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Richard Ganz In my youth I spent every afternoon studying the Hebrew Scriptures, five days a week, and on Friday night and Saturday I worshipped. As I grew older I worshipped for a time each day in the synagogue morning and evening. I would rise before dawn and before going to the morning service, in obedience to rabbinic tradition, I would put on tefillin - the boxes containing God’s law - on my forehead and arm. Then one cold, clear midwinter night my life was shattered. My father had a heart attack and I ran for comfort and hope to the one place I thought I would find it - the synagogue. The doors were locked and as I hammered on them I looked up into the New York night sky, cold, crystal-clear and filled with stars and I cursed God. "I am through with you!" I said. But that night, as I turned away from the God of Israel; the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, little did I realise that he was far from through with me. The next twelve years of my life were not lived in the synagogue. In my rebellion I went so far as to renounce the covenant name given at my circumcision -Elkanah. I modified it a little, so that I was no longer Elkanah but Kanah. In the Bible there is nothing accidental about names. Abram means, "Exalted father" and Abraham means, "Father of a multitude". When he was 99 years old and Sarah was 90 and they were promised a son they laughed at God. But God said he would give them a son and they named him Isaac, which means, "laughter". When Jacob and Esau were born and Jacob pulled at the heel of his brother he was named for that action; the name Jacob means, "the grasper" and all his life he grasped. He grasped after the blessing and the birthright. He lived up to that name and when he met God and wrestled with him he said, I want your blessing. God said, What is your name? You want a blessing, grasper? No longer is your name "Grasper"; you have grasped with God and you have prevailed. Your name is, Israel - he who has wrestled with God and prevailed. The Hebrew name Elkanah means, "Possessed by God" but I changed it to Kanah, translated Cain in English versions of the Bible. Cain means, "Possessed"; and for the next twelve years of my life I was possessed with the world and with what it offered; I was possessed with getting ahead in life; I was possessed with Rich Ganz. I led what appeared to be a very laudable life. I moved ahead in what I desired to do. I went through university and graduate school, from which I graduated top of the class. Following my internship and a year of post-doctoral study, I was teaching at a medical centre at a major university. THE TWILIGHT ZONE During my year of post doctoral studies, the realisation hit me one day at a staff meeting that psychoanalysis - the area I thought provided the answer to life - was nonsense. Until that point I had been searching for some form of therapy - individual therapy, group therapy, hypnotherapy or some other kind of therapy through which I could discover the meaning of life: what we we’re all about and why we’re here. Instead, I discovered that it was all rubbish. But instead of looking for the answer to life elsewhere I cynically told myself that although psychoanalysis was meaningless I was going to become very rich practising it. If life was meaningless at least I could have fun by being wealthy in a meaningless life. All I had to do was sit in a chair listening to my patients, nod my head every few minutes, and charge $75 an hour. To celebrate my selection from 212 applicants to
that position at the university medical centre my wife and I took a
trip to Europe into a series of unbelievable situations. We had tickets
for Athens scheduled but the night before we picked them up my wife
suddenly sat bolt upright up in bed saying, "We can’t get out of
Athens! We can’t get out of Athens!" The next day when arrived to pick
up our student-rate tickets we were told that the tickets would get us
into Athens but not out! We ended up in a little Dutch town looking for somewhere to stay. No one knew of any hotel or inn. Night was falling, we were on the banks of the Rhine, it was getting a chilly and my wife was frightened. She then did something she hadn’t done since she was a child - she prayed. It was a very simple prayer: "God, if you are there, please find us a place to stay". At that moment , out of the darkness of an alley walked a man of average height, very pale, with long blond hair and blue eyes. "Ask him", she said. "TELL THEM BUCK SENT YOU." He told us to go three blocks down, turn right, walk another three blocks and we would see exactly where we were supposed to stay: "Just tell them Buck sent you", he said. It seemed bizarre but we followed his directions until we came to a co-operative for the students of the last gold and silver making school in Europe. During the next two weeks we saw all the people who had told us there was no place to stay. They were all friends with the young people who lived in this house but there was one person we didn’t meet again; for two weeks we searched for Buck. No one in the town had ever heard of him or recognised our description of him. A year later I was receiving letters from students who were still trying to find him. On the last day, as we were leaving, someone handed me a slip of paper with an address and told me there were "some really beautiful people" there. I knew I was being drawn in a certain direction and it seemed as though every step was being taken for me and it was predestined. We arrived at L’Abri at about five on a Saturday afternoon. I had prepared a careful explanation as to why we were suddenly turning up on their doorstep. However, before I could say anything, the door opened and we were greeted: "You’ve arrived! Welcome.". "ANYONE AT THE CROSS COULD HAVE WRITTEN THAT!" The next few days were interesting. They were full of religious discussion. But as a man with no sense of God, seeing myself as a chance accumulation of molecules in an absurd and meaningless world, I listened and talked to these people, questioning and mocking their beliefs. Then one day a man asked me if he could read something from the Bible to me. I consented, and this is what he read.
I’d heard that expression "Man of sorrows" and "acquainted with grief" before, though I wasn’t sure where. But at that point I suddenly understood what was happening: they were reading to me about Jesus. I thought, Do they know what they are doing, reading this Christian stuff to a Jew? But I told myself to be patient.
Images of Renaissance paintings leapt to my mind. I wasn’t an ordinary Jewish guy; I had a doctorate; I was cultured; I’d seen paintings with crosses; I knew that their guy had been pierced. They were trying to read me stories about Jesus and I felt the anger rising in me.
Jesus just bore your sins! I couldn’t stand it. That was just a cheap way out of long term psychoanalysis. What they were telling me was "the Catholic way". From the age of seven, when I had walked into a Catholic church I thought Jesus was a Catholic: Scandinavian, perhaps, very delicate, tall, thin - slightly anorexic - with long silken blond hair and piercing blue eyes. I had got as far as the vestibule of the church, looked at one of the statues and thought that the ground was going to open up and swallow me; that I was unalterably damned for having done that and I ran eight blocks home to get away from what I considered an unpardonable sin.
I remembered pictures of Jesus on the cross and the two thieves, one on either side of him. Three crosses - I knew that stuff; they weren’t going to fool me with their rhetoric.
There was the myth about the resurrection. They get it into all their literature, don’t they. They can’t accept the fact that once a person is dead, he’s dead. Grow up! Put away your infantile neuroses and realise that when you’re dead, you’re dead; that’s it.
When he finished reading, he looked at me and said, "What do you think?" I was, of course, keen to give the benefit of my insights. They were obviously quoting to me from their New Testament and I responded without a moment’s hesitation: "Anyone who was there at that cross could have written that stuff! What does that prove?" He handed me the Bible and in a millisecond of receiving it, my life was changed. The name that I saw at the top of the page was Isaiah! They had been reading from my Bible, my Hebrew Scriptures and I felt as though someone had taken a sword and cut me to pieces. When the man who read it told me it was written 700 years before Jesus was born, I felt dead. Why couldn’t it be Krishna? Why couldn’t it be Buddha? Why does it have to be him? I knew at that instant that if Jesus wrote history about himself in my Bible - if the Gentile God was the Jewish God and he was truly God - then I had to submit everything to him for the rest of my life. A BIRD’S EYE VIEW OF THE BIBLE During our stay at L’Abri, someone gave my wife Nancy a tape by Edith Schaeffer called, A Bird’s-Eye View of the Bible, an overview of the Scriptures from Genesis through to Revelation in 40 minutes, dealing with the theme of the Lamb of God. From her earliest days until her confirmation she had been familiar with the phrase, "Behold the Lamb of God", and always wondered why Jesus was given that name. Just as I had learned from Isaiah that Messiah was to be a sacrifice for sin, Nancy discovered the same truth from that title given to Jesus. After listening to the tape she went out to the apple orchard at L’Abri and surrendered her life to Jesus Christ. FOUR LITTLE WORDS When we returned to the United States I was given a patient at the medical centre who hadn’t spoken an intelligent word in four and a half years. My assignment was, "Get Immanuel to speak four or five words coherently". He came into my group therapy session, sat down and began to hyperventilate and writhe around. He said, "I’m Jesus Christ!" I pulled out a Gideon New Testament and read from the 24th chapter of Matthew’s Gospel: "Then if anyone says to you, ‘Look, here is the Christ!’ or ‘There!’ do not believe it ...For as the lightning comes from the east and flashes to the west, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be". Silence. "Where did you read that?" I threw the Bible to him, "In the Gospel of Matthew. Read it." And for a month he was silent, then he came to my
office: "Dr. Ganz [I was impressed], I want to become a Christian." I interrupted at that point: "How many words did it take him to say it?" I was hoping they’d realise what great success this was. "And that’s not the worst of it, Rich", he said, "he’s attributing it to you. Many people wanted your job, Rich, and I’ll tell you what we’ll do. If you promise never to do this again - do it after work if you must - but if from nine till four you leave Jesus out, we’ll forget this ever happened." I asked for a day to think and pray about it and the next day I said, "Howard, I’m going to share with you what I believe", and I summed up by saying that I must obey God and could not keep Jesus from my patients. I was fired and Immanuel left the hospital with me and went to Bible College where he prepared for missionary work. I couldn’t believe what had happened. Psychoanalysis was all I knew; I couldn’t do anything else with my life. If I went to another hospital or another university the same thing would happen. I thought everything was over. Someone suggested that I go to Westminster Theological Seminary where Dr. Jay E. Adams, the author of a number of books on counselling was a professor. I spent the next four years studying at Westminster and working with Dr. Adams at the Christian Counselling Centre. Through this God led us in a very unusual way into something I never would have chosen to do or to be involved in - pastoral ministry. The years have not seen me smiling and happy all the time. Daily breaking and humbling by God has been excruciating in some ways. God had called me to preach his Son and, as Paul of Tarsus put it: "Woe is me if I do not preach the gospel." Through my story I have tried to preach the gospel to you so that you also may come to believe in the God of Abraham, Issac and Jacob and in his Messiah, Jesus. |
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