Unsolved mystery.

ANNA QUINDLEN, FORMER NEW YORK Times columnist, was answering questions after a speech she delivered in Minnesota. She related the story of her 11-year-old son, who had decided that he no longer believed in God.

She explained that she did not overreact but explored his feelings. One day, after he had finished writing and reviewing an essay detailing how he had "made a stand" for this unshakable belief, he hit the wrong key on the computer. The screen went blank-no trace of his essay was left. he boy was beside himself. Quindlen, who had been assisting him, told him not to panic and used the undo function of the computer. The essay appeared instantly. Without missing a beat, her committed atheist son shouted, "Thank you, God!"

Her story certainly brings to mind the cliche at there are no atheists in foxholes. Most of us tend to believe that when people reach the end of their ability to cope or are placed in a situation at they cannot hope to control, they will automatically turn to God for help, even if they previously professed to lack a belief in God's existence. When we witness this behavior in others, we generally react in one of two ways. The most likely reaction is to label the person a hypocrite. A ore charitable reaction is to say that God works mysterious ways.

The first reaction blames the individual and completely ignores the nature of God. The second reaction focuses on God while discounting the person to whom God's power is directed-God an work this "magic" on anyone of any nature or attitude.

But there is another way to look at this situation. It is a view that I have rarely taken, but upon reflection, I am forced to admit that the truth of the matter is clear: the interaction of God reaching out to me and my belief in God is a mystery. It is a mystery that is at the very core of my existence. It affects all my thoughts about the nature of God and the nature of human beings.

CONVENTIONAL THEOLOGY IS THAT GOD invites, and we are free to accept or reject that invitation. This belief is reflected in the familiar image of Jesus knocking at a door that has no outside handle. He is constantly there, eager to come in, but we must complete the interaction by opening the door. Only we are in control of the doorknob on the inside of our hearts. Saint John the Evangelist puts the same proposition in another way when he says that God loved us first.

I have no real quarrel with either example, and I certainly do not presume to state that either is untrue on its face. But an examination of my life tells me that the matter is more complicated - it begins when t look at the very instant I choose to accept God. The mystery is present at the moment that I turn the doorknob. What prompts me to act in that way? Is it a moment when God is not acting upon me? Experience tells me that God is not entirely absent from my decision to believe. Somewhere, in some way I can never hope to understand, God acts upon me in ways that go beyond invitation. Why would I ever conclude, using solely my powers of logic and observation, that a being powerful enough to create everything exists and, even more incredibly, loves me?

An honest appraisal of my life would normally cause me to conclude just the opposite. Very little makes sense; no one seems to really care. But I rarely draw that conclusion. I, and millions of others like me, choose to open that door and stare confidently into the face of One who is improbable. There must be something deep in our nature that impels us to make that choice.

If I follow that line of thinking, I must assume that the Creator has placed the ability to make that unlikely choice in our very nature. And if that assumption is true, then I cannot believe that God is entirely absent when we exercise our free will. Neither God nor I are alternately in control. Rather, we interact constantly. His invitation springs from my essence; my response is guided by his love. There is no leader-follower relationship. Our interaction is a mystery; our relationship is too complex to categorize.

It feels like God actually becomes one with me. God's knowledge of my weaknesses and strengths is my self-assessment. My memories are God's experience. The unique way that God chooses to approach me is the only invitation that 1, in my uniqueness, am able to accept. God is a suitor with an unfair advantage he has confidential information. But he is not an "inside trader" solely because he is my creator.

It always seems to me that a creator can never fully understand the point of view of its creature. Further, a creature can never be fully at ease with its creator. The imbalance of power between them is too great. When I explore my ties with God, I realize this cannot be simply a creator-creature relationship because God has indeed become one with me. He has achieved this merger, not through the power he wielded as creator, but by relinquishing his power and becoming a creature. God does understand me. He is me - because he was made flesh. The enormous sacrifice God undertook, the yielding to forces that he himself had unleashed-these are the essence of the Incarnation.

SOMETHING IN THE NATURE OF GOD MADE IT necessary for him to become human. He is driven by a passion to relate to his creatures in intimate ways. He is driven by the only motivation powerful enough to overcome resistance to unknown change. Love is the impetus. Love is the reason. And love is the result.

Scripture says it so plainly that we tend to forget the power behind the words, "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son." When I examine the time? I have turned to God and answered the invitation, I know that a creator with a love deep enough to assume my very nature is the only creator to whom I could ever respond.

So I think again of Quindlen's son, and I reexamine the two initial reactions to his spontaneous gratitude. The first reaction is wrong - young Quindlen is not a hypocrite. The second reaction is incomplete - God did not wield unwanted influence over him.

There is a third, more complex view. God and the young man are intertwined. The boy spontaneously thanks God because, whether he admits it or not, God is an integral part of him. God, having been human, understands the young atheist's doubts. After all, God's son was once an 11-year-old boy.