Fingerprints of God_ The Search for the Science of Spirituality - Barbara Bradley Hagerty [64]
Unaware of Persinger’s concerns, but keenly aware of my own, I suddenly recalled a scene from ten years earlier, a previous time when I had felt spiritual performance anxiety. I had been invited to the house of an acquaintance for a “Bible study.” I arrived to find six others there surrounding Nancy, the guest of honor. Nancy, I was informed, was a modern-day Christian prophet: she was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she heard directly from God. She visited Washington from Texas every few weeks to hold a Bible study and tell other women what God was saying about their lives. I quickly noticed that most of Nancy’s “prophecies” involved money—people becoming rich, owning large mansions, giving away millions of dollars for evangelism projects. Most of the Bible verses she quoted in her “study” promised abundance.
After about an hour of Nancy’s preaching, she slapped her hands on her thighs and said, “Now let’s hear from the Lord!” in the way someone might say,“Let’s have some ice cream!” Everyone murmured assent, except for me, who felt a little bit queasy.
We huddled together and Nancy prayed for God to speak through each one of us. Then she announced, “Okay, I want each person to prophesy over another person. I will begin.”
She began to prophesy about me. She “saw” me on a “jet plane with a man with a turban on—he owns the plane. Oh! He’s very wealthy. And I see you getting off the plane in a very hot dusty country. Oh! And you are being greeted by hundreds of children, little brown children, little brown babies.You must be in Africa,” she added. And that was it.
One by one, the others prophesied. My hands grew clammy; I surreptitiously glanced at the door, plotting my escape. Finally, everyone had spoken. It was my turn to inform Sheila about God’s will for her life. Silence fell on the room as I struggled for something to say. The seconds stretched to the breaking point, the silence yawned wider and wider, and I saw . . . nothing. I didn’t have a word for Sheila. Not one stupid word. I thought, Oh, man, I’m drowning here.
“I see water,” I heard myself intone, in a flash of inspiration.
The others murmured, “Yes, Lord.”
Warming to my tale, I said,“It is a pool, and you are standing on the high dive.”
“Yes, Lord, thank you, Jesus,” several exclaimed, and I heard someone softly speaking in tongues.
“You’re afraid to dive, Sheila,” I continued, “but the Lord does not want you to be afraid. The Lord says, ‘I will catch you, my child, just trust me.’ ”
“Thank you, Lord!” This came from Sheila, in heartfelt gratitude for this, my first prophecy.
Six years later, I was at a reception at the Mayflower Hotel in Washington. A woman walked up to me.
“Barb?” she said, moving closer to examine my face. “Do you remember me? I’m Sheila.We met at Julia’s house, when you prophesied over me.”
“Of course, Sheila, how are you?” I said, scrambling to remember what, exactly, I had said.
“Great! Do you remember how you prophesied that the Lord wanted me to jump off the high dive?”
“Oh.Yeah.”
“Well, the next day I quit my job!”
I wondered briefly if one could be sued for faking a prophecy. I was intensely relieved when she told me she had started her own animation and graphics company, which had prospered from the first day.
Back in Michael Persinger’s chamber, I found myself once again expected to manufacture a spiritual experience. I willed myself to stop thinking and simply relax. As the minutes ticked by, a few images penetrated the darkness—a flash of a park near my house, the brief glimpse of a face. The most profound moment came as I tottered on the edge of sleep.
“I am utterly relaxed,” I said in a thick, gravelly voice.“I feel as if I’m dissolving into the chair. It’s not that I don’t have boundaries, but the boundaries include the chair.