Janice

Betson

Janice Betson lives in Littlehampton, where she is a member of the congregation of All Saints', Wick, a lay minister of communion, helps out on Alpha courses, and does the minutes for a couple of church-related committees. Here is her testimony.

It was 23rd April 1999, and I was in Barcelona, exploring the old part of the city with a friend. She wanted to go in to St Anne's Church.

As we approached the church, a man, a stranger, went in ahead of us. As he went in, he dipped his finger in some water in a niche in the stonework by the door, and made the sign of the Cross on his forehead with it.

We followed him in, and wandered around.

The thought came in to my head: "If you had been there the night Jesus was on trial for his life (before the Sanhedrin), would you have spoken up for him? Whose side would you have been on?" In my mind, I saw myself as a member of the Jewish Council.

Now, I had no doubt whose side I would really have been on - Jesus', but would I have spoken up for him? No. Sadly, I knew that I would not have done so, because I am a coward. The thought came in to my head: "You must make up your mind now. You have had enough time to decide. You can't sit on the fence for ever. You might die tonight - then what would happen to you?"

As we went out again through the door by which we had entered, as we crossed the threshold in to the street, I wavered. "Yes? No? Go on - just do it!"

So I put my forefinger in the water that was in the niche by the door, made the sign of the cross on my forehead, and thought, "I commit myself to Jesus Christ".

As far as I was concerned, that was it. End of the matter. I did not expect anything to happen until I died, and perhaps not then.

To fill in some background, I was middle-aged, female, had not been baptised, and had only been in church for services for weddings and so on, although I did enjoy wandering around empty churches. I had not attended any Christian courses, and no one was trying to convert me. I had learnt about Jesus during RE lessons at school, and had read the Bible right through twice, over the years.

I had believed in God since I was eight, which was when I had first begun to think about it. I thought that Jesus was a good man, a wise man, perhaps a prophet, but was he really God? Lately, I had thought perhaps not, and I had felt sad about that.

The following day, 24th April, we were going to visit the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's weird and wonderful cathedral in the suburbs of Barcelona. We were far too early, and had some time to pass before catching the train, so we were walking aimlessly around the streets of the old quarter. It was soon after eight thirty on the Saturday morning after a public holiday, and nothing was open - except for the door of the old Cathedral, so we went in.

I wandered off on my own, looking at all the statues along the length of the Cathedral. I came to one, on the left hand corner as you go towards the rear wall. I was looking at its feet. I looked up, and as I looked up, it seemed to me that the eyes (the eyes of the statue?) turned and looked straight in to mine.

I was aware of something going out of the top of my head. It started at around chest level, felt as though it was being pulled out by suction at first, then went very fast. It seemed to be replaced by an inrush of a bubbly feeling, as if my blood had turned to champagne. This probably took only a couple of seconds, but it felt to me as if it went on for some time.

My first thought was: "So it's all true then", and I was happy.

My second thought was: "Perhaps I'm ill. Mad even".

My third thought was: "Oh dear, if it's true, then I shall have to tell people, and I don't want to, especially the bit about the statue. I can't".

I suddenly developed a mania for reading the Bible, especially the Gospels, but it was not until Christmas 2000 that I forced myself to go to church. First, I went to a carol service at Chichester Cathedral, which was lovely, then, on Christmas Eve, I heard a bishop on Radio 4 appealing for everyone to go to church that day, even if it was only a quick in and out visit, as it was the Millenium year Christmas Eve. My conscience got the better of me, and I went to the crib service at the local parish church.

Well, after a fitful start, I kept going, and I was baptised on 5th May 2002.

I suppose that, in order to communicate with us, God makes us see, hear or feel whatever he knows will catch out attention.