It
is perfectly appropriate for a pastoral counselor to suggest that God is
present in counseling, offering redemptive hope that helps remove obstacles
blocking the way to wholeness.
In
some contexts, a pastoral counselor’s freedom to invoke God’s blessing through
prayer is part of the counseling process. This is especially true in pastoral
ministry, spiritual direction, and church-based counseling centers. On the
other hand, there are contexts in which it is unwise to mention God in a
personal way, such as the name of Christ.
Even
so, there is a considerable range of opportunity where spirituality is welcomed
covertly, if not overtly, and this may be where a significant number of the new
generation of pastoral counselors find themselves.
The Spirit Moves Where The Spirit Wills
As a professor at a
graduate school of psychology, I found myself in one of these places. While affiliated
with a Christian denomination, the university reached out to students of all races and
faiths, and pursued academic excellence within a context that celebrated and
extended the spiritual and ethical ideals of the Christian faith.
Yet
Christian witness or prayer was not acceptable in the classroom. I
understood and accepted this. Nevertheless, some students knew of my relationship
to Christ, and perhaps because of that saw me more as a pastoral counselor than
a professional psychologist. Greg was such a student.
Following
a class one afternoon, Greg called me aside in the hallway and said, “Dan, can
we talk privately?”
“Sure,”
I said. I opened the door to an empty classroom and we sat down in two desks.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Well,”
he said, looking suddenly unsure, “I just wanted to get something off my chest
and you’re the one I’ve chosen.”
“I’m
honored. Go ahead.”
“My
life has fallen to pieces. Ever since elementary school, I had only one goal in
life and it didn’t matter what it cost to get there.”
“That’s
unusual clarity and single-mindedness. What was the goal?”
“To
become a National Football League player. And finally, last spring, I was
recruited.”
“That’s
great news. Congratulations.”
Greg’s
face turned to stone and he shook his head. “That’s when it happened,” he said.
“I had a great spring training and a strong start to the season. But then I got
hepatitis.” His eyes watered and voice broke. “They hospitalized me. My skin
turned yellow.”
“I
am so sorry,” I said.
“It
gets worse. The doctor said there was permanent liver damage—that I could never
play football again….”
We
sat searching each others' eyes for a long minute. I let my face express the
shock and sorrow I felt.
Finally,
placing my hand over my heart, I said, “This is truly tragic. How have you
possibly coped?”
“That’s
just it,” he said. “I haven’t. I withdrew from my wife to the point where we
hardly talk anymore. I withdrew from the players because it was excruciating to
watch them working out. And I withdrew from God because I don’t believe he
exists any more.”
Another
silence.
Now
I knew why Greg had chosen me. Paradoxically, he had sought out a person of
faith in order to confess his loss of faith.
“Greg,
I believe you of all people have every right to challenge God’s existence,” I said.
“Do you care to share more about that?”
He
nodded. “Yes. I always thought it was God calling me into professional
football. I asked his help all the times I felt crushed by opposition or numb
with pain. I thought he had big plans for me. And then when I finally became a
pro and got my uniform and saw my name on the locker, he gave me hepatitis.
What kind of God does that to a child he loves!”
I
suddenly felt as helpless as Greg did. I had no answer for God. It would have
seemed trite to quote a scripture or ask if he still attended church. At times
like this I can wonder why I got into counseling in the first place. Some problems
seem too profound to fix.
“So
that’s why I came to you today,” said Greg, breaking through my internal
anguish. “I want you to pray for me.”
My
mind became a freight train:
Oh-my-goodness-what-have-I-got-myself-into-I’m-not-supposed-to-witness-to-faith-in-Christ-here!
Fortunately
another voice, a calmer one with a different message, whispered within me: Dan, it’s okay to offer a healing prayer
when a person asks for spiritual help.
“All right, Greg,” I
said. I bowed my head. “Dear Father, you’ve heard Greg pour out his pain and confusion
today. All his hopes have been destroyed; all his dreams shattered. Can you
please, in your brilliant capacity for resurrection, restore this young man to
a life filled with meaning and fulfillment? I praise you and thank you in
Jesus’ name, Amen.”
I looked up, but Greg
still had his head in his hands.
“Greg,” I said
gently. “Would you like to say a prayer too?”
He hesitated. Then he
said, “Oh Lord, I am so sorry I have forsaken you. I never even said goodbye. I
just tightened my heart and shut you out. Just like I shut out Marilyn. And all
you both ever did was try to love me and help me through life. Please come back
to me. Please don’t leave me all alone….”
My heart caught. I
sat waiting for Greg to finish the prayer. But he didn’t, at least not that I
could see. Instead, he began to tremble. I thought immediately, Oh no, I’ve done it now…I pushed this
student over the edge…he’s having a panic attack.
The trembling
increased and so did my heart rate, until Greg suddenly sat bolt upright and
practically shouted, “I feel him, Dan. I feel God. He is right here with us!”
It took a moment for
me to understand that this was no psychotic break, but a glorious visitation by
the Mighty Counselor himself.
I watched as Greg
looked upward, directly over my head, beaming like a child chucked under the
chin—a six-foot-six two hundred and fifty pound young man being hugged and
loved by his heavenly Father.

When we did finish up
our impromptu session that day, I left campus appreciating more than ever that
we are not alone as pastoral counselors. We are not left fending for ourselves
with mere counseling theories and clinical techniques. The Holy Spirit moves
where the Spirit wills, and that especially means moving where people are
broken and needing one called alongside to help them, one like you or me and
the Lord.
Greg later told me that God had led him to become a football coach, a calling that he greatly enjoyed in service of his Lord and Savior.