear and strong. Who was speaking? How did this voice know that I had been alone and searching for a place to belong for over twenty years? I had never admitted my loneliness to anyone, or that I wanted to belong and be a part of a home more than anything in my life.
This was the voice of Jesus, welcoming me. I was transformed at that moment. I was a new person. I was home. Although I had joined a Meeting that is unclear about what it means to be a Friend, that lack of clarity gave me the opportunity to learn on my own. I felt safe. I bought magazines and books about the Religious Society of Friends. I read and read. I thought and asked questions. When I got no answers I bought more books. I listened to others.
I learned that the Religious Society of Friends has a clear and distinct faith perspective. It isn't unclear. It isn't self-defining. It is self-actualizing. Part of the distinction of Friends belief is direct communication with God. Although I wasn't even aware of it until Jesus spoke to me, I had been prepared to hear Jesus by the writings of others and the practices I observed within the Religious Society of Friends.
I had never fully understood or appreciated the power of that difference in faith perspective until that moment of "miracle." In response to hearing this voice, I was moved to use the skills I had acquired to organize a "Called Meeting for Worship." At the first Called Friends Revival Meeting, I publicly admitted, for the first time in 23 years, that I am a "Christian," because the Holy Spirit had spoken to me.
The Spirit led me to understand that I didn't have to fear others because of their false Christianity-other people are not in control of my religious faith.
I am the representative from Illinois Yearly Meeting to the General Committee of Friends Committee on National Legislation in Washington D.C. On the last day of my first annual session there was a meeting for worship. I was sitting and waiting for the hour to pass, when suddenly my heart began to pound. I could hear it; it shook my whole body. My breathing became loud and fierce. I felt light and heavy at the same time. I felt like I was floating over the room. I was fighting for control when suddenly worship was over and someone took my hand and shook it. I felt numb. I was shaking. My heart was still pounding and I still felt light and heavy.
I struggled to the other room for the final meal and put a fork to my mouth but let it drop. A nearly overwhelming urge came over me to shout "The blood of Jesus is in my heart!" In a last ditch effort to regain control, I threw myself out of my chair and ran out of the room-right into a wall. Martha came to my rescue and led me out of doors.
Outside, I exploded to God and I felt that God was exploding back to me in repeating crashing and flowing waves. It was overwhelming and fulfilling at the same time. What was this power controlling my body? "I will not give in. I am the master of my life. No one and no thing will ever control me." I stumbled and stared about in astonishment. Finally, I stopped fighting for control.
I wanted to submit-not to end the struggle, but to complete the struggle. I turned my life over to my God and my God released me so I could see and move normally again. But I will never be "normal" again. I am for my God, and not for myself any longer. Don't ask me to explain exactly what this all means, because I don't know. All I am clear about is that God wanted my attention and God has gotten my attention. All my pains and sorrows, all my triumphs and successes, all my experiences up to this point, have greater meaning because it was all done so that I would reach this point and be prepared to serve God wherever, whenever and however God wants me to serve.
Even though I am clueless, I am no longer rudderless, thanks to God's desire that I enter the living church of Jesus through the portal of the Religious Society of Friends. I am so grateful to the divine inspiration of those within our Christian faith community who came before me, so that I may learn from them. I am so grateful to the incredible network of amazing people, known as the Religious Society of Friends. I am so grateful to Jesus. I am so grateful to the Holy Spirit. I am so grateful to God. Thanks.
Eric Robinson is heads up Western Yearly Meeting's Friends Disaster Service. Now in Richmond, Indiana, to study at the Earlham School of Religion, the Robinsons are part of Starr House, an urban ministry in Richmond's north side.
Copyright (c) Friends United Meeting 1997
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