J
Fox News'
Highly Reluctant Jesus Follower
Of all people surprised that I became an evangelical
Christian, I'm the most surprised.
Kirsten Powers
Just
seven years ago, if someone had told me that I'd be writing for Christianity
Today magazine about how I came to believe in God, I would have laughed out
loud. If there was one thing in which I was completely secure, it was that I
would never adhere to any religion—especially to evangelical Christianity,
which I held in particular contempt.
I
grew up in the Episcopal Church in Alaska, but my belief was superficial and
flimsy. It was borrowed from my archaeologist father, who was so brilliant he
taught himself to speak and read Russian. When I encountered doubt, I would
fall back on the fact that he believed.
Leaning
on my father's faith got me through high school. But by college it wasn't
enough, especially because as I grew older he began to confide in me his own
doubts. What little faith I had couldn't withstand this revelation. From my
early 20s on, I would waver between atheism and agnosticism, never coming close
to considering that God could be real.
After
college I worked as an appointee in the Clinton administration from 1992 to
1998. The White House surrounded me with intellectual people who, if they had
any deep faith in God, never expressed it. Later, when I moved to New York,
where I worked in Democratic politics, my world became aggressively secular.
Everyone I knew was politically left-leaning, and my group of friends was
overwhelmingly atheist.
I
sometimes hear Christians talk about how terrible life must be for atheists.
But our lives were not terrible. Life actually seemed pretty wonderful, filled
with opportunity and good conversation and privilege. I know now that it was
not as wonderful as it could have been. But you don't know what you don't know.
How could I have missed something I didn't think existed?
Very
Open-Minded
To
the extent that I encountered Christians, it was in the news cycle. And
inevitably they were saying something about gay people or feminists. I didn't
feel I was missing much. So when I began dating a man who was into Jesus, I was
not looking for God. In fact, the week before I met him, a friend had asked me
if I had any deal breakers in dating. My response: "Just nobody who is
religious."
A few
months into our relationship, my boyfriend called to say he had something
important to talk to me about. I remember exactly where I was sitting in my
West Village apartment when he said, "Do you believe Jesus is your
Savior?" My stomach sank. I started to panic. Oh no, was my first
thought. He's crazy.
When
I answered no, he asked, "Do you think you could ever believe it?" He
explained that he was at a point in life when he wanted to get married and felt
that I could be that person, but he couldn't marry a non-Christian. I said I
didn't want to mislead him—that I would never believe in Jesus.
Then
he said the magic words for a liberal: "Do you think you could keep an
open mind about it?" Well, of course. "I'm very open-minded!"
Even though I wasn't at all. I derided Christians as anti-intellectual bigots
who were too weak to face the reality that there is no rhyme or reason to the
world. I had found this man's church attendance an oddity to overlook, not a
point in his favor.
As he
talked, I grew conflicted. On the one hand, I was creeped out. On the other
hand, I had enormous respect for him. He is smart, educated, and intellectually
curious. I remember thinking,
What if this is true, and I'm not even willing
to consider it?
A few weeks later I went to church with him. I was so
clueless about Christianity that I didn't know that some Presbyterians were
evangelicals. So when we arrived at the Upper East Side service of Redeemer
Presbyterian Church, I was shocked and repelled by what I saw. I was used to
the high-church liturgy of my youth. We were meeting in an auditorium with a
band playing what I later learned was "praise music." I thought, How
am I going to tell him I can never come back?
But then the pastor preached. I was fascinated. I had
never heard a pastor talk about the things he did. Tim Keller's sermon was
intellectually rigorous, weaving in art and history and philosophy. I decided
to come back to hear him again. Soon, hearing Keller speak on Sunday became the
highlight of my week. I thought of it as just an interesting lecture—not really
church. I just tolerated the rest of it in order to hear him. Any person who is
familiar with Keller's preaching knows that he usually brings Jesus in at the
end of the sermon to tie his points together. For the first few months, I left
feeling frustrated: Why did he have to ruin a perfectly good talk with this
Jesus nonsense?
Each week, Keller made the case for Christianity. He
also made the case against atheism and agnosticism. He expertly exposed the
intellectual weaknesses of a purely secular worldview. I came to realize that
even if Christianity wasn't the real thing, neither was atheism.
I began to read the Bible. My boyfriend would pray with
me for God to reveal himself to me. After about eight months of going to hear
Keller, I concluded that the weight of evidence was on the side of
Christianity. But I didn't feel any connection to God, and frankly, I was fine
with that. I continued to think that people who talked of hearing from God or
experiencing God were either delusional or lying. In my most generous moments,
I allowed that they were just imagining things that made them feel good.
Then one night in 2006, on a trip to Taiwan, I woke up
in what felt like a strange cross between a dream and reality. Jesus came to me
and said, "Here I am." It felt so real. I didn't know what to make of
it. I called my boyfriend, but before I had time to tell him about it, he told
me he had been praying the night before and felt we were supposed to break up.
So we did. Honestly, while I was upset, I was more traumatized by Jesus
visiting me.
Completely True
I tried to write off the experience as misfiring
synapses, but I couldn't shake it. When I returned to New York a few days
later, I was lost. I suddenly felt God everywhere and it was terrifying. More
important, it was unwelcome. It felt like an invasion. I started to fear I was
going crazy.
I didn't know what to do, so I spoke with writer Eric
Metaxas, whom I had met through my boyfriend and who had talked with me quite a
bit about God. "You need to be in a Bible study," he said. "And
Kathy Keller's Bible study is the one you need to be in." I didn't like
the sound of that, but I was desperate. My whole world was imploding. How was I
going to tell my family or friends about what had happened? Nobody would
understand. I didn't understand. (It says a lot about the family in which I
grew up that one of my most pressing concerns was that Christians would try to
turn me into a Republican.)
I remember walking into the Bible study. I had a knot in
my stomach. In my mind, only weirdoes and zealots went to Bible studies. I
don't remember what was said that day. All I know is that when I left,
everything had changed. I'll never forget standing outside that apartment on
the Upper East Side and saying to myself, "It's true. It's completely
true." The world looked entirely different, like a veil had been lifted
off it. I had not an iota of doubt. I was filled with indescribable joy.
The
horror of the prospect of being a devout Christian crept back in almost
immediately. I spent the next few months doing my best to wrestle away from
God. It was pointless. Everywhere I turned, there he was. Slowly there was less
fear and more joy. The Hound of Heaven had pursued me and caught me—whether I
liked it or not.
Kirsten Powers is a contributor to USA
Today and a columnist for Newsweek/The Daily Beast. She is a
Democratic commentator at Fox News.
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