Berserk2
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I had one very sacred experience where I apparently experienced stigmata. I was in my senior year at Princeton Seminary (MDiv) and had applied to 3 doctoral programs in religious studies. My first choice was Harvard Divinity School, but a friend had discouraged me, saying I had no chance because I hadn't taken enough courses in my proposed field of specialization--New Testament, Judaism, and Greco-Roman backgrounds. I thought he was probably correct; so I was worried about whether any of the programs I applied for would accept me.
Unknown to me, a relative stranger, Ted, overheard me expressing my worry and he decided to pray fervently for my admittance in Harvard! Then he came to my dorm room and told me what he had done and said God had given him assurance that I would be accepted by Harvard. I was overwhelmed by his unselfish, thoughtful concern and, oddly, he somehow imparted the same confidence to me.
The next night (Tuesday), an attractive young woman (Ann) came to my room and stunned me with a false accusation. She claimed that I had called her and told her that she was too psychologically unstable to be in seminary. The voice of whoever had made this cruel call must have sounded like me because she dismissed my fervant denials! In the midst of her harangue, a knock on the door brought me the message that I was wanted on the dorm phone down the hall. Relieved to get away from Ann, I hurried to the phone. It was John Strugnell, the Harvard professor who, at that time, controlled the Dead Sea scrolsl editorial project. He was pleased to inform me of my acceptance at Harvard. Just imagine my conflicting emotions--joy at this news, but hurt from Ann's false accusation. When I returned to face her in my dorm room, she soon asked me if I was all right. I replied, "Under the circumstances, yes. Why do you ask?" She replied, "Because the palm of your right hand is gushing blood!" I looked down and my pants were just covered in blood, and yet, I felt no pain or soreness at all! I can't say I even believed in stigmata at the time. Ann construed this as a sign of my innocence and quietly left my room. I guess I agree with her about the sign, but I certainly don't take it as a sign of my saintliness.
The timing of all this--Ted's kind word of reassurance, the false accusation, the phone call, and the stigmata was one of the most sacred sychronicities of my life, and one of my most treasured memories.
Don
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