I want to begin with a wonderful and mysterious story.
It begins badly. In September of 1995, when I was living in Nashville, I was diagnosed with chronic ulcerative colitis, an autoimmune disorder with no known cure. The disease attacks your colon and can produce painful, dysentery-like symptoms, and they emerged right away.
By October I was in crisis. I’d lost more than 40 pounds, I couldn’t eat any solid food; every medical treatment was failing. I was hospitalized and met with a surgeon. Unable to ameliorate the symptoms, we started to consider surgery to remove my colon.
I was miserable. I was literally wasting away, in terrible pain. I was also a little frightened by the prospect of major surgery in my weakened state. I prayed, and I reached out to my friends and asked them to pray for me as well.
As the surgery date approached, I got a call from a dear friend,
Ruth Okediji. Ruth was the leader of my law school Christian fellowship, and she’s now a professor at Harvard Law School. I’ll never forget her first words. “It’s over,” she said. “The Lord has healed you.”
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My initial reaction was frustration. I was resigned to the surgery, and I wanted encouragement, not false hope. As a Christian, I believe that God is real and works miracles. But I didn’t consider that he would work a miracle on me. My prayers were of the conventional kind that I grew up with — prayers that doctors would have wisdom and that I’d have the courage to face the challenge of the surgery.
But Ruth’s prayer was different. She asked God for healing, and she said that God had granted her prayer.
I hung up the phone feeling no different at all. I was still in pain, except now I was also a little angry. In hindsight, I don’t even know why. Perhaps because I wanted to believe, but just couldn’t.
I woke up the next morning without any pain at all. I had no pain the entire day. The next day was pain-free as well, and so was the next. The doctors reintroduced bland, solid food to my diet, and I consumed it voraciously. By Thanksgiving, I’d gained most of my weight back, and a colonoscopy later showed no evidence of the disease at all.
My doctor was surprised. I was surprised (and overjoyed). I knew that ulcerative colitis could have remission periods, but this one stuck. And in the 29 years since, I’ve never had a recurrence.
I know that skeptical readers can offer alternative explanations for what happened. Perhaps I was misdiagnosed. Perhaps despite my initial frustrations with the call, there was some sort of powerful placebo effect. Perhaps there’s another explanation I haven’t considered.
And I’m cognizant as I tell this story of all the suffering people who haven’t experienced this kind of relief. I’m cognizant of my wife’s cancer battle. She’s now cancer-free, but not because she woke up one morning without symptoms because a friend prayed for her; it’s because she courageously endured every step of grueling treatment, from chemotherapy to surgery to radiation under the care of competent and compassionate medical professionals.
I’m sharing this story because America is at a counterintuitive spiritual crossroads. Organized religion is declining rapidly. The fastest-growing segment of American religious life is the nones, the people who don’t lay claim to any particular religious affiliation. At the same time, however, there remains an intense interest in all things supernatural, both inside and outside of organized religion.
Outside of organized religion, you’re seeing the explosive growth of psychedelics, including in parts of the American elite. Last year, Kirsten Grind and Katherine Bindley
reported in The Wall Street Journal about the psychedelics that “power Silicon Valley.”
“Elon Musk takes ketamine,” they wrote. “Sergey Brin sometimes enjoys magic mushrooms. Executives at venture-capital firm Founders Fund, known for its investments in SpaceX and Facebook, have thrown parties that include psychedelics.”
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And it’s not just the power elite. The value of the psychedelic drug market is skyrocketing. Grind and Bindley said it was quite likely to reach $11.8 billion by 2029, a startling increase from its $4.9 billion value in 2022.
Stories of paranormal encounters are popping up across pop culture. In October, Tucker Carlson claimed that he had been
physically attacked by a demon in his sleep. Sohrab Ahmari, a former Op-Ed page editor of The New York Post and one of the founders of Compact magazine,
wrote about his own psychedelic experience with the hallucinogenic drink ayahuasca.
“At its most intense,” he wrote, “the ayahuasca ‘trip’ felt like the closest I have ever come to waging a full-on spiritual battle, with the stakes being no lower than my life and fidelity to the one God.”
In my own life, I’ve encountered a number of people who’ve turned to psychedelics. Some have described microdosing as lifesaving and even beautiful. Others have described it as the most terrifying experience of their lives and talk about encountering presences or spirits that felt purely evil.
In the church world, the rise of Pentecostalism — and especially the rise of a Pentecostal movement called the
New Apostolic Reformation — has led to intense interest in faith healing, prophecy and insights gained from dreams and visions.
Much of this spiritualism is taking place in independent charismatic churches, which are as far from organized religion as any church can be while still remaining a church. Independent charismatic churches aren’t accountable to any denominational superstructure. There’s no formal process for ordaining pastors. If a charismatic leader can gain a following, he can build a church, and many millions of people will follow self-described prophets and apostles when they claim to hear direct revelations from God.
Pentecostal Christians have also created an entire taxonomy of spiritual warfare.
In the Book of Ephesians, the Apostle Paul wrote, “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”
Many Christians take this passage to an extreme. They’ll pray against the demonic influences at work. They’ll engage in
Jericho marches during which they’ll walk around a school or government building, for example, to claim spiritual dominion over the place and to cast out demonic influences.
Why is this happening? Why would a less religious nation still be so spiritual?
Believing Christians have an answer to this question. God, Solomon wrote in the
Book of Ecclesiastes, “has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”
In other words, humanity has always felt a pull toward the transcendent, a pull that persists even through the modern era of scientific inquiry.