Please Direct Questions or Comments: eenberg1@gmail.com
What was your first reaction when you heard the concept of God and Heaven? Did you embrace it as a trusting child? Did it mean little to you when you were young and even less when you were older? Was your belief expected and pushed on you? Was your only experience with God saying the Pledge of Allegiance in school each morning? Was it a positive, negative, or neutral idea when you first encountered it? It is literally impossible to live in society without making a decision as to how important or unimportant this belief is going to be in your own life. Will the value you place on it be a driving force or irrelevant to daily life? Will you disbelieve it so much that you become an antagonist to those who do or just avoid believers at all cost. There are numerous other positions and emphases people place on God and things spiritual. On a scale of 1 to 10, how far have you worked these issues out for yourself?
This is where my testimony begins. At this point in my life, I can’t even imagine not fully addressing the question of God and His relevance to my life and those closest to me and beyond. But, this was not always so. I was a small child once without the knowledge of a god of any type or special nature. To my parents, God was mostly irrelevant. My mother was raised in a family who was in church on Sunday with a mother and father she was not emotionally close to, but I’m sure loved her in their own way. This was the old days when children were expected to be seen and not heard. Her church going ended by the time she left home at age twenty-one to marry my father. My father was raised by a family that did not attend church. He had no personal faith of his own and never did see it as important to life. He mentioned how he once had said a sinner’s prayer with a religious missionary woman before he went overseas to join the battle in World War II, but this was not a conversion experience for my father as far as I could tell . His army-air force dog tags said protestant, but that basically meant he was an average American of the times. So, as a result, there was little spiritual input into my mind in the first years of life.
I remember very vividly at the age of three I witnessed a mid-air explosion of a B-52 bomber east of our small home in Tracy, California as the east-facing front window shook violently. Being in the living room at the time, I peered out to see the plane wreckage descending in smoke and the open parachutes of several of those who survived. I don’t remember any spiritual questions about death at this age. It would be a few more years until death raised a more profound question for me. At about six years old, my mother did drop me off at a local church for Sunday school for a short period of time. It was also about this age that I was watching a movie on television about Blackbeard the pirate. At the end of the movie, though not historically accurate, Blackbeard is shot, wounded, and then buried up to his neck in sand and left to drown in the incoming tide. Thinking about his slow death caused me to reflect on what would be going through your mind when you have time to realize you are dying. Afterwards I asked my mother, “What happens when you die?” She answered with the only response a church raised mother could give, “When you die, you go to Heaven.” What else would she have told me at six years of age? I’m not sure this was something she even fully believed at the time. It was the “stock” answer. I, at the age of six, was satisfied with my mother’s pronouncement and had no more questions for several years. Later in life I learned she was more of a doubter than a believer, but years later, after she came to live with us, I began to read scripture to her. At eighty-seven, just a few weeks before her death, I asked her if she believed in Jesus. She replied, "Yes." I jumped for joy inside. Back then though, the Pledge of Allegiance to “one nation under God” at the start of each school day was the extent of my worship. Then, in fourth grade, my parents divorced, and my brothers and I were sent to live with our mother in Palo Alto, California. Here, I found a friend in the next-door neighbor boy named, Lyle Sakamoto. His family was of Japanese ancestry and religion. I learned his family was Buddhist. I also learned that Buddhists didn’t believe in God. I was confused at first. Didn’t everyone believe in God? It felt a little awkward that my friend did not share my belief. I had just assumed until that point in my young life that everyone believed the same. It was a real learning experience for an eight-year-old. Life went on. In sixth grade, my brothers and I moved back to be with my dad in Tracy, California. We had a Mormon live-in housekeeper who took us to an LDS church for a period of time. I don’t remember caring much for going to the church, but I did like being in the boy scout troop that they sponsored. That all ended when we moved to Stockton, California a year later. After a couple of shorter term house keepers, we finally hired a seventy-six-year old woman who was with us through high school. She was a faithful Christian woman, Clara, who attended the Baptist Church down the street. We didn’t attend, but I did go to their youth groups a few times. I remember quitting the group after one gathering. It was a sort of fun and activities event where they wouldn’t let me say no to a spin-‘til-your-dizzy race even after I warned them about my problems with car-sickness and getting dizzy too easily. I obliged and ran headlong into a patio-cover support post. As I said, I never went back. I didn’t blame their religion though.
My faith journey was actually just starting to pick up. It was the Jesus Freak era just taking off in the late ‘60s that brought my next thinking-about-God encounter. I had been a little rebellious of thought about mainline preachers. I’m not quite sure where that thinking came from, television preachers or whatever. I just didn’t care much for the idea of church in my teen years. Then came along one of my hippie high school friends named Bob Dauphney. He was the essential Jesus Freak of that time. This was the approach that got through my defenses. He actually got me to read a paperback copy of the New Testament of the Bible called Good News for Modern Man. I began in the front with the Gospel of Matthew where I learned all about the life and ministry of Jesus Christ. I kept going, next I began to read the Gospel of Mark. What? It was the same story. “Hey what’s going on?” I thought. This is the same story, they can’t fool me. Then came the Gospel of Luke and John. They were all the same story basically about how God sent his Son to save man from his sins by dying on the cross. It made no sense to me at the time why they would tell the same story four times in a row. Yes, now I know they just wanted the story confirmed by multiple witnesses to the event with different perspectives, but agreeing on the essentials, but at the time it seemed odd to me. I put it down for the time and read no further.
In my late teens, I began to experiment with mind altering drugs. I also began reading about mystical religious experiences such as occur in Buddhist meditation. I read a book by Carlos Casteneda titled, “The teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge” in which hallucinogenic drugs and mystical experience become intertwined. I had friends who were Hari Krishna followers. I was surrounded and influenced by the legacy of the Beatles and the culture that was forming at that time, yet there was something missing. I remember being at a concert in the city, “San Francisco,” and getting locked out of the concert because, while under the influence of some mind-altering drug, I left the venue which clearly stated, “No Readmittance.” While outside, feeling sorry for myself for my situation, I felt the need to speak to the infinite mind, or whatever I deemed the ultimate spiritual nature of the universe to be. Even though my personal leanings had been toward some undefined mystical presence out in the cosmos, I couldn’t get away from the need to talk to it. And, if I was to talk to it, wouldn’t it really be more of a personal deity or god that I felt the need to relate my troubles to? I decided there that my petitions were to a personal God and not just an impersonal transcendent reality that I could only reach through great meditation in some cave in the wilderness. Oh, by the way, I solved my problem of getting locked out of the concert. I paid a second admission. LOL.
Sometime, a bit later on, some friends and I drove from our home town of Stockton to attend a rock concert in the old broken down Grand Theater in Tracy, California. I had fond remembrances of movies I had seen there for a quarter as a child in the 1950s when we had lived there. The concert, unexpectedly was put on by a Christian rock band. I think a lot of people were unaware that this was the type of music they were going to hear as well as the testimony of one of the members. The audience began booing. I don’t remember if my friends took part, but, as the booing continued, the leader of the group said a few words to the crowd, and then asked for everyone who believed in God to stand with them. I and a few others from the audience stood with them. I don’t remember any of my friends taking the offer. I think that really was a turning point for me and, though I didn’t really think about it, took me a step farther down the path towards a personal relationship with God. My friends and life style still had not changed a whole lot.
Sometime later, I moved into an apartment with that friend from high school, Bob Dauphney. He had recently disavowed his faith in Christ and gone back to the general heathen lifestyle we all engaged in. I was a little disappointed for him as he had been so fervent and excited about his faith. He had recently broken up with his girlfriend from the Church in the Park, a small outside gathering in Stockton. He took up with another more, let’s say, liberated woman and got back to the lifestyle of us actual urban hippies of the day as the free love and peace era began fading out there about 1972. I remember, a summer or two later, I was driving home from my summer forklift job at a grading station when I noticed some hitchhiking hippies. I pulled over and offered them a ride. Well, guess what? They were Jesus freaks, and they proceeded to preach to me all I needed to know about Jesus and that without Him, I would certainly go to hell. So much for my act of kindness that day. Well, I filed that experience away and went on with life. As 1974 arrived and I was preparing to transfer to Sacramento State University, I began to have a sudden attraction to crosses that people wore around their necks. I even made an attempt to go to a Christian bookstore and buy one, but I believe I forgot to bring enough cash or for some reason it didn’t work out. I think I tried another time at another location, and that didn’t work out either so I finally gave up. I thought about this later, and I just figured God was telling me it wasn’t the right time. I needed to know His Son first.
Fall came that year, and I left for CSUS to live just off campus in some local dorms. I didn’t know anyone in my dorms. I had one sort-of-friend from high school a few dorms over. I began to meet other students at the commons where our meals were served. Two of the friendliest students were these two girls, Cindy and Susy who were, not quite Jesus freaks, but very evangelical at the same time. They shared a lot about their faith with me. I took it all in stride and continued to look for new relationships and parties that were happening in the dorms area. So, one day, after attending a small get together in a nearby dorm room occupied by a couple female students, I decided to return for a short visit. One of the girls was just getting ready to leave for an evening college group at the Fremont Presbyterian Church just across the street from the university. She said I could join her if I wished. I took up the invitation as I seem to have been softening to the call of God in my life over the previous few years. There were a number of students from the university in attendance, none of whom I knew. There was a teaching that evening from the book of book of 1Corinthians 13 on the gifts of the Spirit. It was quite a bit over my head at the time, but it rang true somehow, and, as the evening finished, I knew I had found my place in a spiritual sense. The young lady who brought me that night never returned. I, on the other hand, had found a real home here to nurture my new-found beliefs. The personal God I had been gravitating toward had a real face in Christian teaching. I marked that first Sunday in November of 1974 as my commitment to serve Jesus Christ. My actual prayer to confirm it came a couple of months later.
A few months passed, then one Sunday, in our college group, a young lady collapsed in a fit of tears and grief. We formed a group around her and began praying for her. I recall a very strange experience happening as we laid hands on her continuing to pray. It was as if another presence was speaking in unintelligible words within my head. I don’t believe it was God or his Spirit as it seemed more oppressive. It was nothing like I have ever experienced before or after. When the prayer was finished she seemed to recover herself and was fine. I don’t remember the issue she was having, but it was as if a cloud had lifted. In retrospect, I chalk it up to some sort of spiritual warfare she was undergoing. God took care of it. I didn’t need to know the details. This experience opened my eyes to an even deeper level of the reality of God working with man as he seeks His active presence in daily life.
At about this same time, Cindy, whom I previously mentioned, got in contact with a couple of men who began teaching a Bible study one night a week in the dorms. I attended. We got some deeper insights into scripture from these two, Dean and Rich, which whetted our appetites for more. Cindy, and several of us from the dorms, began attending their small church overlooking Saugstad Park in Roseville, CA. The church, formerly a Baptist church, was renamed Trinity Chapel and became a part of the charismatic movement. They had a loose affiliation with several other similar churches across the country. There were missionaries that traveled this circuit to raise funds for their evangelical work overseas. One evangelist by the name of Wayne Crooke visited the church several times. He often spoke of miracles God had done in Southeast Asia during their crusades. On one of the visits, the message was followed by prayer for healing for those in need. A different woman named Cindy, who had been in the church a short time, went forward. She was a co-worker at a dentist’s office of another woman, Alana Edmison, who had been with the church for a while. She asked for prayer for a short leg for which she wore a built-up shoe. The difference between legs was about an inch. Wayne asked if anyone wanted to see a miracle. Several of us from the college age group went forward and sat on the rug right in front of her. Wayne said he didn’t want to get God’s glory so he had the pastor pray instead while he stood by. Pastor Wells held up her legs as she sat on a chair. There was a clear difference in their lengths. As he prayed, some movement began. Pastor Wells did not pull her leg; he simply supported it. The leg shifted forward then back slightly and came to rest even with the other. Saying we were amazed falls far too short. It’s hard to find an acceptable word to describe how it really affects your thoughts when a miracle occurs right in front of you. Several of us sat with her on the floor afterward. We played with her leg for several minutes. She walked around just fine in her stocking feet. It had clearly changed. She was not able to wear her built-up shoe home from the meeting. It now made her walk awkwardly. Her husband, not a believer, came the next week to see what kind of church this was where things like this happened. The leg never returned to the shortened state. Do I have scientific proof? No but, I don’t need any. I saw what I saw, up close. It would be great if we had before and after x-rays, but that would be for those who were not there to see faith in Jesus at work. There were other healings in those years at Trinity, but this is the most dramatic one I remember. It really gave credence to all those reports of miracles Wayne and his team performed in Thailand and beyond. I once had a badly pinched group of muscles in my back and neck release instantly after prayer at Trinity. I’ve never had this happen since except by days of heating pads so I find this small miracle personally significant.
In another dimension of the church’s faith ministry, there were elders who would pray for those they felt were oppressed by demons. Now, Christians don’t see most demons as they are portrayed in horror movies. They are more like nuisance spiritual beings, fallen angels, that try to influence the minds of people who open themselves up in one way or another by continued addictive, mean, selfish or evil actions that become like a door into their souls. They can become an integral part of someone’s personality and indistinguishable from the person’s basic personality. The manifestation is usually an unkind or uncaring act or lack of self-control in an area that is detrimental to themselves or others in various degrees of severity. Most unkindness and uncaring acts are simply the nature of the fallen state of man, not demons. The spiriual gift of descerment of spirits can be very helpful in these instances.
So, one Sunday, at church, an elderly woman drove her inebriated son into the parking lot trying to get him to come into the church. He was resisting her. Finally, Pastor Wells came out to see what the issue was. Upon seeing Pastor Wells, he started mumbling and flailing in an increasingly violent manner. At that point, Pastor Wells pointed at him and commanded, “In the name of Jesus Christ cease this display.” Immediately the man went limp and was escorted into a Sunday school room where they talked with the mother. It was decided, due to the kind of behavior the man was exhibiting, that the problem of alcohol addiction was more than typical, and that likely a demon was at the root. It was decided that an elder would go over and pray for the man at his mother’s mobile home. I volunteered to go along to observe and help if needed. I arrived with one of the deacons, Wayne Beck, a short time after Dean West arrived and had been ministering to the man. He was at the point of asking him to give up any other alcohol he had stored around the house. The man kept denying he had any more than that which he had already surrendered, but Dean kept at him. After about ten minutes, I had been convinced by the man’s continued sincere sounding denials. Finally, about the time I thought it was becoming a useless effort to get the poor guy to confess to something that he wasn’t in fact doing, Dean gets what is called in the Bible, a word of knowledge. It’s like a prophetic word in a sense, but is more specific. It often applies to a present situation. He says, “You do have more alcohol, and there are two bottles. One is almost full, one is almost empty.” So then, he presses in on the guy further. The man continues to deny this. After a few more minutes of questioning, he finally gives in. He confesses, “They’re in the car under the seat.” So, I get chosen to go and retrieve the bottles. I get out to the carport, unlock the door, and look under the seat. Sure enough, there is a bag with two bottles in it. One is almost full to the top and the other almost empty. It was amazing, but we had to give God the glory for such demonstration of his Holy Spirit’s gifts. The follow-up to this story was more than that man’s deliverance that day. The follow-up was how I ran into him a couple of years later to find out that he had been totally delivered from his alcohol addiction and was himself ministering to others. That’s the best part of the whole miracle.
I have been around and heard testimony of numerous other supernatural acts and miracles, but I have recounted only those I was most intimately connected with. The most powerful witness to me still has to be the ring of truth of the scriptures themselves. The lives of those who experienced and recorded them beam with forthrightness. The more you know of them and compare them to other religious writings, the more you are convinced of the absolute veracity and uniqueness of their message so grounded in history. The prophetic pronouncements concerning history up to our day in the gospels and especially the Books of Daniel and Revelation cannot be dismissed lightly. We have incredible opportunity to hold the Holy Scriptures in our hands that did not exist until a couple of centuries ago. But today the world has pretty much turned its back on the Bible. In scripture, Phillipians1:18, it states that, “Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed,.” It seems Hollywood’s versions of an impending Apocalypse are everywhere, though they diverge widely from scripture in most cases. Maybe even these inaccurate twistings of scripture God can use. The Book of Revelations is difficult, but we have a multitude of wisdom in the consensus of the theologians and writers of the past and these present days. Once we weed out all the minor disagreements, we see that the message that remains still leads us to great hope in the midst of our unique time in history. Ought we not learn it from the four horsemen’s mouths themselves. Sorry about the play on words here. I believe Jesus is coming again!