My workshop lecturer was a young lady who came from the same faith background as I did, and we instantly connected in heart. Very quietly, and with much insight and wisdom, she set out to explain the Divine Principle.
It was Saturday afternoon. She had finished two lectures: “Principles of Creation” and “The Fall of Man,” and now was in the middle of the lecture, “The Mission of Jesus.” This was something most interesting to me, as I loved Jesus very much. I doubted there was much she could explain to me about Jesus’ mission that I didn’t already know, having read the New Testament many, many times and having participated in literally hundreds of Bible study sessions. Still, I consider Jesus to be very much my personal Lord and Savior, and was always interested in talking about him.
Then she started talking about John the Baptist and had an interesting angle on his life, one I had never heard before. But she backed up everything she said with evidence from the Bible. It was a bit unsettling for me to learn this other perspective on the prophet’s life and work.
She went into great detail about Jesus’ mission, and how God had prepared His chosen people for thousands of years to love, follow and accept Jesus as the messiah. Using Jesus’ words and actions, she illustrated how intensely Jesus wanted people to understand his mission and believe him. She made history come to life, and I understood more deeply than I ever had before how great was Jesus’ anguish when he wept over Jerusalem and lamented how he had wanted to gather his believers under his wing, as a hen gathers her chicks. She gave a deep explanation of the prayer of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, of asking that the way of crucifixion be reconsidered, but in the end offering himself as a complete sacrifice to God’s will.
Through the lecture, I understood something I never had before. I understood that the anguish of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane was entirely without selfish motive. Jesus’ tears in the garden had nothing to do with a last-minute struggle with his h u m a n i t y. Intuitively, this explanation just seemed right to me.
Then she came to the conclusion that shocked me out of my mind—that Jesus’ crucifixion was not God’s original plan for Jesus. He was not sent here to die. He came to save us by living and demonstrating by his own example, how to embody God’s standards as a brother, a husband and a father.
“What?! Did you say Jesus didn’t come to die? No way!” I was shocked. I couldn’t believe it.
I stood up suddenly and said, “I have to go pray.” They were surprised that I was leaving, but I didn’t care. I went upstairs to the bedroom where I had slept the night before and locked the door behind me. I wanted to be alone.
I got down on my knees and I started to pray. I am now forty eight years old, and in retrospect, I have to say that my prayer at that time was the most sincere, most ardent and the most desperate of my entire life! I remember the prayer as if it were just yesterday that I offered it. “Jesus! Jesus! Can this be true? Could it be true that my Lord and Savior did not come to shed his blood for me? How could this be? Jesus,” I cried aloud, “I have to know if this is true! I will not move from where I am kneeling now until you tell me what is true. I will not eat. I will not sleep until you tell me what is true! It doesn’t matter how long it takes for you to answer my prayer—I will stay here, at this spot until you answer my prayer!
“Jesus, if these people’s teaching is false and you were sent by God to die on the cross, then I promise you that I will bring this movement down with my bare hands. Whatever it takes, I promise to bring them to the dust. We can’t let falsehood be spreading like this through these workshops.
“If, however, this teaching is correct . . . If you did not come intending to die for our sins, then the world must know, and I will share this with everyone I know, and especially all my friends who have committed their lives to you and who love you.”
By this time, I was praying and crying so hard that I felt like my insides were pouring out my eyeballs. I was sweating and praying so intensely that time stopped for me, and all that existed in the world was my desire to know the truth. I have no idea how long I was on my knees but I know that I was very loudly wailing in prayer, and the bed at which I was kneeling was sopping wet, as were my clothes and the floor around me. I begged Jesus to let me know the truth about his mission. I had to know! I told him I couldn’t live another day without knowing. “Did you come to die? Or didn’t you?” I demanded. “I have to know. Is their teaching true or not?”
I would not budge until I knew the truth. I was exhausted from crying so hard and so long, but I would not get off my knees until I clearly knew the answer to my prayer. I had been choking because I had been crying so hard. Finally, I was trying just to get my breath back. Then I heard something . . . a voice... I heard a voice.
“It is true.”
I stayed still as a statue on my knees. I waited . . . Did I actually hear what I thought I had heard?
“It is true.”
I looked behind me. I was alone in the room. I felt the voice came from within me, not from outside, but I looked just to be sure. I had never ever before heard a voice like this. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. I was shocked to hear that the voice was saying what I didn’t expect.
“It is true.”
Hearing the voice the third time, I knew that this was Jesus answering my prayer. “Oh, Lord Jesus! Thank you! Thank you!” Once again I broke into tears as I rejoiced to learn the truth about Jesus’ m i ssion. Once again, I watered the bedspread, the floor and everything around me, but this time the tears were shed in gratitude to know that my Lord and Savior cared enough to answer my prayer. I wanted to shout it from the mountaintop. I wanted to immediately go out and tell all my friends at my church. But how could I help them understand? Well, Jesus would help me
The next day was Easter Sunday. It was the most special Easter for me. I felt so much closer to Jesus than ever before.
From, I Am in This Place, pp. 9-11.