Seeing the Light

April 2006

    In the spring of 1969, I spent four months in Napa, California with five thousand wild and crazy people. This was not a typical late ’60s gathering of hippies, though hippies were present. We were living at Napa State Hospital, a mental institution.

      I lost my sanity exploring the outer reaches of my mind with psychedelic drugs. The “trips” that started with insights and peace, opened doors to a powerful demonic realm. While our astronauts were preparing to land on the moon for the first time, I was at Napa State attempting to land on my feet. Like a house after drunken guests depart, my mind was a mess.

     One Sunday morning, I got permission to leave A-1, the ward where I was a resident, to go to the Catholic Church on the hospital grounds. I walked into the chapel and sat in the back to survey the scene. I was looking for clues that would help lead me to sanity. There were thirty patients scattered in the sanctuary. The mass was in progress.

     For the first sixteen years of my life, I attended mass every week at our family parish. Those masses were conducted in Latin and they blur together in my mind with a few exceptions. One Sunday the priest at St. Isabella’s was giving his homily (sermon) and people laughed. I had been daydreaming  when the laughter startled me. I had never heard laughter during a mass.

     Latin masses had benefits. Everyone was supposed to kneel during the priest’s pre-sacrament ritual, praying and examining their hearts in preparation for communion. We didn’t understand Latin, so we had an undistracted time for quiet prayer. To this day many older Catholics long to return to the solemnity of the Latin mass.

     The quiet prayer time also provided an opportunity to count hypocrites. I often undertook this responsibility. Everyone was supposed to be in prayer with their heads bowed and eyes closed. When I spotted people sitting and looking around, it was obvious they were hypocrites. They didn’t care about the sacred ceremony. They needed to be identified. That became my job.

     The reason I left the Catholic Church could be summed up in one exchange with my catechism teacher in high school. I asked a question about the meaning of life. “That’s a mystery,” the teacher replied.

     “If it is a mystery to you and a mystery to me, what am I doing here?” I wondered.

     I decided to start exploring, hoping to discover the mystery of life. I began my search by hitchhiking around the country. Most people who pick up hitchhikers are friendly and living without much fear—qualities I admire.

     Now back to the church at Napa State Hospital. A white robed priest was saying the mass. Some people were praying, others were looking around. I was busy counting hypocrites when someone shouted, “I’ve seen the light!”

    The priest didn’t react, but I was stunned.  I thought I had seen the light, but I didn’t know anyone else had seen it. The light I had seen was so bright I didn’t sleep for three days. The experience was so powerful I thought God was leading me. Since God was leading me, my drug deluded mind concluded that I must be Jesus.

     I went to my girlfriend’s work and tried to convince her to leave and follow me. Her boss called the sheriff. The deputies took me to the downtown jail. After questioning me, they drove me to Napa State Hospital. I caused a scene when I tried to set the hospital patients free. Three counselors wrestled me to the ground and gave me a shot of Thorazine. The light grew dim.

     In the following weeks, when new patients were brought into our ward, several of them claimed to be Jesus. At first, I thought they were imposters, since I was the real Jesus. As the weeks went by, I began to realize that only the most deluded patients claimed to be Jesus.

     I met several patients who claimed that they were framed and they didn’t belong locked up in our ward. After listening to their stories, I figured they were right where they belonged. Insanity doesn't need to be framed.

     I started getting lonely and depressed after two months in the hospital, so I ran away. Actually, I walked out the main gate and hitchhiked back home. The problem with running away from a mental hospital is the fact that you are still as confused when you escape as you were as a patient. After a few days at home, I asked my parents to  take me back to the hospital.

     I stayed two more months and tried every therapy they had to offer. The most dramatic was electric shock treatment. That’s a process by which patients are strapped to a table and electrodes (from what looks like a big guitar amplifier) are attached to your head. You are given a shot of Sodium Pentothal by the doctor and the electric current is turned on. Within seconds you lose the ability to breathe. Your oxygen supply is cut off, so no air comes in as you desperately try to inhale. Then your body begins to spasm and shake, like a giant hand has gripped your head and swishes your body back and forth. After a couple of minutes you pass out.

     If I were to rank the worst experiences of my life, the four shock treatments I received would easily make the top ten list. They didn’t help me, but I was willing to do anything it took to get healthy. Sometimes explorers have to follow a path to realize it doesn’t lead them where they want to go.

     I did meet a man a couple of years ago who told me that shock treatments helped him snap out of a major depression. The process has been refined since the 1960s, but to this day psychiatric therapies are often trial and error. Psychology is not an exact science. Spiritual and moral realities are often not given credence.

     Why tell this story now, after all these years? Painful experiences have redemptive potential when we share them. If someone can be encouraged or gain understanding from my difficulties, I’m thankful. Most people end up in mental institutions because they have breakdowns. The breakdown may be rooted in depression, anxiety or mania. Often people don’t realize how they get themselves into these problems. The adrenaline rush that accompanies mania may seem like a spiritual experience. People who are manic get so excited they stop sleeping properly and start acting inappropriately.

     Years ago, I got a call saying that a lady who had visited our church in Novato was in a crisis. I drove over to her house and saw a police car parked outside. I walked over to the police car and looked through the open window. The woman was sitting in the back seat naked. She looked up at me and said, “Pastor Mark, Jesus is real and they won’t believe me!”

     “I know he’s real. Just relax. We will talk later.”

     She got counseling, settled down and eventually became a member of our church. She needed help to put her spiritual experience in perspective. We never mentioned our encounter at the police car, but she has been following Christ ever since.

     I no longer count hypocrites during church services. I learned the hard way that the person leaving during my sermon may be walking out in disgust, or they may be picking up a friend at the airport. The person looking around during prayer time may be hoping to escape, or looking for the friend they invited to join them for the service. Only God knows our hearts.

     After I was released from the hospital, I began to study the Bible and my mind started to heal. As I opened my heart to Christ, I began to understand the difference between demonic delusions and God’s light. Ever since I have been trying to tell others that Jesus is alive and the Bible is true.

     I recently went to visit Virginia, a dear lady who was scheduled for cataract surgery. She told me what it is like to be unable to recognize faces, read or watch TV. She wanted to get to know the Lord. We prayed together and she asked Jesus to be her Lord and to forgive her sins. When we opened our eyes she looked at me with a smile and said, “I’m seventy-eight years old and now I’m going to see the light!”

     One day we will all see the Light. Some will rejoice, others will tremble. Then every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.

You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.  I Peter 2:9 ö