Why Religious Experiences Are So Difficult to Talk About
The experience is often clear. The explanation is where things become complicated.
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One of the more unusual parts of parish ministry was the phone calls I received, not from churchgoers but from people with no connection to the church at all.
The phone would ring and, after a slightly embarrassed introduction, the conversation would often take a familiar turn. “I know this probably sounds strange…” they would begin.
Almost invariably, the person would tell me that something felt wrong in their home. Sometimes they described a heaviness that had settled over a particular room. Sometimes they spoke of an unease they could not shake. Occasionally, they would describe experiences that genuinely frightened them. What struck me was that these were rarely people looking for attention. Most sounded apologetic for making the call at all, as though they were embarrassed to be asking a vicar for help.
I was a last resort, but really pleased they had the courage to ask.
As a parish priest, I always approached those visits with an open mind. I never assumed I knew exactly what was happening. Human beings are complicated creatures. Houses carry memories. Anxiety can affect how we experience places. There are often perfectly ordinary explanations for things that initially seem mysterious. I never felt it was my role to leap to dramatic conclusions.
That said, there often seemed to be a spiritual dimension to it, and many of the experiences resisted easy explanation.
Yet over the years, I noticed a pattern that was remarkably consistent.
I would arrive at the house and spend time listening. We would walk through the rooms together and talk about what the occupants had been experiencing.
More often than not, I found myself sensing exactly what they were trying to describe. How do you describe something like that? It is almost impossible to put into words. “Heavy” is probably the closest description I can find, although even that feels inadequate. There seemed to be something in the atmosphere that was not easy to define and even harder to explain.
Then I would pray.
Not loud, dramatic, or confrontational prayers. Simply a quiet confidence that God was present and that whatever was causing fear did not have the final word. I would pray through the rooms, ask for God’s peace, and reassure the person who had invited me that they had nothing to fear.
Without exception, every situation resolved itself afterwards.
So what exactly was happening?
The honest answer is that I do not know.
That answer may disappoint people on both sides of the debate. Some would prefer me to say with certainty that these were spiritual encounters. Others would prefer me to dismiss them entirely as psychology or coincidence. Yet neither response feels entirely honest.
What I know is what I experienced. People felt something they struggled to explain. I often sensed it too. Prayer helped, peace returned, and life carried on.
Beyond that, certainty becomes much harder. In fact, the older I get, the less I feel the need to explain it.
