A Word Fitly Spoken

In my pride, I once thought that only a miracle had sufficient power to bring me to my knees before Christ. An event so utterly significant and supernatural in origin that it could only be ascribed to the hand of God Himself - perhaps a vision would do the trick, or surviving a catastrophic motorcycle accident. An event that was unexplainable and inescapable - a miracle. Though, in the end, the way that Christ saved me was in reality far simpler - and far more miraculous - than I ever could have imagined.

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Ten years ago, the Lord saw it fit to finally bring me to Himself - “as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me” (1 Corinthians 15:8). Having just turned sixteen, I found myself in Virginia for the week during what my church called ‘Eastern Camp’.

Eastern Camp ran once a year in the month of July at a university campus that the church rented in Harrisonburg, Virginia. Unlike many church camps, Eastern Camp was by no means limited to the youth and children. Rather, it was a week that entire families across our church’s denomination - spanning Canada, the U.S., and even Europe - took off during the summer. And, quite like many other church camps, Eastern Camp was filled with all manner of activities: early mornings of Bible study, forums for teens and adults, choirs, a myriad of sports to fill free time with, lots of food, all ending with nights that went ever so late, only for it to all begin once again early the next day.

And, like other church camps, there was always the heavy expectation that many youth would come to Christ during the week of Eastern Camp. At the time, I was acutely aware of this annual reality, so much so that I heavily debated whether or not I would even attend camp that year. Yet there I was. Whether it was for the sports, the friends, or something else that has escaped my memory entirely, I was at camp that year. I had an appointment to keep, one that had been set a very, very long time ago.

Whatever my own personal motivations for attending camp that year may have been, this much I remember for certain: I had no desire to know God or to be known by Him. I would become a Christian, or so I thought, on my own terms and at a time that best suited me. I grew up in the church and rubbed shoulders with the truth all my life and yet it was clear that I truly believed less than an iota of it. At best, I had an intellectual grasp on the truths that the Bible presented, with no real interest whatsoever in ever knowing the God who made me or living in obedience to Him. I knew there was a God and that He was indeed the One that the Bible spoke of; but then again, so do the demons - “You believe that God is One; you do well. Even the demons believe - and shudder!” (James 2:19). 

For that matter, I believed in Heaven and Hell as well. Only, I foolishly supposed that I would be allowed to eke out enough of an existence in the pleasures of this world before ‘becoming’ a Christian. Once I had my fill, I would become a follower of Christ, if only to escape the horrors of Hell - a reality that was, curiously enough, always in the back of my mind. Indeed, there was a sense in which the terrifying truths of Hell were far more palpable to my senses than God Himself, His Word, and His love ever was.

I say all of this to make one single point excruciatingly clear: I did not want to become a Christian, and I did not want to know the Lord - at best, I just wanted some eternal fire insurance. That was, of course, before the Lord revealed Himself to me.

For fear of speaking too much from the mind and too little from my own heart, I will explain what happened next as simply as I’m able. 

Nestled neatly somewhere in the middle of the week, just after one of the evening sermons, He came for me. I do not remember the exact words that were spoken, or the passage that was preached, but this much I do know: the Gospel was shared. Indeed, the Word of the Lord was fitly spoken that night, and it accomplished its purpose.

I remember that, within a moment, a sudden dread passed over my soul. Though I had always believed in Hell, I at no point thought - much less believed - that I was a sinner who was justly worthy of all its horrors. For the first time in my life, I suddenly saw myself as I truly was; not as a young man who had his life before him - one who would someday believe in Jesus - but as a sinner who was in direct and willful enmity with the holy, holy, holy God of the universe. It was only upon later reading Jonathan Edwards’ Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God that I have been able to rightly capture my feelings in that moment:

“The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked; His wrath towards you burns like fire; He is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in His sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in His eyes as the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have offended Him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince; and yet ’tis nothing but His hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment.”

At the very heart of this dread was the Lord Himself. A tremendous sense of horror and a tremendous sense of God flooded my soul. For the first time in my little vapor of a life I did not fear Hell only; my soul trembled before Him who alone was able and just to cast me there. 

However, coupled with this dread and fear was a kind of beauty; a solid, tangible, dreadful beauty that spoke softly to me in the very midst of my fears. Suddenly, I saw Him whom I had only heard about all my life, Him who I had spent all my days running from - He was there, as though He were right beside me. The foolishness of my life thus far, the weight of my sin, instantaneously became so utterly clear - I no longer just wanted to escape the horrors of Hell, but I wanted with all my soul to know Him and be with Him. Simply put, I saw Him as beautiful, as supremely beautiful. Suddenly every whisper about Him that I had heard all my life made total and complete sense. At that moment, there was no further deliberation in my soul, no hesitation or tarrying; I simply cried out to Him, confessing that I was a sinner and asking that He would forgive me, that He would make me clean with His blood and bring me into relationship with Himself, no matter the cost.

Though I had grown up in the church, my understanding of God up until this point was about an inch deep and less than an inch wide. But in that moment, however bitterly weak my theology may have been, I was given enough sense to cast myself upon the Lord Jesus; looking nowhere else and to no one else but God Himself for mercy. 

What came next could only be described as a great calm - “And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7). Not merely an emotion, but true peace; a peace that was secured by the finished work of the Lord Jesus on the cross for me; a peace that displaced the dread and horror that was there only a moment ago; a peace that can only come to pass when a creature finally comes into friendship with the Creator who made it. Just as Edwards gave utterance to my horror and dread, John Newton’s hymn “Amazing Grace” gave words to my joy:

“’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, / And grace my fears relieved; / How precious did that grace appear / The hour I first believed.”

All of this, from beginning to end, took place over the course of mere moments. Yet there I was, a new man entirely - and I knew it. For sixteen years I bucked and reared against the Lord Jesus, and yet, in the span of only a few seconds, He did more for me than eternity itself will be able to tell.

Sitting there alone in that dark auditorium, overwhelmed with joy and emotion, a single scene entered my mind. I cannot say why I thought of this particular scene, but for some mysterious reason my mind was taken to the book of Exodus, right when Moses and the people of Israel crossed through the midst of the Red Sea. Only, none of these were featured in the scene that suddenly flooded my mind. No, all I saw was this: a wall of water crowded my vision, like a wave, hundreds of feet high, replete with every variety of blue and green, dazzling colors of turquoise, emerald, and aquamarine; and standing before this otherworldly wave was a single creature - a white horse. The horse drove up the sandy seabed with its hooves as it turned this way and that, frantically trying to escape the roar and might of the sea that was to come descending upon it at any moment - only, the sea did not fall, and the horse did not perish.

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In the end, it was not a vision of Heaven exploding upon my senses or surviving a catastrophic motorcycle accident that brought me to Christ. No, it only took Christ Himself; no other methods or devices were necessary. 

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it” (Isaiah 55:10-11).

My conversion was at once the most simple and miraculous event in the universe that evening. I was blind, and now I see; I was dead, and now I am alive - I could not have imagined such a miracle. So it is with all of us who have come to know and be known by the Lord, no matter how simple or miraculous our conversion may have been. You were raised from the dead, dear Christian - that is a feat attributable to God alone.

I never wanted to be a Christian, and I never wanted to know the Lord Jesus Christ. Had I been given a thousand lifetimes, I would have denied Him in each and every one if it were up to me. But that night, Christ made it abundantly clear to me that I did not choose Him, He chose me - “You did not choose me, but I chose you” (John 15:16). Jesus, with that same voice by which He crafted the cosmos and raised Lazarus from the dead - “Lazarus, come out!” - He raised me also. Oh, if the Lord were not speaking to Lazarus only, would not the entire grave have been emptied!

I thank the Lord that when I stood broken before the torrents and howling winds of His majesty, He did not consume me. That great wall of turquoise, emerald, and aquamarine did not devour me, it washed me - He made me clean with His own blood. I stood, and yet stand forevermore, white as snow before the radiance of His glory, as a white horse galloping upon the seashore.

I never wanted to become a Christian - but now, give me ten-thousand lives and I will live each and every one for Him, and Him alone.

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Photo by Silas Baisch, Unsplash