I grew up in Hackensack, New Jersey, a suburb of New York City.
I graduated from Hackensack High in 1971, earned my B.A. from Cornell University in 1975, and received a master’s degree in magazine journalism from Syracuse University in 1976. I landed a job as a sports reporter for the daily newspaper in Cortland, New York, in 1977.
On the surface, everything seemed to be going great. But personal difficulties, with great help from Satan, almost swallowed me up. However, they led me, a Jewish young man, to give my life to Jesus in August 1978.
A little less than a year after I was saved, I was living in Ithaca, New York, attending Hillside Alliance Church. Very suddenly, I remembered three incidents from high school that had greatly troubled me. They troubled me so much that they were all I could think about. I could barely concentrate on my job. I soon recognized that the Holy Spirit was convicting me of sin related to those three incidents. I had the overwhelming urge to travel back to Hackensack and try to make things right.
You Can Go Home Again
I got time off from work and drove four hours to my hometown. It’s hard to describe, but as I entered Hackensack, I felt a spiritual presence, as if I was seeing the place I grew up with new eyes.
One of the incidents involved my best friend in high school. I had played high school junior varsity basketball. My friend was not as athletically inclined, although we both shared a love for sports. One day, we were both hanging around the outside basketball courts at our high school, watching a pickup game. When the game finished, one of the players left and his teammate asked me to play. Without thinking about my friend, I went ahead and played, leaving him on the sidelines to watch. When I saw him later in the day while we were both visiting another friend, he almost attacked me physically, although he didn’t say why he was angry. We were never close after that.
So when I returned to my parents’ home in Hackensack, after first explaining to them that I had some old business to clear up, I phoned my friend and apologized for what I had done that day on the basketball court. He seemed embarrassed by my apology and shrugged it off as if it were no big deal. But I knew I had done the right thing by apologizing.
My next stop was at the place of business of a classmate who had mercilessly and cruelly verbally harassed me for a couple of years in high school. I realized I needed to forgive him. I explained to him that it had hurt me, but I was there to tell him I forgave him. He seemed not to remember what he had done to me, but we separated that day on good terms.
Never Too Late to Say Sorry
Lastly, when I was younger, perhaps a freshman in high school, I was playing a pickup touch football game. On the opposing team was a guy a year younger than me, but very small —much shorter than the average eighth-grader. My team was losing and I was not playing well. Out of frustration, on a kickoff return, while blocking, I intentionally tripped him rather than making a legitimate block, sending him sprawling. Nothing was said, but it was clear he didn’t appreciate it.
Now, some 11 years later, I was convicted to knock on his door and apologize. I tried, but no one answered. I went back to my parents’ home, and then, about an hour later, I tried again. Still no answer. I needed to head back to Ithaca, so I packed up, got in my car, and drove away. My parents lived very close to the railroad tracks, which I had to cross. But as I approached, a man stood in front of the tracks, waving some sort of train signal sign, and, looking directly at me, yelled, “Go back! Go back!” I can’t explain why, but it was clear to me he was telling me not just to go back from the tracks, but to go back to that young man’s house and try again.
So I did. This time, my friend answered. He was angry because he said that the previous two times I had knocked, it had disturbed and worried his mother. I guess he had just arrived home and she told him about me knocking on the door. I explained why I was there. I need to mention here that with all three individuals, I didn’t explain that I had become a born-again Christian. I didn’t view this as an opportunity to witness. All I said was that I had experienced a change in my life that made me aware of some things I needed to put right.
When I reminded this young man of the time I had tripped him and apologized, the change that came over his countenance was remarkable. His face softened and I could see he was genuinely touched. He clearly remembered the incident. Perhaps no one had ever apologized to him before for pushing him around, given his small stature. That’s just my conjecture. In any case, I was so glad I went back.
An Angelic Messenger?
Was that man at the railroad crossing an angel (Hebrews 13:2)? I will never know in this lifetime.
When I returned to Ithaca and related this story to my pastor, he told me that this conviction by the Holy Spirit had also been happening to several members of our congregation. God was moving to purify us.
We know that the Holy Spirit convicts the world (unbelievers) of sin (John 16:8), but he also convicts believers of our sins. I have never again felt the weight of conviction as I did that time in 1979. But I am thankful for how God cleared my conscience through the work of His Holy Spirit.
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