HOW to be ELIGIBLE for THE KINGDOM OF GOD
"If live men know what dead men know, the whole world would be Born Again Christians." (Don Blackwell, World Video Bible School)
We are born naturally to die physically and our soul will go to hell if nothing is done.
In order to be eligible to enter heaven (referred to Third Heaven where God resides), we will need to be:
- BORN AGAIN (where pass Sin Records are wiped clean by the Blood of Jesus and Holy Spirit comes to live within us)
- REPENTANCE & TRANSFORMATION (Give up our Sins and Righteous Living or Be Holy by keeping God's commandments enabled by the Holy Spirit)
- KEEP THE FAITH till the end.
BORN AGAIN is a gift from God directly and no one can give it to us. However, after being BORN AGAIN, something happens to our heart. It is now soft and able to hear the guidance from the HOLY SPIRIT. At this stage, we are to live in TRUE HUMILITY and TRANSFORMATION from the guidance of HOLY SPIRIT. We are to keep this daily till our journey on earth ends.
We should live in the liberating knowledge that our standing with God depended not on our performance but on Christ's finished work which is the rest promised by JESUS. Freedom from striving and our activities to serve should flow from gratitude of our salvation. TRANSFORMATION does not happen overnight and it is a lifelong process of surrendering pride and embracing humility.
"True humility isn't self-deprecation. It's self-forgetfulness. It's being so captivated by JESUS CHRIST that we cease to be preoccupied with ourselves - either positively or negatively. We don't think less of ourselves but simply think of ourselves less."
"Many pray for blessings but resist refinement. They want comfort more than character, ease more than transformation. They don't understand that Jesus'greatest blessing is conforming them to Jesus image, even when that process involves suffering."
The world has distorted the truth about Jesus and deceived many with lies. Jesus was not born on 25 December and has not come to make anyone rich with earthly wealth as twisted to serve human greed. Jesus Christ is the Son of God. He did not come to lead political movements or to be just a prophet. He came to redeem humanity—to bring them back to God the Father and to offer humanity eternal life.”
For those serving in ministries, note that you are not called to be famous but called to be faithful—to serve others, to love them, and to point them to Jesus Christ. And sometimes, the most powerful ministries happen in the places no one sees. It’s in the quiet moments—when you choose to love your neighbor, to forgive the person who wronged you, to help the person in need even when no one else will. That is what God cares about.
BORN AGAIN is like getting a PASSPORT to Heaven but we muss keep it VALID continuously which is a lifelong process of TRANSFORMATION to the image of Jesus Christ.
Click Here (OTHER LANGUAGES) for other languages
"If live men know what dead men know, the whole world would be Born Again Christians." (Don Blackwell, World Video Bible School)
We are born naturally to die physically and our soul will go to hell if nothing is done.
In order to be eligible to enter heaven (referred to Third Heaven where God resides), we will need to be:
- BORN AGAIN (where pass Sin Records are wiped clean by the Blood of Jesus and Holy Spirit comes to live within us)
- REPENTANCE & TRANSFORMATION (Give up our Sins and Righteous Living or Be Holy by keeping God's commandments enabled by the Holy Spirit)
- KEEP THE FAITH till the end.
BORN AGAIN is a gift from God directly and no one can give it to us. However, after being BORN AGAIN, something happens to our heart. It is now soft and able to hear the guidance from the HOLY SPIRIT. At this stage, we are to live in TRUE HUMILITY and TRANSFORMATION from the guidance of HOLY SPIRIT. We are to keep this daily till our journey on earth ends.
We should live in the liberating knowledge that our standing with God depended not on our performance but on Christ's finished work which is the rest promised by JESUS. Freedom from striving and our activities to serve should flow from gratitude of our salvation. TRANSFORMATION does not happen overnight and it is a lifelong process of surrendering pride and embracing humility.
"True humility isn't self-deprecation. It's self-forgetfulness. It's being so captivated by JESUS CHRIST that we cease to be preoccupied with ourselves - either positively or negatively. We don't think less of ourselves but simply think of ourselves less."
"Many pray for blessings but resist refinement. They want comfort more than character, ease more than transformation. They don't understand that Jesus'greatest blessing is conforming them to Jesus image, even when that process involves suffering."
The world has distorted the truth about Jesus and deceived many with lies. Jesus was not born on 25 December and has not come to make anyone rich with earthly wealth as twisted to serve human greed. Jesus Christ is the Son of God. He did not come to lead political movements or to be just a prophet. He came to redeem humanity—to bring them back to God the Father and to offer humanity eternal life.”
For those serving in ministries, note that you are not called to be famous but called to be faithful—to serve others, to love them, and to point them to Jesus Christ. And sometimes, the most powerful ministries happen in the places no one sees. It’s in the quiet moments—when you choose to love your neighbor, to forgive the person who wronged you, to help the person in need even when no one else will. That is what God cares about.
BORN AGAIN is like getting a PASSPORT to Heaven but we muss keep it VALID continuously which is a lifelong process of TRANSFORMATION to the image of Jesus Christ.
Click Here (OTHER LANGUAGES) for other languages
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We shall discuss in more detail about
Near Death Experiences, Christians in hell) |
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(1) BORN AGAIN
Jesus is clear that we have to be Born Again if we were to enter the Kingdom of God.
John 3: 5 (KJV)
Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.
John shows that The vital signs of the new birth are faith in Jesus Christ, love for others, and obedience to God’s commandments.
7 Signs of Christians that are NOT Born Again:
First Sign: No Genuine Transformation in Your Life
The first sign you're not truly born again is a lack of transformation in your life. If you said a prayer, got baptized, or made a decision for Christ, but your life still looks exactly like the world’s—same habits, same sins, same priorities—something’s wrong. Being born again isn’t just a ticket to heaven; it’s a new way of living.
Think about the Apostle Paul. Before he was born again, he was Saul, persecuting Christians. But after his encounter with Jesus on the Damascus road, his life was radically different. He went from hating Christians to becoming one of the greatest apostles. That’s what regeneration looks like.
Galatians 5:22-23 tells us the Holy Spirit produces fruit in a born-again believer’s life: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, and more. If these fruits are missing and you're still ruled by anger, selfishness, or pride, it’s time to examine your heart.
In the early church, new believers were often called "new creatures" because their transformation was so obvious. They sold their possessions to help the poor, forgave their enemies, and faced martyrdom with joy. Their lives screamed, "Jesus has changed me!" Does your life scream that same message?
Second Sign: No Conviction of Sin
Here’s the second sign: If you can sin without feeling convicted, you may not be truly born again. When you're born again, the Holy Spirit moves into your heart. John 16:8 says the Spirit will convict the world concerning sin, righteousness, and judgment.
This means when you mess up—when you lie, lust, or lash out in anger—the Holy Spirit tugs at your heart, saying, "This isn’t who you are anymore." But if you can sin comfortably with no remorse or desire to change, that’s a warning sign.
In the Old Testament, King David sinned terribly with Bathsheba, but when confronted, his heart broke. Psalm 51 is his cry for forgiveness: "Create in me a clean heart, O God." A born-again heart hates sin because it grieves God.
The Greek word for convict in John 16:8 is elencho, which means to expose or reprove. It’s like the Holy Spirit shines a flashlight on your soul, revealing what needs to change. If that flashlight feels absent, ask yourself: Have I truly surrendered to Christ, or am I just playing the part of a Christian?
Third Sign: No Love for God’s Word
The third sign is a lack of love for God’s Word. If you're truly born again, the Bible isn’t just a dusty book on your shelf—it’s your lifeline. Psalm 119:97 says, "Oh how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day."
When you're born again, the Holy Spirit gives you a hunger to know God through His Word. Think about it: If you're in love with someone, you want to read their letters, hear their voice, and know their heart. God’s Word is His love letter to you.
But if you rarely open your Bible, or when you do, it feels like a chore—that’s a sign something’s off. In the early church, believers risked their lives to copy and share Scripture. They treasured it because it revealed Jesus to them.
Hebrews 4:12 says, "The word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword." When you're born again, Scripture doesn’t just inform you—it transforms you. It challenges your selfishness, comforts your pain, and guides your steps. If you're avoiding it, you're avoiding the very voice of God.
Fourth Sign: No Desire for Fellowship with Other Believers
If you have no desire to fellowship with other Christians, you might not be truly born again. When you're born again, you're not just saved as an individual—you're adopted into God’s family.
Hebrews 10:24-25 urges us, "Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together." Think about the early church in Acts 2:42-47. They didn’t just meet on Sundays—they shared meals, prayed together, and lived like family.
Why? Because the Holy Spirit knits born-again hearts together. If you’d rather stay isolated or feel no connection to other believers, that’s a red flag.
In the first few centuries, Christians faced intense persecution, yet they gathered in secret to worship and encourage each other. Their love for one another was so strong that pagans said, "See how they love one another!" Does your heart long for that kind of community, or do you feel fine on your own?
Fifth Sign: A Life Without Prayer
Prayer is the heartbeat of a born-again believer. It’s not just asking God for stuff—it’s communion with Him, pouring out your heart and listening for His voice. Jesus modeled this in Luke 5:16, where it says He would withdraw to desolate places and pray.
If Jesus, the Son of God, needed prayer, how much more do we? If your prayer life is nonexistent or just a rushed ritual, that’s a sign you might not be truly born again. A born-again heart craves connection with God.
The Greek word for prayer (proseuché) implies an earnest, ongoing conversation. It’s not a one-way monologue—it’s a relationship.
Prayer isn’t just about talking to God—it’s about aligning your will with His. When you're born again, you start praying like Jesus did in Gethsemane: "Not my will, but Yours be done." If your prayers are all about your wants and never about God’s glory, that’s a clue your heart hasn’t been fully surrendered.
Sixth Sign: No Burden for the Lost
The sixth sign you may not be truly born again is if you have no burden for the lost—those who don’t know Jesus. When you're born again, the Holy Spirit fills you with God’s heart, and God’s heart beats for the salvation of the world.
John 3:16 says, "For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son." If God loves the world that much, shouldn’t we, as His children, care about those who are far from Him?
Think about Jesus’ life: He didn’t just hang out with the religious elite—He sought out sinners, tax collectors, and outcasts. In Luke 19:10, Jesus says, "The Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost."
A born-again believer feels a tug in their heart for friends, family, or even strangers who don’t know Christ. It’s not about guilt—it’s about love. But if you can go through life without ever thinking about the eternal destiny of others, that’s a warning sign.
Paul was so burdened for the lost that he said in Romans 9:3 he’d be willing to be cut off from Christ if it meant others could be saved. That’s the kind of passion the Holy Spirit ignites in a born-again heart.
Ask yourself: When was the last time I prayed for someone to come to Christ or shared my faith? If the answer is never, it’s time to examine your heart.
Seventh Sign: Living for Self, Not for God’s Glory
The seventh sign is one of the most subtle but dangerous: If you're living for yourself and not for God’s glory, you may not be truly born again. When you're born again, your life’s purpose shifts. It’s no longer about your dreams, your comfort, or your success—it’s about glorifying God in everything you do.
1 Corinthians 10:31 says, "Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God." This is a heart check:
The Greek word for glory (doxa) means splendor, honor, or radiance. When we live for God’s glory, we reflect His beauty and character to the world. But if your life is all about your glory—your achievements, your image, your comfort—you’re missing the mark of a regenerated life.
Jesus said in Matthew 16:24, "If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me." Self-denial is the hallmark of a born-again believer.
The Role of Repentance in Being Born Again
None of these transformations happen without repentance. Acts 3:19 says, "Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out." Repentance isn’t just saying sorry for your sins—it’s a complete change of mind and direction. The Greek word (metanoia) literally means to change your mind. When you're born again, you don’t just feel bad about sin—you turn away from it and toward God. It’s like doing a 180° turn on the road of life. If you're still clinging to certain sins, justifying them, or refusing to let go, you haven’t fully repented—and that could mean you're not truly born again.
Repentance isn’t a one-time event—it’s a lifestyle. A born-again believer is constantly allowing the Holy Spirit to search their heart, as David prayed in Psalm 139:23-24: "Search me, O God, and know my heart… See if there be any grievous way in me."
The Evidence of Faith in a Born-Again Life
Hebrews 11:6 says, "Without faith, it is impossible to please God." When you're truly born again, your life is marked by active, living faith—not just believing in God, but trusting Him enough to obey even when it’s hard.
Think about Abraham in Genesis 22: God asked him to sacrifice his son Isaac, and Abraham obeyed, trusting God’s promise. That’s the kind of faith a born-again heart produces.
James 2:17 says, "Faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead." This doesn’t mean you earn salvation by works (Ephesians 2:8-9), but true faith produces works. A born-again believer’s life shows evidence of their faith through love, obedience, and service.
Faith isn’t just about trusting God for salvation—it’s about trusting Him in every area of life. Are you trusting God with your finances, relationships, and future? Or are you relying on your own strength?
A born-again heart says, "God, I trust You even when I can’t see the outcome." That’s the faith that transforms lives and moves mountains.
Final Call to Surrender
Being born again isn’t about checking a box or relying on a moment in your past—it’s about a living, vibrant relationship with Jesus Christ that transforms every part of your life.
If you’ve recognized any of these signs in yourself—no transformation, no conviction, no love for God’s Word, or a life focused on self instead of God’s glory—don’t despair. This is your moment to get real with God.
Jesus stands at the door of your heart, knocking (Revelation 3:20). He’s not here to condemn you, but to save you, to make you new, and to give you a life of purpose and joy in Him.
The question isn’t whether you were baptized or raised in church—it’s this: Is your heart fully surrendered to Jesus today?
Right now, I invite you to pause and get alone with God. Examine your heart. Ask the Holy Spirit to show you the truth. If you’ve never truly been born again, surrender your life to Jesus today. Repent, believe, and follow Him.
If you’re a believer but you’ve drifted, recommit your heart to living for His glory.
Let’s live lives that shout, "I am born again, and Jesus is my King!"
Reflect on this question: As you look at your life today, can you honestly say, "I am a new creation in Christ"? If not, what’s holding you back from surrendering everything to Him?
First Sign: No Genuine Transformation in Your Life
The first sign you're not truly born again is a lack of transformation in your life. If you said a prayer, got baptized, or made a decision for Christ, but your life still looks exactly like the world’s—same habits, same sins, same priorities—something’s wrong. Being born again isn’t just a ticket to heaven; it’s a new way of living.
Think about the Apostle Paul. Before he was born again, he was Saul, persecuting Christians. But after his encounter with Jesus on the Damascus road, his life was radically different. He went from hating Christians to becoming one of the greatest apostles. That’s what regeneration looks like.
Galatians 5:22-23 tells us the Holy Spirit produces fruit in a born-again believer’s life: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, and more. If these fruits are missing and you're still ruled by anger, selfishness, or pride, it’s time to examine your heart.
In the early church, new believers were often called "new creatures" because their transformation was so obvious. They sold their possessions to help the poor, forgave their enemies, and faced martyrdom with joy. Their lives screamed, "Jesus has changed me!" Does your life scream that same message?
Second Sign: No Conviction of Sin
Here’s the second sign: If you can sin without feeling convicted, you may not be truly born again. When you're born again, the Holy Spirit moves into your heart. John 16:8 says the Spirit will convict the world concerning sin, righteousness, and judgment.
This means when you mess up—when you lie, lust, or lash out in anger—the Holy Spirit tugs at your heart, saying, "This isn’t who you are anymore." But if you can sin comfortably with no remorse or desire to change, that’s a warning sign.
In the Old Testament, King David sinned terribly with Bathsheba, but when confronted, his heart broke. Psalm 51 is his cry for forgiveness: "Create in me a clean heart, O God." A born-again heart hates sin because it grieves God.
The Greek word for convict in John 16:8 is elencho, which means to expose or reprove. It’s like the Holy Spirit shines a flashlight on your soul, revealing what needs to change. If that flashlight feels absent, ask yourself: Have I truly surrendered to Christ, or am I just playing the part of a Christian?
Third Sign: No Love for God’s Word
The third sign is a lack of love for God’s Word. If you're truly born again, the Bible isn’t just a dusty book on your shelf—it’s your lifeline. Psalm 119:97 says, "Oh how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day."
When you're born again, the Holy Spirit gives you a hunger to know God through His Word. Think about it: If you're in love with someone, you want to read their letters, hear their voice, and know their heart. God’s Word is His love letter to you.
But if you rarely open your Bible, or when you do, it feels like a chore—that’s a sign something’s off. In the early church, believers risked their lives to copy and share Scripture. They treasured it because it revealed Jesus to them.
Hebrews 4:12 says, "The word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword." When you're born again, Scripture doesn’t just inform you—it transforms you. It challenges your selfishness, comforts your pain, and guides your steps. If you're avoiding it, you're avoiding the very voice of God.
Fourth Sign: No Desire for Fellowship with Other Believers
If you have no desire to fellowship with other Christians, you might not be truly born again. When you're born again, you're not just saved as an individual—you're adopted into God’s family.
Hebrews 10:24-25 urges us, "Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together." Think about the early church in Acts 2:42-47. They didn’t just meet on Sundays—they shared meals, prayed together, and lived like family.
Why? Because the Holy Spirit knits born-again hearts together. If you’d rather stay isolated or feel no connection to other believers, that’s a red flag.
In the first few centuries, Christians faced intense persecution, yet they gathered in secret to worship and encourage each other. Their love for one another was so strong that pagans said, "See how they love one another!" Does your heart long for that kind of community, or do you feel fine on your own?
Fifth Sign: A Life Without Prayer
Prayer is the heartbeat of a born-again believer. It’s not just asking God for stuff—it’s communion with Him, pouring out your heart and listening for His voice. Jesus modeled this in Luke 5:16, where it says He would withdraw to desolate places and pray.
If Jesus, the Son of God, needed prayer, how much more do we? If your prayer life is nonexistent or just a rushed ritual, that’s a sign you might not be truly born again. A born-again heart craves connection with God.
The Greek word for prayer (proseuché) implies an earnest, ongoing conversation. It’s not a one-way monologue—it’s a relationship.
Prayer isn’t just about talking to God—it’s about aligning your will with His. When you're born again, you start praying like Jesus did in Gethsemane: "Not my will, but Yours be done." If your prayers are all about your wants and never about God’s glory, that’s a clue your heart hasn’t been fully surrendered.
Sixth Sign: No Burden for the Lost
The sixth sign you may not be truly born again is if you have no burden for the lost—those who don’t know Jesus. When you're born again, the Holy Spirit fills you with God’s heart, and God’s heart beats for the salvation of the world.
John 3:16 says, "For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son." If God loves the world that much, shouldn’t we, as His children, care about those who are far from Him?
Think about Jesus’ life: He didn’t just hang out with the religious elite—He sought out sinners, tax collectors, and outcasts. In Luke 19:10, Jesus says, "The Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost."
A born-again believer feels a tug in their heart for friends, family, or even strangers who don’t know Christ. It’s not about guilt—it’s about love. But if you can go through life without ever thinking about the eternal destiny of others, that’s a warning sign.
Paul was so burdened for the lost that he said in Romans 9:3 he’d be willing to be cut off from Christ if it meant others could be saved. That’s the kind of passion the Holy Spirit ignites in a born-again heart.
Ask yourself: When was the last time I prayed for someone to come to Christ or shared my faith? If the answer is never, it’s time to examine your heart.
Seventh Sign: Living for Self, Not for God’s Glory
The seventh sign is one of the most subtle but dangerous: If you're living for yourself and not for God’s glory, you may not be truly born again. When you're born again, your life’s purpose shifts. It’s no longer about your dreams, your comfort, or your success—it’s about glorifying God in everything you do.
1 Corinthians 10:31 says, "Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God." This is a heart check:
- Are you making decisions based on what makes you happy or what honors God?
- Are you chasing worldly success, money, fame, status—or are you seeking first the kingdom of God (Matthew 6:33)?
The Greek word for glory (doxa) means splendor, honor, or radiance. When we live for God’s glory, we reflect His beauty and character to the world. But if your life is all about your glory—your achievements, your image, your comfort—you’re missing the mark of a regenerated life.
Jesus said in Matthew 16:24, "If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me." Self-denial is the hallmark of a born-again believer.
The Role of Repentance in Being Born Again
None of these transformations happen without repentance. Acts 3:19 says, "Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out." Repentance isn’t just saying sorry for your sins—it’s a complete change of mind and direction. The Greek word (metanoia) literally means to change your mind. When you're born again, you don’t just feel bad about sin—you turn away from it and toward God. It’s like doing a 180° turn on the road of life. If you're still clinging to certain sins, justifying them, or refusing to let go, you haven’t fully repented—and that could mean you're not truly born again.
Repentance isn’t a one-time event—it’s a lifestyle. A born-again believer is constantly allowing the Holy Spirit to search their heart, as David prayed in Psalm 139:23-24: "Search me, O God, and know my heart… See if there be any grievous way in me."
The Evidence of Faith in a Born-Again Life
Hebrews 11:6 says, "Without faith, it is impossible to please God." When you're truly born again, your life is marked by active, living faith—not just believing in God, but trusting Him enough to obey even when it’s hard.
Think about Abraham in Genesis 22: God asked him to sacrifice his son Isaac, and Abraham obeyed, trusting God’s promise. That’s the kind of faith a born-again heart produces.
James 2:17 says, "Faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead." This doesn’t mean you earn salvation by works (Ephesians 2:8-9), but true faith produces works. A born-again believer’s life shows evidence of their faith through love, obedience, and service.
Faith isn’t just about trusting God for salvation—it’s about trusting Him in every area of life. Are you trusting God with your finances, relationships, and future? Or are you relying on your own strength?
A born-again heart says, "God, I trust You even when I can’t see the outcome." That’s the faith that transforms lives and moves mountains.
Final Call to Surrender
Being born again isn’t about checking a box or relying on a moment in your past—it’s about a living, vibrant relationship with Jesus Christ that transforms every part of your life.
If you’ve recognized any of these signs in yourself—no transformation, no conviction, no love for God’s Word, or a life focused on self instead of God’s glory—don’t despair. This is your moment to get real with God.
Jesus stands at the door of your heart, knocking (Revelation 3:20). He’s not here to condemn you, but to save you, to make you new, and to give you a life of purpose and joy in Him.
The question isn’t whether you were baptized or raised in church—it’s this: Is your heart fully surrendered to Jesus today?
Right now, I invite you to pause and get alone with God. Examine your heart. Ask the Holy Spirit to show you the truth. If you’ve never truly been born again, surrender your life to Jesus today. Repent, believe, and follow Him.
If you’re a believer but you’ve drifted, recommit your heart to living for His glory.
Let’s live lives that shout, "I am born again, and Jesus is my King!"
Reflect on this question: As you look at your life today, can you honestly say, "I am a new creation in Christ"? If not, what’s holding you back from surrendering everything to Him?
For those interested to know more on the progress of being born again, please read the Near Deatth Experience shared by a sister in Christ.
My name is Laura Robinson, and I'm a 45-year-old nurse at Children's Hospital in Denver, Colorado. What I'm about to share with you is my near-death experience testimony of what happened when Jesus showed me the shocking truth about the Holy Spirit. I literally really saw and experienced something that completely changed my understanding of the Holy Spirit, especially on when exactly the Holy Spirit will come upon a believer. But before we start, please let me know where you're listening from. It will be nice to feel closer, even if we're physically apart. Also, don’t forget to like and comment on what you thought about this Near Death Experience testimony. Let's have a fair and open discussion so we can learn from each other on this channel. Enjoy listening.
It happened on September 12th, 2024. I had just finished a particularly difficult 12-hour shift in the pediatric intensive care unit. We had lost a young patient that day, and I was emotionally drained. I drove home thinking about this little boy's family and how they were coping with their loss. When I got home, David, my husband, was helping our kids with homework while dinner was cooking on the stove. I remember feeling unusually tired, more than just the exhaustion from work. There was this strange pressure in my chest that I had been ignoring for a few days, thinking it was just stress. As I sat down at the dinner table with my family, the pressure became more intense. I excused myself and went to the bathroom, thinking maybe I just needed a moment to collect myself. That's when everything changed. I collapsed in our hallway bathroom, and according to my husband, I stopped breathing. He immediately called 911 and began CPR while our children waited in their bedroom. The paramedics arrived within eight minutes, but I had already been gone for nearly ten minutes. They worked on me for another fifteen minutes before they got my heart beating again.
But during those twenty-five minutes when my body was technically dead, I experienced something that I can only describe as the most real and vivid encounter of my entire life. This is what happened when I died and met Jesus. The moment my spirit left my body, I found myself standing in what I can only describe as the most beautiful place I had ever seen. It wasn't like anything on earth, but somehow it felt more real than any earthly place I had ever been. There was this incredible light all around me, but it wasn't harsh or blinding. It was warm and welcoming, like being embraced by pure love itself. That's when I saw Him walking toward me. I knew immediately it was Jesus, though He didn't look like any painting or image I had ever seen. He was radiant, and His presence filled me with such peace and joy that I started crying tears of pure happiness. When He smiled at me, I felt completely known and completely loved all at the same time.
"Laura, my beloved daughter," He said, "I have brought you here for a very special purpose. There is something I want to show you about my Holy Spirit and how He works in the lives of my children. Are you ready to learn?" I nodded, unable to speak because I was so overwhelmed by His presence. Jesus took my hand, and suddenly we were observing different scenes, like watching movies but being present within them at the same time. "Many of my children do not understand when or how my Holy Spirit comes upon a believer," Jesus began. "They are confused about the signs and the process. Today, I will show you the truth so that you can share it with others."
The first scene Jesus showed me was of a woman kneeling in her living room. She was probably in her thirties, and tears were streaming down her face as she prayed. I could hear her words clearly: "Jesus, I know I'm a sinner. I believe you died for my sins and rose again. Please come into my heart and save me." "Watch carefully, Laura," Jesus said. "This is the moment of true salvation."
As the woman finished her prayer, I saw something incredible happen. A gentle, glowing presence seemed to descend upon her, and I watched as her entire countenance changed. Her face lit up with a joy I had never witnessed before, and there was this sense of peace that seemed to radiate from her. "This is the first sign of my Holy Spirit's presence," Jesus explained. "When someone truly accepts me as their Lord and Savior, my Spirit immediately comes to dwell within them. The first evidence of this is an unshakeable confidence in their salvation. No matter what doubts may come later, deep in their heart, they know they belong to me." Jesus continued, "This confidence is not based on feelings or circumstances, but on my promise. As it says in First John 5:13, 'I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life.' My Spirit bears witness with their spirit that they are children of God, as Romans 8:16 tells us." I watched as the woman stood up from her prayer, and even though she was alone, she had this radiant smile on her face. She looked different, transformed from the inside out.
"But Lord," I asked, "what about people who pray that prayer but don't seem to change?"
Jesus looked at me with such love and said, "Laura, true salvation always results in transformation. If there is no evidence of my Spirit's work, then there was no true repentance and faith. My Spirit does not come to those who merely say words, but to those whose hearts are truly surrendered to me."
The scene changed, and now we were watching a man in his office. I had seen this man before in the previous scene, and Jesus explained that this was the same woman's husband, but this was from six months after her conversion. "Before his wife's salvation, this man was known for his explosive temper," Jesus said. "He would yell at his employees, become furious in traffic, and often took his anger out on his family. But watch what happens now." As we observed, a younger employee came into the man's office with news that a major client had canceled their contract. I expected the man to explode in anger, but instead, he took a deep breath and calmly said, "These things happen. Let's figure out how we can learn from this and do better next time. Are you okay? I know you worked hard on this account." The employee looked shocked by the kind response. After the young man left, I saw the husband bow his head briefly and whisper, "Thank you, Lord, for your patience with me."
"This is the second sign of my Holy Spirit's presence," Jesus explained. "The fruit of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. As Galatians 5:22-23 tells us, these are the natural result of my Spirit working in a person's life. It's not about trying harder to be good, but about yielding to my Spirit's transforming power."
Jesus continued, "When my Spirit dwells in someone, He gradually changes their character to be more like mine. This husband didn't attend anger management classes or use willpower to control his temper. My Spirit simply began producing His fruit in the man's life as he learned to surrender to Him daily."
The scene changed again, and now we were watching a teenage girl at her high school. She was sitting with a group of friends during lunch, and they were talking about weekend plans that involved drinking and other activities that I could tell made the girl uncomfortable. "I think I'm going to pass on Saturday night," the girl said kindly but firmly to her friends. "I've got some family stuff going on." Her friends pressed her, asking why she had been acting differently lately and why she didn't want to have fun anymore. The girl took a breath and said, "Actually, it's not family stuff. The truth is, I gave my life to Jesus a few months ago, and I just don't feel right about some of the things we used to do together. I'm not judging any of you, but I need to make choices that align with what I believe now." One of her friends rolled her eyes, but another girl looked intrigued and asked, "What do you mean you gave your life to Jesus? Like, what does that actually mean?" I watched as this teenage girl began to explain the gospel with such clarity and passion. She wasn't preachy or condescending, but she spoke with confidence about her faith and what Jesus had done for her. By the end of the conversation, two of her friends were asking if they could come to church with her.
"This is the third sign of my Holy Spirit's presence," Jesus told me. "A passion and power for evangelism. When my Spirit dwells in someone, He gives them both the desire and the ability to share the good news of salvation with others." Jesus continued, "Notice that this young girl didn't go to evangelism training or memorize a script. My Spirit gave her the words to say and the courage to say them. As I promised in Luke 12:12, 'The Holy Spirit will teach you at that time what you should say.'"
"But Lord," I asked, "what about believers who seem afraid to share their faith?" "That's a good question, Laura," Jesus replied. "Fear often comes when believers try to evangelize in their own strength rather than relying on my Spirit. When someone is truly filled with my Spirit, evangelism becomes natural, not forced. It flows from their love for me and their love for others."
The next scene was different. We were in a church service, and I could see that some people in the congregation were speaking in what sounded like unknown languages, while others were worshiping in English. I noticed that not everyone was speaking in tongues, and some looked confused or even left out. "This brings us to the fourth sign," Jesus said. "The gift of speaking in tongues. But I want you to understand something very important about this gift."
As we watched, I saw the pastor step up to address the congregation. He explained that speaking in tongues was one of many gifts of the Spirit, but that it wasn't given to every believer, nor was it the most important gift. "As Paul writes in First Corinthians 12:30," the pastor said, "not all speak in tongues. The Spirit distributes gifts as He wills, for the building up of the church. Whether someone speaks in tongues or not does not determine whether they have the Holy Spirit." Jesus nodded approvingly. "Many of my children have been confused about this," He told me. "Speaking in tongues can indeed be a sign of my Spirit's presence, but it is not the only sign, nor is it required for all believers. My Spirit gives different gifts to different people according to His wisdom and for the benefit of the whole body of Christ." Jesus continued, "What matters is not which gifts someone has, but whether they are walking in step with my Spirit and allowing Him to work through them for my glory and the good of others."
The scene changed, and now we were watching a middle-aged man in his home office. He was reading his Bible early in the morning before the rest of his family woke up. As he read, I could see something happening in his spirit—understanding was dawning on his face, and he kept nodding and saying things like "Yes, Lord, I see it now" and "Thank you for showing me this."
After he finished reading, he opened a journal and began writing down what he had learned. Then he got on his knees and prayed, "Lord, help me to live out what you've shown me today. Let your truth transform how I treat my wife and children, how I conduct my business, and how I serve others."
"This is the fifth sign of my Spirit's presence," Jesus explained. "A deep, personal love for me that affects every area of life. When my Spirit dwells in someone, He creates an intimate relationship between that person and me. Everything begins to revolve around this love relationship." Jesus continued, "As I said in John 14:21, 'Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them.' My Spirit creates this love and then sustains it through daily fellowship with me." I watched as the man went about his day, and in every interaction—with his wife, his children, his coworkers, even strangers—I could see his love for Jesus influencing his words and actions. It wasn't forced or artificial; it was natural, flowing from his relationship with Christ.
The next scene showed a group of people studying the Bible together in someone's living room. They were discussing a difficult passage about suffering and God's sovereignty. I watched as different people shared their thoughts, and gradually, understanding seemed to emerge from their discussion. One woman said, "I think I'm starting to understand. It's not that God causes our suffering, but He uses it to make us more like Jesus and to show His glory through our response." An older man nodded and added, "And Romans 8:28 makes more sense now—God works all things together for good for those who love Him. He doesn't say all things are good, but that He works them together for good."
"This is the sixth sign," Jesus told me. "Spiritual understanding and wisdom. My Spirit illuminates the truth of my Word and gives believers discernment to understand spiritual matters and apply biblical principles to their lives." Jesus continued, "As Paul writes in First Corinthians 2:14, 'The person without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God but considers them foolishness, and cannot understand them because they are discerned only through the Spirit.' But when my Spirit dwells in someone, He opens their spiritual eyes to understand my truth." I was amazed as I watched this group continue their discussion. Even when they disagreed on some points, they did so with love and respect, always seeking to understand God's Word more clearly rather than trying to prove themselves right.
The final scene Jesus showed me was the most powerful. We were watching various believers throughout their day, and in each case, they faced temptations or opportunities to sin. But instead of giving in, I watched as they made choices to honor God.
One woman was at the grocery store and realized the cashier had undercharged her significantly. Instead of walking away with the extra savings, she pointed out the error and paid the full amount. A businessman had the opportunity to lie on his tax return in a way that would never be discovered, but he chose to be completely honest, even though it cost him thousands of dollars.
A teenager was pressured by friends to cheat on an important exam, but she refused, even though it meant getting a lower grade.
"This is the seventh and final sign I want to show you," Jesus said. "The desire and power for holiness. When my Spirit dwells in someone, He creates a hunger for righteousness and gives them the strength to say no to sin." Jesus continued, "This is the ultimate goal of my Spirit's work—to make my children holy as I am holy. As it says in First Thessalonians 4:7, 'God did not call us to be impure, but to live a holy life.' My Spirit doesn't make believers perfect immediately, but He does give them new desires and new power to resist temptation."
"But how does this work practically?" I asked Jesus. "It begins with a heart that is fully surrendered to me," He replied. "When someone truly dies to themselves and allows my Spirit to control their life, He produces these changes naturally. It's not about trying harder to be good, but about yielding more completely to my Spirit's influence." Jesus continued, "As Paul writes in Galatians 2:20, 'I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.' This is the key—letting me live my life through them by the power of my Spirit."
As we finished observing these scenes, Jesus turned to me with such love in His eyes. "Laura, now you understand the seven signs of my Spirit's presence in a believer's life. But I want you to understand something even more important."
"What is that, Lord?" I asked. "These signs are not a checklist for people to measure their spirituality," Jesus explained. "They are the natural fruit of a genuine relationship with me through my Spirit. When someone is truly born again, my Spirit comes to dwell within them, and these evidences will begin to manifest in their life over time." Jesus continued, "The key is not to focus on producing these signs, but to focus on surrendering daily to my Spirit's control. As believers yield to Him, read my Word, pray, fellowship with other believers, and obey what He shows them, these signs will naturally appear."
"But what about believers who don't see all these signs in their lives?" I asked.
Jesus smiled gently. "That's an important question, Laura. First, spiritual growth takes time. A new believer shouldn't expect to see all these signs immediately. My Spirit works gradually, transforming hearts and lives over time."
"Second," Jesus continued, "these signs may manifest differently in different people. The Spirit produces the same fruit, but it may look different based on personality, circumstances, and calling. What matters is not comparing themselves to others, but allowing my Spirit to work uniquely in their life."
"Finally," Jesus said, "if someone truly claims to be my follower but shows no evidence of my Spirit's work over time, they need to examine whether they have truly been born again. As I said in Matthew 7:16, 'By their fruit you will recognize them.' True faith always produces spiritual fruit."
Jesus then began to explain more about how believers can experience more of the Holy Spirit's work in their lives.
"The first step is salvation," Jesus said. "No one can have my Spirit dwelling within them unless they have truly repented of their sins and put their faith in me as their Lord and Savior. This is not about saying a prayer or walking an aisle, but about genuine heart change." "Once someone is truly saved, they need to understand that my Spirit wants to fill and control every area of their life. As Paul commands in Ephesians 5:18, 'Be filled with the Spirit.' This is not a one-time experience, but a daily surrendering to my Spirit's control."
Jesus continued, "Practically, this means starting each day by yielding to my Spirit. Believers should pray something like, 'Holy Spirit, I surrender my life to you today. Control my thoughts, my words, my actions. Help me to walk in obedience to your leading.'"
"They also need to spend time in my Word," Jesus explained. "My Spirit uses Scripture to speak to believers, convict them of sin, guide their decisions, and transform their thinking. As Isaiah 55:11 says, my Word does not return empty but accomplishes the purpose for which I send it."
"Prayer is also essential," Jesus continued. "Not just asking for things, but spending time in fellowship with me. My Spirit facilitates this communication between believers and me. As they pray, they should listen for my Spirit's guidance and be willing to obey what He shows them."
"Fellowship with other believers is crucial too," Jesus added. "My Spirit works through the body of Christ to encourage, teach, and refine individual believers. Iron sharpens iron, as Proverbs 27:17 says."
"Finally, obedience is key," Jesus emphasized. "When my Spirit prompts someone to do something or to turn away from something, they must be willing to obey. Disobedience grieves my Spirit and hinders His work in their life."
I was amazed by everything Jesus was teaching me, but I had more questions. "Lord, what about spiritual warfare? How does the Holy Spirit help believers in that area?"
"Excellent question, Laura," Jesus replied. "My Spirit is the source of believers' power in spiritual warfare. As First John 4:4 says, 'The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.' Satan cannot overcome my Spirit."
Jesus continued, "When believers are filled with my Spirit, they have access to spiritual armor as described in Ephesians 6. My Spirit helps them to stand firm against the devil's schemes by giving them truth, righteousness, the gospel of peace, faith, salvation, and my Word as their sword."
"But believers must actively engage in this warfare," Jesus added. "They cannot be passive. They must put on the armor daily through prayer, Bible study, and obedience to my Spirit. When they do this, Satan cannot gain a foothold in their lives."
"What about when believers struggle with ongoing sin?" I asked.
"Another important question," Jesus replied. "My Spirit never stops working in believers' lives, even when they fall into sin. As First John 1:9 promises, if they confess their sins, I am faithful and just to forgive their sins and cleanse them from all unrighteousness."
Jesus continued, "The key is not perfection, but progression. My Spirit gradually transforms believers from glory to glory, as Second Corinthians 3:18 says. When they sin, they should immediately confess it, receive my forgiveness, and then yield again to my Spirit's control."
"My Spirit also helps believers understand the difference between struggling with sin and living in sin," Jesus added. "A true believer will struggle against sin because my Spirit within them hates sin. But they will not be comfortable living in ongoing, unrepentant sin."
I had one more important question. "Lord, how can believers know if they're truly filled with your Spirit?"
"By examining the fruit of their lives," Jesus answered. "Are they growing in love for me and others? Are they becoming more like me in character? Do they have a desire to read my Word and pray? Are they concerned about sharing their faith with others? Do they hunger for righteousness and hate sin?"
Jesus continued, "These are not things they produce by effort, but evidence of my Spirit's work within them. If these things are absent, they need to examine their hearts and surrender more fully to my Spirit's control."
"Remember, Laura," Jesus said, "being filled with my Spirit is not about having mystical experiences or feeling emotional highs. It's about allowing my Spirit to control their lives so that they live for my glory rather than their own desires."
As our time together began to draw to a close, Jesus shared one final truth with me. "Laura, I want you to understand that everything I've shown you today is available to every believer through my Spirit. They don't need to have a near-death experience to encounter me in a powerful way. I am present with them always through my Spirit."
"The key is helping believers understand that the Christian life is not about trying to be good enough for God, but about allowing God to live His life through them by the power of His Spirit. This is the abundant life I came to give—not a life of struggle and defeat, but a life of victory and transformation through my Spirit's power."
Jesus then looked at me with such love and said, "Now, my daughter, it's time for you to return. You have much to share with others about what you've learned today."
Suddenly, I felt myself being pulled back, and everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was gasping for air and opening my eyes to see David's tear-stained face above me. The paramedics were checking my vital signs, and I could hear one of them saying, "We've got her back. She's stable."
In the days that followed, as I recovered from my cardiac arrest, I couldn't stop thinking about what Jesus had shown me. The doctors said it was a miracle that I survived with no brain damage after being without oxygen for so long. But I knew the real miracle was what I had learned about the Holy Spirit's work in believers' lives. My experience has completely transformed my understanding of faith and my relationship with God. I now live each day with a deeper awareness of the Holy Spirit's presence and power in my life. The seven signs that Jesus showed me are not just theological concepts anymore—they're realities I see working in my own life and in the lives of other believers around me. I share this testimony not to convince anyone, but to encourage believers to seek a deeper relationship with the Holy Spirit. Everything Jesus showed me is available to every child of God who is willing to surrender completely to His Spirit's control.
It happened on September 12th, 2024. I had just finished a particularly difficult 12-hour shift in the pediatric intensive care unit. We had lost a young patient that day, and I was emotionally drained. I drove home thinking about this little boy's family and how they were coping with their loss. When I got home, David, my husband, was helping our kids with homework while dinner was cooking on the stove. I remember feeling unusually tired, more than just the exhaustion from work. There was this strange pressure in my chest that I had been ignoring for a few days, thinking it was just stress. As I sat down at the dinner table with my family, the pressure became more intense. I excused myself and went to the bathroom, thinking maybe I just needed a moment to collect myself. That's when everything changed. I collapsed in our hallway bathroom, and according to my husband, I stopped breathing. He immediately called 911 and began CPR while our children waited in their bedroom. The paramedics arrived within eight minutes, but I had already been gone for nearly ten minutes. They worked on me for another fifteen minutes before they got my heart beating again.
But during those twenty-five minutes when my body was technically dead, I experienced something that I can only describe as the most real and vivid encounter of my entire life. This is what happened when I died and met Jesus. The moment my spirit left my body, I found myself standing in what I can only describe as the most beautiful place I had ever seen. It wasn't like anything on earth, but somehow it felt more real than any earthly place I had ever been. There was this incredible light all around me, but it wasn't harsh or blinding. It was warm and welcoming, like being embraced by pure love itself. That's when I saw Him walking toward me. I knew immediately it was Jesus, though He didn't look like any painting or image I had ever seen. He was radiant, and His presence filled me with such peace and joy that I started crying tears of pure happiness. When He smiled at me, I felt completely known and completely loved all at the same time.
"Laura, my beloved daughter," He said, "I have brought you here for a very special purpose. There is something I want to show you about my Holy Spirit and how He works in the lives of my children. Are you ready to learn?" I nodded, unable to speak because I was so overwhelmed by His presence. Jesus took my hand, and suddenly we were observing different scenes, like watching movies but being present within them at the same time. "Many of my children do not understand when or how my Holy Spirit comes upon a believer," Jesus began. "They are confused about the signs and the process. Today, I will show you the truth so that you can share it with others."
The first scene Jesus showed me was of a woman kneeling in her living room. She was probably in her thirties, and tears were streaming down her face as she prayed. I could hear her words clearly: "Jesus, I know I'm a sinner. I believe you died for my sins and rose again. Please come into my heart and save me." "Watch carefully, Laura," Jesus said. "This is the moment of true salvation."
As the woman finished her prayer, I saw something incredible happen. A gentle, glowing presence seemed to descend upon her, and I watched as her entire countenance changed. Her face lit up with a joy I had never witnessed before, and there was this sense of peace that seemed to radiate from her. "This is the first sign of my Holy Spirit's presence," Jesus explained. "When someone truly accepts me as their Lord and Savior, my Spirit immediately comes to dwell within them. The first evidence of this is an unshakeable confidence in their salvation. No matter what doubts may come later, deep in their heart, they know they belong to me." Jesus continued, "This confidence is not based on feelings or circumstances, but on my promise. As it says in First John 5:13, 'I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life.' My Spirit bears witness with their spirit that they are children of God, as Romans 8:16 tells us." I watched as the woman stood up from her prayer, and even though she was alone, she had this radiant smile on her face. She looked different, transformed from the inside out.
"But Lord," I asked, "what about people who pray that prayer but don't seem to change?"
Jesus looked at me with such love and said, "Laura, true salvation always results in transformation. If there is no evidence of my Spirit's work, then there was no true repentance and faith. My Spirit does not come to those who merely say words, but to those whose hearts are truly surrendered to me."
The scene changed, and now we were watching a man in his office. I had seen this man before in the previous scene, and Jesus explained that this was the same woman's husband, but this was from six months after her conversion. "Before his wife's salvation, this man was known for his explosive temper," Jesus said. "He would yell at his employees, become furious in traffic, and often took his anger out on his family. But watch what happens now." As we observed, a younger employee came into the man's office with news that a major client had canceled their contract. I expected the man to explode in anger, but instead, he took a deep breath and calmly said, "These things happen. Let's figure out how we can learn from this and do better next time. Are you okay? I know you worked hard on this account." The employee looked shocked by the kind response. After the young man left, I saw the husband bow his head briefly and whisper, "Thank you, Lord, for your patience with me."
"This is the second sign of my Holy Spirit's presence," Jesus explained. "The fruit of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. As Galatians 5:22-23 tells us, these are the natural result of my Spirit working in a person's life. It's not about trying harder to be good, but about yielding to my Spirit's transforming power."
Jesus continued, "When my Spirit dwells in someone, He gradually changes their character to be more like mine. This husband didn't attend anger management classes or use willpower to control his temper. My Spirit simply began producing His fruit in the man's life as he learned to surrender to Him daily."
The scene changed again, and now we were watching a teenage girl at her high school. She was sitting with a group of friends during lunch, and they were talking about weekend plans that involved drinking and other activities that I could tell made the girl uncomfortable. "I think I'm going to pass on Saturday night," the girl said kindly but firmly to her friends. "I've got some family stuff going on." Her friends pressed her, asking why she had been acting differently lately and why she didn't want to have fun anymore. The girl took a breath and said, "Actually, it's not family stuff. The truth is, I gave my life to Jesus a few months ago, and I just don't feel right about some of the things we used to do together. I'm not judging any of you, but I need to make choices that align with what I believe now." One of her friends rolled her eyes, but another girl looked intrigued and asked, "What do you mean you gave your life to Jesus? Like, what does that actually mean?" I watched as this teenage girl began to explain the gospel with such clarity and passion. She wasn't preachy or condescending, but she spoke with confidence about her faith and what Jesus had done for her. By the end of the conversation, two of her friends were asking if they could come to church with her.
"This is the third sign of my Holy Spirit's presence," Jesus told me. "A passion and power for evangelism. When my Spirit dwells in someone, He gives them both the desire and the ability to share the good news of salvation with others." Jesus continued, "Notice that this young girl didn't go to evangelism training or memorize a script. My Spirit gave her the words to say and the courage to say them. As I promised in Luke 12:12, 'The Holy Spirit will teach you at that time what you should say.'"
"But Lord," I asked, "what about believers who seem afraid to share their faith?" "That's a good question, Laura," Jesus replied. "Fear often comes when believers try to evangelize in their own strength rather than relying on my Spirit. When someone is truly filled with my Spirit, evangelism becomes natural, not forced. It flows from their love for me and their love for others."
The next scene was different. We were in a church service, and I could see that some people in the congregation were speaking in what sounded like unknown languages, while others were worshiping in English. I noticed that not everyone was speaking in tongues, and some looked confused or even left out. "This brings us to the fourth sign," Jesus said. "The gift of speaking in tongues. But I want you to understand something very important about this gift."
As we watched, I saw the pastor step up to address the congregation. He explained that speaking in tongues was one of many gifts of the Spirit, but that it wasn't given to every believer, nor was it the most important gift. "As Paul writes in First Corinthians 12:30," the pastor said, "not all speak in tongues. The Spirit distributes gifts as He wills, for the building up of the church. Whether someone speaks in tongues or not does not determine whether they have the Holy Spirit." Jesus nodded approvingly. "Many of my children have been confused about this," He told me. "Speaking in tongues can indeed be a sign of my Spirit's presence, but it is not the only sign, nor is it required for all believers. My Spirit gives different gifts to different people according to His wisdom and for the benefit of the whole body of Christ." Jesus continued, "What matters is not which gifts someone has, but whether they are walking in step with my Spirit and allowing Him to work through them for my glory and the good of others."
The scene changed, and now we were watching a middle-aged man in his home office. He was reading his Bible early in the morning before the rest of his family woke up. As he read, I could see something happening in his spirit—understanding was dawning on his face, and he kept nodding and saying things like "Yes, Lord, I see it now" and "Thank you for showing me this."
After he finished reading, he opened a journal and began writing down what he had learned. Then he got on his knees and prayed, "Lord, help me to live out what you've shown me today. Let your truth transform how I treat my wife and children, how I conduct my business, and how I serve others."
"This is the fifth sign of my Spirit's presence," Jesus explained. "A deep, personal love for me that affects every area of life. When my Spirit dwells in someone, He creates an intimate relationship between that person and me. Everything begins to revolve around this love relationship." Jesus continued, "As I said in John 14:21, 'Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them.' My Spirit creates this love and then sustains it through daily fellowship with me." I watched as the man went about his day, and in every interaction—with his wife, his children, his coworkers, even strangers—I could see his love for Jesus influencing his words and actions. It wasn't forced or artificial; it was natural, flowing from his relationship with Christ.
The next scene showed a group of people studying the Bible together in someone's living room. They were discussing a difficult passage about suffering and God's sovereignty. I watched as different people shared their thoughts, and gradually, understanding seemed to emerge from their discussion. One woman said, "I think I'm starting to understand. It's not that God causes our suffering, but He uses it to make us more like Jesus and to show His glory through our response." An older man nodded and added, "And Romans 8:28 makes more sense now—God works all things together for good for those who love Him. He doesn't say all things are good, but that He works them together for good."
"This is the sixth sign," Jesus told me. "Spiritual understanding and wisdom. My Spirit illuminates the truth of my Word and gives believers discernment to understand spiritual matters and apply biblical principles to their lives." Jesus continued, "As Paul writes in First Corinthians 2:14, 'The person without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God but considers them foolishness, and cannot understand them because they are discerned only through the Spirit.' But when my Spirit dwells in someone, He opens their spiritual eyes to understand my truth." I was amazed as I watched this group continue their discussion. Even when they disagreed on some points, they did so with love and respect, always seeking to understand God's Word more clearly rather than trying to prove themselves right.
The final scene Jesus showed me was the most powerful. We were watching various believers throughout their day, and in each case, they faced temptations or opportunities to sin. But instead of giving in, I watched as they made choices to honor God.
One woman was at the grocery store and realized the cashier had undercharged her significantly. Instead of walking away with the extra savings, she pointed out the error and paid the full amount. A businessman had the opportunity to lie on his tax return in a way that would never be discovered, but he chose to be completely honest, even though it cost him thousands of dollars.
A teenager was pressured by friends to cheat on an important exam, but she refused, even though it meant getting a lower grade.
"This is the seventh and final sign I want to show you," Jesus said. "The desire and power for holiness. When my Spirit dwells in someone, He creates a hunger for righteousness and gives them the strength to say no to sin." Jesus continued, "This is the ultimate goal of my Spirit's work—to make my children holy as I am holy. As it says in First Thessalonians 4:7, 'God did not call us to be impure, but to live a holy life.' My Spirit doesn't make believers perfect immediately, but He does give them new desires and new power to resist temptation."
"But how does this work practically?" I asked Jesus. "It begins with a heart that is fully surrendered to me," He replied. "When someone truly dies to themselves and allows my Spirit to control their life, He produces these changes naturally. It's not about trying harder to be good, but about yielding more completely to my Spirit's influence." Jesus continued, "As Paul writes in Galatians 2:20, 'I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.' This is the key—letting me live my life through them by the power of my Spirit."
As we finished observing these scenes, Jesus turned to me with such love in His eyes. "Laura, now you understand the seven signs of my Spirit's presence in a believer's life. But I want you to understand something even more important."
"What is that, Lord?" I asked. "These signs are not a checklist for people to measure their spirituality," Jesus explained. "They are the natural fruit of a genuine relationship with me through my Spirit. When someone is truly born again, my Spirit comes to dwell within them, and these evidences will begin to manifest in their life over time." Jesus continued, "The key is not to focus on producing these signs, but to focus on surrendering daily to my Spirit's control. As believers yield to Him, read my Word, pray, fellowship with other believers, and obey what He shows them, these signs will naturally appear."
"But what about believers who don't see all these signs in their lives?" I asked.
Jesus smiled gently. "That's an important question, Laura. First, spiritual growth takes time. A new believer shouldn't expect to see all these signs immediately. My Spirit works gradually, transforming hearts and lives over time."
"Second," Jesus continued, "these signs may manifest differently in different people. The Spirit produces the same fruit, but it may look different based on personality, circumstances, and calling. What matters is not comparing themselves to others, but allowing my Spirit to work uniquely in their life."
"Finally," Jesus said, "if someone truly claims to be my follower but shows no evidence of my Spirit's work over time, they need to examine whether they have truly been born again. As I said in Matthew 7:16, 'By their fruit you will recognize them.' True faith always produces spiritual fruit."
Jesus then began to explain more about how believers can experience more of the Holy Spirit's work in their lives.
"The first step is salvation," Jesus said. "No one can have my Spirit dwelling within them unless they have truly repented of their sins and put their faith in me as their Lord and Savior. This is not about saying a prayer or walking an aisle, but about genuine heart change." "Once someone is truly saved, they need to understand that my Spirit wants to fill and control every area of their life. As Paul commands in Ephesians 5:18, 'Be filled with the Spirit.' This is not a one-time experience, but a daily surrendering to my Spirit's control."
Jesus continued, "Practically, this means starting each day by yielding to my Spirit. Believers should pray something like, 'Holy Spirit, I surrender my life to you today. Control my thoughts, my words, my actions. Help me to walk in obedience to your leading.'"
"They also need to spend time in my Word," Jesus explained. "My Spirit uses Scripture to speak to believers, convict them of sin, guide their decisions, and transform their thinking. As Isaiah 55:11 says, my Word does not return empty but accomplishes the purpose for which I send it."
"Prayer is also essential," Jesus continued. "Not just asking for things, but spending time in fellowship with me. My Spirit facilitates this communication between believers and me. As they pray, they should listen for my Spirit's guidance and be willing to obey what He shows them."
"Fellowship with other believers is crucial too," Jesus added. "My Spirit works through the body of Christ to encourage, teach, and refine individual believers. Iron sharpens iron, as Proverbs 27:17 says."
"Finally, obedience is key," Jesus emphasized. "When my Spirit prompts someone to do something or to turn away from something, they must be willing to obey. Disobedience grieves my Spirit and hinders His work in their life."
I was amazed by everything Jesus was teaching me, but I had more questions. "Lord, what about spiritual warfare? How does the Holy Spirit help believers in that area?"
"Excellent question, Laura," Jesus replied. "My Spirit is the source of believers' power in spiritual warfare. As First John 4:4 says, 'The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.' Satan cannot overcome my Spirit."
Jesus continued, "When believers are filled with my Spirit, they have access to spiritual armor as described in Ephesians 6. My Spirit helps them to stand firm against the devil's schemes by giving them truth, righteousness, the gospel of peace, faith, salvation, and my Word as their sword."
"But believers must actively engage in this warfare," Jesus added. "They cannot be passive. They must put on the armor daily through prayer, Bible study, and obedience to my Spirit. When they do this, Satan cannot gain a foothold in their lives."
"What about when believers struggle with ongoing sin?" I asked.
"Another important question," Jesus replied. "My Spirit never stops working in believers' lives, even when they fall into sin. As First John 1:9 promises, if they confess their sins, I am faithful and just to forgive their sins and cleanse them from all unrighteousness."
Jesus continued, "The key is not perfection, but progression. My Spirit gradually transforms believers from glory to glory, as Second Corinthians 3:18 says. When they sin, they should immediately confess it, receive my forgiveness, and then yield again to my Spirit's control."
"My Spirit also helps believers understand the difference between struggling with sin and living in sin," Jesus added. "A true believer will struggle against sin because my Spirit within them hates sin. But they will not be comfortable living in ongoing, unrepentant sin."
I had one more important question. "Lord, how can believers know if they're truly filled with your Spirit?"
"By examining the fruit of their lives," Jesus answered. "Are they growing in love for me and others? Are they becoming more like me in character? Do they have a desire to read my Word and pray? Are they concerned about sharing their faith with others? Do they hunger for righteousness and hate sin?"
Jesus continued, "These are not things they produce by effort, but evidence of my Spirit's work within them. If these things are absent, they need to examine their hearts and surrender more fully to my Spirit's control."
"Remember, Laura," Jesus said, "being filled with my Spirit is not about having mystical experiences or feeling emotional highs. It's about allowing my Spirit to control their lives so that they live for my glory rather than their own desires."
As our time together began to draw to a close, Jesus shared one final truth with me. "Laura, I want you to understand that everything I've shown you today is available to every believer through my Spirit. They don't need to have a near-death experience to encounter me in a powerful way. I am present with them always through my Spirit."
"The key is helping believers understand that the Christian life is not about trying to be good enough for God, but about allowing God to live His life through them by the power of His Spirit. This is the abundant life I came to give—not a life of struggle and defeat, but a life of victory and transformation through my Spirit's power."
Jesus then looked at me with such love and said, "Now, my daughter, it's time for you to return. You have much to share with others about what you've learned today."
Suddenly, I felt myself being pulled back, and everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was gasping for air and opening my eyes to see David's tear-stained face above me. The paramedics were checking my vital signs, and I could hear one of them saying, "We've got her back. She's stable."
In the days that followed, as I recovered from my cardiac arrest, I couldn't stop thinking about what Jesus had shown me. The doctors said it was a miracle that I survived with no brain damage after being without oxygen for so long. But I knew the real miracle was what I had learned about the Holy Spirit's work in believers' lives. My experience has completely transformed my understanding of faith and my relationship with God. I now live each day with a deeper awareness of the Holy Spirit's presence and power in my life. The seven signs that Jesus showed me are not just theological concepts anymore—they're realities I see working in my own life and in the lives of other believers around me. I share this testimony not to convince anyone, but to encourage believers to seek a deeper relationship with the Holy Spirit. Everything Jesus showed me is available to every child of God who is willing to surrender completely to His Spirit's control.
For those interested in a more meaty sermon on Born Again, you can refer to a Sermon 45 called New Rebirth from John Wesley (1703 - 1791).
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(2) Why many christians are not Born Again today?
Many christians today including some pastors are in name only and are not born again. WHY? This is because the christians today have been lied to for almost 2000 years with the ingress of Anti-Christ activities. There were a few antichrist groups during the time after the Apostholic period but most of them did not survive. However, the first successful anti-Christ activity was the Roman Catholics. It was ushered in by political help of Emperor Constantine around 300 AD. The Catholics broke all major God's Commandments, put a pope above God, made it into a religion and run it like a corporation with hierarchy. This was the reason why we saw less of the work of Holy Spirit that Jesus talked about. After that came more variations of it like Islam, later on Reformation in 1500s was born out of rebellion and after that an explosion of rebellion from within the church creating false doctrines and groups like Lutherans, Presbyterian, Baptist, Mormons, Jehovah Witness and the list goes on and on.
Remember, the devil only come to STEAL, KILL AND DESTROY. This enemy will do anything to destroy us with the same old tactics which is lying to us with some truths. So, the key is slipping in a few lies into some truths. Since he was successful with using this technique of deceiving us for almost 7500 years, why should he change it.
So, contamination of the church from within is usually REBELLION and PRIDE in nature in the name of INTELLECTUALS. This is like a cancer cell working from the inside. Today, with most people having busy and stressful lives, it is virtually impossible for anyone to find the truth....kind of like searching for a Diamond ring in City Garbage Dump. So, many innocent "Christians" becomes STILL BORN instead of BORN AGAIN. In another words, many will be deceived and ended up in hell.
Many christians today including some pastors are in name only and are not born again. WHY? This is because the christians today have been lied to for almost 2000 years with the ingress of Anti-Christ activities. There were a few antichrist groups during the time after the Apostholic period but most of them did not survive. However, the first successful anti-Christ activity was the Roman Catholics. It was ushered in by political help of Emperor Constantine around 300 AD. The Catholics broke all major God's Commandments, put a pope above God, made it into a religion and run it like a corporation with hierarchy. This was the reason why we saw less of the work of Holy Spirit that Jesus talked about. After that came more variations of it like Islam, later on Reformation in 1500s was born out of rebellion and after that an explosion of rebellion from within the church creating false doctrines and groups like Lutherans, Presbyterian, Baptist, Mormons, Jehovah Witness and the list goes on and on.
Remember, the devil only come to STEAL, KILL AND DESTROY. This enemy will do anything to destroy us with the same old tactics which is lying to us with some truths. So, the key is slipping in a few lies into some truths. Since he was successful with using this technique of deceiving us for almost 7500 years, why should he change it.
So, contamination of the church from within is usually REBELLION and PRIDE in nature in the name of INTELLECTUALS. This is like a cancer cell working from the inside. Today, with most people having busy and stressful lives, it is virtually impossible for anyone to find the truth....kind of like searching for a Diamond ring in City Garbage Dump. So, many innocent "Christians" becomes STILL BORN instead of BORN AGAIN. In another words, many will be deceived and ended up in hell.
(3) "Born-Again"-ism
by Richard R. Ochs
There is much talk these days about the rapid growth of the cults. Jehovah's Witnesses, Christian Science, Mormonism, the Unification Church, and a host of lesser-known groups are making converts at astounding rates. Yet, the combined effect of all these groups is overshadowed by a movement that in the last few years has grown to include over 30% of the U.S. population. The amazing development of what might be called "Born-againism" is affecting all sectors of our society. In fact, if the latest figures presented in the religious polls are accurate, the current Born-again phenomenon could well be viewed as the fastest growing cult in America. Born-againism has permeated fundamentalist denominations as leaven in dough, and expanded into the culture at large. Candidates espouse it in order to get votes, entertainers use it to attract crowds, pro-football players proclaim it to give respect to their Sunday afternoon brutality, and the business world promotes it in order to make money. Even the secular press, radio, and T.V. have found it fashionable to occasionally slip the little words "born again" into their speech and print.
That the world has jumped on the Born-again Bandwagon in order to exploit it is sad but not surprising. We really shouldn't expect anything else from the spiritually blind worldling. The real tragedy is that the whole mess was spawned and spread by the "Church" and is now lauded as a great revival of Christianity.
The truth is that much of contemporary evangelicalism, like the church of Sardis, appears to be alive, but actually is dead. (Rev. 3:1) And we can't blame the athieists, the agnostics, or the liberals for this condition. No, the fault lies with the supposed "Bible believers." Error has been preached as truth and propagated with cultish zeal. As a result multitudes have believed a lie and are headed for hell from fundamentalist church pews with a Bible in their hands and a prayer on their lips. Many others have become disillusioned with all the hypocrisy and false "fulfillment", and have concluded that there is really nothing to this "born-again" stuff after all.
Truth turned to error
But doesn't the Bible teach that we must be born again? Was this not an absolutely fundamental teaching of our Lord, His apostles, and the Church down through the ages? Yes, of course it was, and without this there is no true Christianity. But error cloaked in Biblical terms is still error. In the case of the current born-again movement, Scriptural terminology is being used to teach just the opposite of its original meaning. The great doctrine of man's need for regeneration (i.e. miraculous new birth) is being presented in a way that denies the very point it is supposed to teach. Stated simply the error is this—that men are born again as a result of something they do. This something may be "going forward" at the close of an evangelistic message, making a "decision" for Christ, or "repenting" and "believing" the gospel. Whatever the requirement that is put before the sinner, the impression is given that sinful man himself is the one who brings about regeneration.
The sad results of such a teaching can be seen all around us. Evangelists who believe that men dead in sin can and will turn to God if the right kind of emotional and psychological inducement is presented, push and pressure lost people into making "decisions." Whatever is necessary to get people to come forward, or raise their hand, or sign a card, is tried by today's "soul winners." Highly emotional meetings, prolonged appeals, repeated musical choruses, and even the deceitful tactic of having counselors strategically placed in the audience to come forward at the time of the "appeal"—all smack of the techniques of crowd psychology.
Those who do come forward (or raise their hand, or sign a card) are then coached into believing that God has come into their lives, and that they are now "saved." Deep down, though, they know that nothing has really happened. The evangelist has done something, the lost person has done something, but God has done nothing. There has been no miracle. The person may give mental assent to the doctrine of the new birth and try to rejoice in it, but there has been no supernatural passing from death to life. (Eph. 2:4-51 This is why most of the "converts" of this kind of "born-againism" show no real zeal for God, and many fall away completely after a month or two.
That some people are brought into the kingdom in these situations is no doubt true. But it is in spite of these methods, not because of them. If we turn to the section of Scripture most often quoted regarding the new birth we find the Lord teaching just the opposite of the modem "soul-winner."
You must be born again
In the third chapter of John's Gospel, Jesus tells Nicodemus, "You must be born again." What did the Lord mean by this statement? First of all, it should be noted that Jesus said nothing of any action or decision that Nicodemus must make, nor did He even tell him to repent and believe the gospel. As a matter of fact, Jesus was not telling Nicodemus to do anything! "You must be born again!" was not a command Nicodemus was to obey, it was simply a statement of fact. Nicodemus, in his blindness, misunderstood this statement and asked how anyone could do such a thing as that—a man "cannot enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born, can he?" To this Jesus said in effect, "I'm not talking to you about you doing anything, I'm talking about God doing something." "I'm talking about the Spirit of God coming and miraculously generating life, in you. You being flesh can only produce flesh. Only the Spirit of God can produce the spiritual birth you must have in order to enter the Kingdom of God, and God's Spirit blows where He wishes." (John. 3:1-8)
The modern evangelist's techniques and teachings are conspicuously absent in this account. The Lord gave Nicodemus no "Four Spiritual Laws," nor any instructions on "How to be Born Again," and He certainly used no manipulative tricks. He was concerned to emphasize just one thing. Regeneration is a miraculous work of God's Spirit.
We can, and must, tell men to turn from their sins and believe the Gospel, but in doing this we should realize that when a man does repent and believe, it is the result of God's prior regenerative working within him. If this were not the case, if man must actually initiate his own salvation, then it would be impossible to escape the conclusion that men do not need regeneration at all, but possess in themselves an innate goodness which causes them to seek after God. Though it be ever so slight, this goodness is then the ultimate reason why one man is saved and another is lost. But the apostle Paul clearly teaches the contrary when he writes:
There is none righteous, not even one;
There is none who understands,
There is none who seeks for God...
There is none who does good,
There is not even one. (Rom 3:10-12)
Here Paul states plainly that there is no "spark of goodness" in man that causes him to respond to the gospel. In fact, man, blinded by sin and Satan, does not even understand the gospel. He is in total rebellion against God and His truth. If regeneration were contingent upon man first desiring God, no one would ever be born again, for "there is none who seeks for God." Moreover, if man must ultimately be given credit for coming to God, Christianity is turned into just one more of the world's man-centered religions or cults which teach salvation by works. And such man-centered systems offer a false hope, for it is simply impossible for sinful man to make himself different than he is—he needs a new heart, he needs to be "Born again!"
Again, it should be stressed that we are certainly to tell men to seek God. We must tell them to believe and receive Christ. But these commands will fall on spiritually deaf ears unless God first generates life through the inward workings of His Holy Spirit.
You may protest that this makes God the ultimate determiner of who is saved. To this the apostles and prophets with one voice cry, "Amen!" "Salvation is from the Lord." Christians, as John puts it in the opening chapter of his gospel, are people, "who were born not...of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God." (Jn. 1:13) That's why we give thanks to God when someone is converted. We know that God has graciously wrought a miracle— the sovereign, supernatural miracle of the new birth.
This truth should give us confidence to present the pure gospel, knowing that it is not up to us to somehow maneuver and manipulate men into Christianity. It should also bring us to our knees before the God Who is sovereign in salvation. Only He can remove the heart of stone and give a new heart. Only He can give life to the dead. Only He deserves the blessing, glory, and honor.
by Richard R. Ochs
There is much talk these days about the rapid growth of the cults. Jehovah's Witnesses, Christian Science, Mormonism, the Unification Church, and a host of lesser-known groups are making converts at astounding rates. Yet, the combined effect of all these groups is overshadowed by a movement that in the last few years has grown to include over 30% of the U.S. population. The amazing development of what might be called "Born-againism" is affecting all sectors of our society. In fact, if the latest figures presented in the religious polls are accurate, the current Born-again phenomenon could well be viewed as the fastest growing cult in America. Born-againism has permeated fundamentalist denominations as leaven in dough, and expanded into the culture at large. Candidates espouse it in order to get votes, entertainers use it to attract crowds, pro-football players proclaim it to give respect to their Sunday afternoon brutality, and the business world promotes it in order to make money. Even the secular press, radio, and T.V. have found it fashionable to occasionally slip the little words "born again" into their speech and print.
That the world has jumped on the Born-again Bandwagon in order to exploit it is sad but not surprising. We really shouldn't expect anything else from the spiritually blind worldling. The real tragedy is that the whole mess was spawned and spread by the "Church" and is now lauded as a great revival of Christianity.
The truth is that much of contemporary evangelicalism, like the church of Sardis, appears to be alive, but actually is dead. (Rev. 3:1) And we can't blame the athieists, the agnostics, or the liberals for this condition. No, the fault lies with the supposed "Bible believers." Error has been preached as truth and propagated with cultish zeal. As a result multitudes have believed a lie and are headed for hell from fundamentalist church pews with a Bible in their hands and a prayer on their lips. Many others have become disillusioned with all the hypocrisy and false "fulfillment", and have concluded that there is really nothing to this "born-again" stuff after all.
Truth turned to error
But doesn't the Bible teach that we must be born again? Was this not an absolutely fundamental teaching of our Lord, His apostles, and the Church down through the ages? Yes, of course it was, and without this there is no true Christianity. But error cloaked in Biblical terms is still error. In the case of the current born-again movement, Scriptural terminology is being used to teach just the opposite of its original meaning. The great doctrine of man's need for regeneration (i.e. miraculous new birth) is being presented in a way that denies the very point it is supposed to teach. Stated simply the error is this—that men are born again as a result of something they do. This something may be "going forward" at the close of an evangelistic message, making a "decision" for Christ, or "repenting" and "believing" the gospel. Whatever the requirement that is put before the sinner, the impression is given that sinful man himself is the one who brings about regeneration.
The sad results of such a teaching can be seen all around us. Evangelists who believe that men dead in sin can and will turn to God if the right kind of emotional and psychological inducement is presented, push and pressure lost people into making "decisions." Whatever is necessary to get people to come forward, or raise their hand, or sign a card, is tried by today's "soul winners." Highly emotional meetings, prolonged appeals, repeated musical choruses, and even the deceitful tactic of having counselors strategically placed in the audience to come forward at the time of the "appeal"—all smack of the techniques of crowd psychology.
Those who do come forward (or raise their hand, or sign a card) are then coached into believing that God has come into their lives, and that they are now "saved." Deep down, though, they know that nothing has really happened. The evangelist has done something, the lost person has done something, but God has done nothing. There has been no miracle. The person may give mental assent to the doctrine of the new birth and try to rejoice in it, but there has been no supernatural passing from death to life. (Eph. 2:4-51 This is why most of the "converts" of this kind of "born-againism" show no real zeal for God, and many fall away completely after a month or two.
That some people are brought into the kingdom in these situations is no doubt true. But it is in spite of these methods, not because of them. If we turn to the section of Scripture most often quoted regarding the new birth we find the Lord teaching just the opposite of the modem "soul-winner."
You must be born again
In the third chapter of John's Gospel, Jesus tells Nicodemus, "You must be born again." What did the Lord mean by this statement? First of all, it should be noted that Jesus said nothing of any action or decision that Nicodemus must make, nor did He even tell him to repent and believe the gospel. As a matter of fact, Jesus was not telling Nicodemus to do anything! "You must be born again!" was not a command Nicodemus was to obey, it was simply a statement of fact. Nicodemus, in his blindness, misunderstood this statement and asked how anyone could do such a thing as that—a man "cannot enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born, can he?" To this Jesus said in effect, "I'm not talking to you about you doing anything, I'm talking about God doing something." "I'm talking about the Spirit of God coming and miraculously generating life, in you. You being flesh can only produce flesh. Only the Spirit of God can produce the spiritual birth you must have in order to enter the Kingdom of God, and God's Spirit blows where He wishes." (John. 3:1-8)
The modern evangelist's techniques and teachings are conspicuously absent in this account. The Lord gave Nicodemus no "Four Spiritual Laws," nor any instructions on "How to be Born Again," and He certainly used no manipulative tricks. He was concerned to emphasize just one thing. Regeneration is a miraculous work of God's Spirit.
We can, and must, tell men to turn from their sins and believe the Gospel, but in doing this we should realize that when a man does repent and believe, it is the result of God's prior regenerative working within him. If this were not the case, if man must actually initiate his own salvation, then it would be impossible to escape the conclusion that men do not need regeneration at all, but possess in themselves an innate goodness which causes them to seek after God. Though it be ever so slight, this goodness is then the ultimate reason why one man is saved and another is lost. But the apostle Paul clearly teaches the contrary when he writes:
There is none righteous, not even one;
There is none who understands,
There is none who seeks for God...
There is none who does good,
There is not even one. (Rom 3:10-12)
Here Paul states plainly that there is no "spark of goodness" in man that causes him to respond to the gospel. In fact, man, blinded by sin and Satan, does not even understand the gospel. He is in total rebellion against God and His truth. If regeneration were contingent upon man first desiring God, no one would ever be born again, for "there is none who seeks for God." Moreover, if man must ultimately be given credit for coming to God, Christianity is turned into just one more of the world's man-centered religions or cults which teach salvation by works. And such man-centered systems offer a false hope, for it is simply impossible for sinful man to make himself different than he is—he needs a new heart, he needs to be "Born again!"
Again, it should be stressed that we are certainly to tell men to seek God. We must tell them to believe and receive Christ. But these commands will fall on spiritually deaf ears unless God first generates life through the inward workings of His Holy Spirit.
You may protest that this makes God the ultimate determiner of who is saved. To this the apostles and prophets with one voice cry, "Amen!" "Salvation is from the Lord." Christians, as John puts it in the opening chapter of his gospel, are people, "who were born not...of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God." (Jn. 1:13) That's why we give thanks to God when someone is converted. We know that God has graciously wrought a miracle— the sovereign, supernatural miracle of the new birth.
This truth should give us confidence to present the pure gospel, knowing that it is not up to us to somehow maneuver and manipulate men into Christianity. It should also bring us to our knees before the God Who is sovereign in salvation. Only He can remove the heart of stone and give a new heart. Only He can give life to the dead. Only He deserves the blessing, glory, and honor.
(4) How to be Born Again?
God is holy and our goal is to be in His presence. One of the requirements is to be BORN AGAIN.
Those who are serious about being Born Again, they will often ask in their prayers and intensely seeking for it.
God has given us 3 methods of ASK, SEEK and KNOCK. Only God can give us Born Again experience and no one else.
When these people find it, they will often experience a powerful experience:
- removal of bondage of their sins (a sudden victory over sins)
- a new heart (a love for God and people)
The evidence of removal of bondage of their sins will become apparent in their lives. For example, some will suddenly have no more drug addiction problems, sexual addiction stopped, smoking stopped etc etc. So, they will no longer crave or want to sin anymore. It is a supernatural experience from the work of the Holy Spirit to enable normal sinful humans to stop sinning. Hence, Jesus has set us free from bondage of sins.
For every Born Again, it is crucial that they keep their records clean continuously.
There is a process or journey everyone has to go through to have the Born Again experience.
Although the gift of Born Again is from God, we have to play our part.
God is holy and our goal is to be in His presence. One of the requirements is to be BORN AGAIN.
Those who are serious about being Born Again, they will often ask in their prayers and intensely seeking for it.
God has given us 3 methods of ASK, SEEK and KNOCK. Only God can give us Born Again experience and no one else.
When these people find it, they will often experience a powerful experience:
- removal of bondage of their sins (a sudden victory over sins)
- a new heart (a love for God and people)
The evidence of removal of bondage of their sins will become apparent in their lives. For example, some will suddenly have no more drug addiction problems, sexual addiction stopped, smoking stopped etc etc. So, they will no longer crave or want to sin anymore. It is a supernatural experience from the work of the Holy Spirit to enable normal sinful humans to stop sinning. Hence, Jesus has set us free from bondage of sins.
For every Born Again, it is crucial that they keep their records clean continuously.
There is a process or journey everyone has to go through to have the Born Again experience.
Although the gift of Born Again is from God, we have to play our part.
Although God can only give us the BORN AGAIN experience, Pastor David Pawson tried to explain us a step by step approach.
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God in His infinite Wisdom has shown us various examples in history for the last 7500 years on how this process will take place.
For examples, we will illustrate the Born Again journey with the parables of
(a) Conception till birth of a child
(b) Passover
(c) Tabernacles of Moses
(d) Solomon's Temple
For examples, we will illustrate the Born Again journey with the parables of
(a) Conception till birth of a child
(b) Passover
(c) Tabernacles of Moses
(d) Solomon's Temple
(a) Conception till birth of a child
There is a parallel we can draw from conception till birth of a child with spiritual birth process in Born Again that Jesus spoke of in John 3. The only difference is spiritual birth is something we cannot see or know the exact timing while birth of a newborn baby is easily witnessed.
There is a parallel we can draw from conception till birth of a child with spiritual birth process in Born Again that Jesus spoke of in John 3. The only difference is spiritual birth is something we cannot see or know the exact timing while birth of a newborn baby is easily witnessed.
a. Sperm = Seed = The Gospel / Message of the Kingdom heard and accepted
b. Fetus develops in from Nutrients provided by mother's blood = Blood of Christ |
c. Fetus in Waterbag = Baptism
d. Fetus growing = Knowledge increase |
e. Baby born = Born Again
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(b) Passover
There is a parallel we can draw from the history of Passover in our Born Again experience.
to be updated
There is a parallel we can draw from the history of Passover in our Born Again experience.
to be updated
(c) Tabernacles of Moses
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Tabernacle means “tent,” “place of dwelling” or “sanctuary.” It was a sacred place where God chose to meet His people, the Israelites, during the 40 years they wandered in the desert under Moses’ leadership. It was the place where the leaders and people came together to worship and offer sacrifices.
The Tabernacles only has ONE GATE to enter from. Characteristics of our Journey of Salvation is as follows: (a) ONE Gate = Jesus is our only Way (b) Altar of Blood Offering = Jesus Blood offered for our sins (c) Laver (Basin) with Water for cleaning = our Water Baptism (d) Annointed Oil = Jesus baptize us in Holy Spirit |
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(a) The Gate
(b) Brazen Altar (c) Laver (Basin) (d) Menorah (Lampstand) (e) Table of Showbread (f) Golden Altar of Incense (g) Holy of Holies and the Veil (h) Ark of the Covenant |
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Exodus 30:22-33 New International Version (NIV)
Anointing Oil
22 Then the Lord said to Moses, 23 “Take the following fine spices: 500 shekels of liquid myrrh, half as much (that is, 250 shekels) of fragrant cinnamon, 250 shekels[b] of fragrant calamus, 24 500 shekels of cassia—all according to the sanctuary shekel—and a hin of olive oil. 25 Make these into a sacred anointing oil, a fragrant blend, the work of a perfumer. It will be the sacred anointing oil. 26 Then use it to anoint the tent of meeting, the ark of the covenant law, 27 the table and all its articles, the lampstand and its accessories, the altar of incense, 28 the altar of burnt offering and all its utensils, and the basin with its stand. 29 You shall consecrate them so they will be most holy, and whatever touches them will be holy.
30 “Anoint Aaron and his sons and consecrate them so they may serve me as priests. 31 Say to the Israelites, ‘This is to be my sacred anointing oil for the generations to come. 32 Do not pour it on anyone else’s body and do not make any other oil using the same formula. It is sacred, and you are to consider it sacred. 33 Whoever makes perfume like it and puts it on anyone other than a priest must be cut off from their people.’”
Anointing Oil
22 Then the Lord said to Moses, 23 “Take the following fine spices: 500 shekels of liquid myrrh, half as much (that is, 250 shekels) of fragrant cinnamon, 250 shekels[b] of fragrant calamus, 24 500 shekels of cassia—all according to the sanctuary shekel—and a hin of olive oil. 25 Make these into a sacred anointing oil, a fragrant blend, the work of a perfumer. It will be the sacred anointing oil. 26 Then use it to anoint the tent of meeting, the ark of the covenant law, 27 the table and all its articles, the lampstand and its accessories, the altar of incense, 28 the altar of burnt offering and all its utensils, and the basin with its stand. 29 You shall consecrate them so they will be most holy, and whatever touches them will be holy.
30 “Anoint Aaron and his sons and consecrate them so they may serve me as priests. 31 Say to the Israelites, ‘This is to be my sacred anointing oil for the generations to come. 32 Do not pour it on anyone else’s body and do not make any other oil using the same formula. It is sacred, and you are to consider it sacred. 33 Whoever makes perfume like it and puts it on anyone other than a priest must be cut off from their people.’”
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(d) Solomon's Temple
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The Solomon's Temple
to be updated 
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(5) Evidence of being Born Again
These videos describe below clearly the evidence and characteristics of those who are Born Again. Nothing in this video will wow us with wit or special effects but it speaks the truth to set us free.
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By Billy Graham:
If you were to take your last breath today, do you know without a doubt where you would spend eternity? Imagine standing before God, the Creator of the universe, looking into His eyes as He speaks your eternal destiny. Would you hear the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23), or something far more terrifying, “Depart from me, I never knew you” (Matthew 7:23)? This is a deep and sobering question we cannot afford to ignore. Heaven is real, hell is real, and whether we like it or not, each of us is heading to one of these two places. The good news is that the Bible gives us clear, undeniable signs that reveal whether we are truly on the path to heaven. Today, we’ll explore six of these signs so that by the end of this message, you won’t have to wonder, “Am I really saved?” or “Will I go to heaven?” This isn’t about opinions, traditions, or feel-good ideas—it’s about what the Bible actually says.
The reality of eternity is not a game. One day, every single one of us will stand before God—no exceptions. Hebrews 9:27 says, “It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.” There are no second chances after death, no do-overs. The decisions we make now, while we’re still breathing, determine where we will spend eternity. Some might think, “Isn’t everyone going to heaven? As long as I’m a good person, God will let me in, right?” But this is one of the biggest lies Satan wants you to believe. Jesus Himself said in Matthew 7:13 that the road to heaven is narrow and few find it, while the road to destruction is wide and many enter through it. This means not everyone is going to heaven—in fact, more people will end up in hell than in heaven.
This isn’t meant to scare you but to tell you the truth because God cares deeply about your soul. He has given us clear warning and confirmation signs so we never have to wonder where we stand with Him. Today, we’ll go through six biblical signs that prove you’re on the path to heaven. If you don’t see all these signs in your life yet, don’t panic—God is still working on you. The goal isn’t to make you doubt your salvation but to help you examine your heart and grow closer to Jesus.
Sign 1: You Have Truly Accepted Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior
The most important sign is your relationship with Jesus Christ. John 14:6 makes it clear: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Salvation isn’t about being a good person, going to church, or following religious traditions—it’s only through Jesus. Have you truly accepted Him as your Lord and Savior? This isn’t just about believing in God or even believing Jesus is real—it’s about surrendering your life to Him. Romans 10:9 says, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.” True salvation involves repentance, turning away from sin, and fully relying on Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross.
Sign 2: You Bear the Fruits of the Holy Spirit
If you’ve truly accepted Jesus, there will be evidence in your life. Matthew 7:16 says, “You will recognize them by their fruits.” Galatians 5:22-23 lists the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. These are the natural results of a life transformed by the Holy Spirit. Ask yourself: Do I see these fruits growing in my life?
Sign 3: You Obey God’s Commandments with Joy
Obedience is a natural response to salvation. John 14:15 says, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” True obedience comes from love and gratitude, not fear or obligation. Do you obey God even when no one is watching?
Sign 4: You Love Others Deeply and Selflessly
1 John 4:8 says, “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” True Christian love is patient, kind, forgiving, and selfless. It’s not just about being nice—it’s about loving even your enemies (Luke 6:27-28).
Sign 5: You Endure Trials and Persecution for Christ
Following Jesus isn’t always easy. 2 Timothy 3:12 says, “All who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” Trials test and strengthen our faith. Do you stand firm in your faith even when life gets hard?
Sign 6: You Have an Unshakable Hope in Heaven
A true follower of Christ doesn’t live for this world—their heart is set on eternity. Philippians 3:20 says, “Our citizenship is in heaven.” Do you long for heaven, or are you too attached to this world?
If you’re not 100% sure of your salvation, don’t wait. Turn to Jesus today. Pray sincerely, “Lord Jesus, I know I am a sinner. I believe You died for my sins and rose again. I ask for Your forgiveness and surrender my life to You completely. Be my Lord, my Savior, and my greatest desire. Thank You for saving me. In Jesus’ name, amen.” If you prayed this, heaven is now your home. Grow in your faith, read the Bible, pray daily, and surround yourself with believers. Share this message with someone who needs to hear it. Jesus is coming back, and eternity is at stake. Are you ready?
If you were to take your last breath today, do you know without a doubt where you would spend eternity? Imagine standing before God, the Creator of the universe, looking into His eyes as He speaks your eternal destiny. Would you hear the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23), or something far more terrifying, “Depart from me, I never knew you” (Matthew 7:23)? This is a deep and sobering question we cannot afford to ignore. Heaven is real, hell is real, and whether we like it or not, each of us is heading to one of these two places. The good news is that the Bible gives us clear, undeniable signs that reveal whether we are truly on the path to heaven. Today, we’ll explore six of these signs so that by the end of this message, you won’t have to wonder, “Am I really saved?” or “Will I go to heaven?” This isn’t about opinions, traditions, or feel-good ideas—it’s about what the Bible actually says.
The reality of eternity is not a game. One day, every single one of us will stand before God—no exceptions. Hebrews 9:27 says, “It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.” There are no second chances after death, no do-overs. The decisions we make now, while we’re still breathing, determine where we will spend eternity. Some might think, “Isn’t everyone going to heaven? As long as I’m a good person, God will let me in, right?” But this is one of the biggest lies Satan wants you to believe. Jesus Himself said in Matthew 7:13 that the road to heaven is narrow and few find it, while the road to destruction is wide and many enter through it. This means not everyone is going to heaven—in fact, more people will end up in hell than in heaven.
This isn’t meant to scare you but to tell you the truth because God cares deeply about your soul. He has given us clear warning and confirmation signs so we never have to wonder where we stand with Him. Today, we’ll go through six biblical signs that prove you’re on the path to heaven. If you don’t see all these signs in your life yet, don’t panic—God is still working on you. The goal isn’t to make you doubt your salvation but to help you examine your heart and grow closer to Jesus.
Sign 1: You Have Truly Accepted Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior
The most important sign is your relationship with Jesus Christ. John 14:6 makes it clear: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Salvation isn’t about being a good person, going to church, or following religious traditions—it’s only through Jesus. Have you truly accepted Him as your Lord and Savior? This isn’t just about believing in God or even believing Jesus is real—it’s about surrendering your life to Him. Romans 10:9 says, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.” True salvation involves repentance, turning away from sin, and fully relying on Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross.
Sign 2: You Bear the Fruits of the Holy Spirit
If you’ve truly accepted Jesus, there will be evidence in your life. Matthew 7:16 says, “You will recognize them by their fruits.” Galatians 5:22-23 lists the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. These are the natural results of a life transformed by the Holy Spirit. Ask yourself: Do I see these fruits growing in my life?
Sign 3: You Obey God’s Commandments with Joy
Obedience is a natural response to salvation. John 14:15 says, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” True obedience comes from love and gratitude, not fear or obligation. Do you obey God even when no one is watching?
Sign 4: You Love Others Deeply and Selflessly
1 John 4:8 says, “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” True Christian love is patient, kind, forgiving, and selfless. It’s not just about being nice—it’s about loving even your enemies (Luke 6:27-28).
Sign 5: You Endure Trials and Persecution for Christ
Following Jesus isn’t always easy. 2 Timothy 3:12 says, “All who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” Trials test and strengthen our faith. Do you stand firm in your faith even when life gets hard?
Sign 6: You Have an Unshakable Hope in Heaven
A true follower of Christ doesn’t live for this world—their heart is set on eternity. Philippians 3:20 says, “Our citizenship is in heaven.” Do you long for heaven, or are you too attached to this world?
If you’re not 100% sure of your salvation, don’t wait. Turn to Jesus today. Pray sincerely, “Lord Jesus, I know I am a sinner. I believe You died for my sins and rose again. I ask for Your forgiveness and surrender my life to You completely. Be my Lord, my Savior, and my greatest desire. Thank You for saving me. In Jesus’ name, amen.” If you prayed this, heaven is now your home. Grow in your faith, read the Bible, pray daily, and surround yourself with believers. Share this message with someone who needs to hear it. Jesus is coming back, and eternity is at stake. Are you ready?
By Robert Morris:
How to be sure?
How tragic it would be if we went through life thinking we were saved and then woke up on Judgment Day to find out we were mistaken! But the Bible teaches that this will be the case with many people. Christ said, "Many will say unto Me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Thy name? and in Thy name have cast out devils? and in Thy name done many wonderful works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from Me, ye that work iniquity" (Matt. 7:22-23).
However, we do not have to go through life without the assurance of salvation. In 1 John 5:13 the apostle says, "These things have I written unto you...that ye may know that ye have eternal life." How then can we have this assurance? This is the most important question we will ever face in life because our eternal destiny is at stake! The Bible teaches that those who remain unsaved will spend eternity in a place of perpetual torment (Matt. 25:46; Rev. 14:9-11). The reason for this is because their sin has not been paid for, and God's perfect justice requires that payment be made for sin ("the wages of sin is death" Rom. 6:23). Therefore, it is vital that we know the answer to this question. This is why the Apostle Peter wrote, "Give diligence to make your calling and election sure" (2 Pet. 1:10).
It is true that we must believe in Christ in order to become saved (Acts 16:31), but how can we be sure we have savingly believed in Him? Certainly we cannot rely upon our feelings since feelings can be misleading. Some might suggest we can be sure by acknowledging the facts of the gospel or saying "the sinner's prayer." However, the Bible teaches that it is not possible to be saved without being regenerated. Christ said, "Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God" (John 3:3). Therefore, we cannot know we have savingly believed in Christ until we know we are born again.
But what does it mean to be born again? Is this some kind of emotional experience? No, the Bible teaches that being born again means our life is changed. In 2 Corinthians 5:17 we read, "Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new." The Bible also tells us what changes will take place in our life when we are born again.
First, we will not habitually commit sin.
"Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin."—1 John 3:9
"How shall we that are dead to sin live any longer therein?"—Romans 6:2
Though we will continue to sin because of indwelling corruption, we will no longer practice it for its dominion has been broken in our life, and God has instilled in our heart a hatred for it.
Second, we will seek to live a holy life by obeying God's Word.
"Everyone that doeth righteousness is born of Him."—1 John 2:29
"And hereby do we know that we know Him, if we keep His commandments."—1 John 2:3
We will not obey God's Word perfectly as long as we still have a sinful nature. But we will obey it purposefully because of an ongoing, earnest desire to do God's will.
Third, we will love others, regardless of who they are or what they have done.
"Everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love."—1 John 4:7-8
"We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren."—1 John 3:14
Since God is love He has given us a desire to love others, especially believers. We may not always feel love towards them, yet we will show love by seeking to do them good when we have the opportunity.
Fourth, our affections will not be set upon the things of the world.
"If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him."—1 John 2:15
"For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit...But ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwell in you. Now if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His."—Romans. 8:5, 9
Though we can and should enjoy the things of the world God has given us, our heart will not be set upon them because Christ is our all in all.
These changes are not the cause of our salvation for we are saved by Christ (as our propitiation and as the giver of the gift of perfect righteousness) through faith—even that is not of ourselves but is a gift from God (Eph. 2:8-9). Rather, these changes are the evidence that we truly have been born again. If they are not evident in our life, it is likely we have not savingly believed in Christ. And therefore, it is vital that we diligently read the Bible until we are assured of having saving faith in Him. The Bible says, "So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God" (Rom. 10:17). A good place to start is 1 John and James for they deal extensively with the changes that result from being born again.
Godly Character Qualities (by GOL)
This is a list of some of the godly character qualities for Born Again to model after. Remember, however, our goal is not moralism or behaviorism. These character qualities are a reflection of the new man, a regenerate heart. We want to realize that external character, obedience or “polish” without a new heart is nothing but a works righteousness and legalism.
Character Qualities
Alertness vs. Unawareness
Being aware of that which is taking place around me so I can have the right response to it (Mark 14:38)
Attentiveness vs. Unconcern
Showing the worth of a person by giving undivided attention to his words and emotions (Hebrews 2:1)
Availability vs. Self-centeredness
Making my own schedule and priorities secondary to the wishes of those I am serving (Philippians 2:20–21)
Boldness vs. Fearfulness
Confidence that what I have to say or do is true and right and just in the sight of God (Acts 4:29)
Cautiousness vs. Rashness
Knowing how important right timing is in accomplishing right actions (Proverbs 19:2)
Compassion vs. Indifference
Investing whatever is necessary to heal the hurts of others (I John 3:17)
Contentment vs. Covetousness
Realizing that God has provided everything I need for my present happiness (I Timothy 6:8)
Creativity vs. Underachievement
Approaching a need, a task, an idea from a new perspective (Romans 12:2)
Decisiveness vs. Double-mindedness
The ability to finalize difficult decisions based on the will and ways of God (James 1:5)
Deference vs. Rudeness
Limiting my freedom in order not offend the tastes of those whom God has called me to serve (Romans 14:21)
Dependability vs. Inconsistency
Fulfilling what I consented to do even if it means unexpected sacrifice (Psalm 15:4)
Determination vs. Faintheartedness
Purposing to accomplish God’s goals in God’s time regardless of the opposition (II Timothy 4:7–8)
Dligence vs. Slothfulness
Visualizing each task as a special assignment from the Lord and using all my energies to accomplish it (Colossians 3:23)
Discernment vs. Judgment
The God-given ability to understand why things happen (I Samuel 16:7)
Discretion vs. Simplemindedness
The ability to avoid words, actions, and attitudes which could result in undesirable consequences (Proverbs 22:3)
Endurance vs. Giving up
The inward strength to withstand stress to accomplish God’s best (Galatians 6:9)
Enthusiasm vs. Apathy
Expressing with my soul the joy of my spirit (I Thessalonians 5:16,19)
Faith vs. Presumption
Visualizing what God intends to do in a given situation and acting in harmony with it (Hebrews 11:1)
Flexibility vs. Resistance
Not setting my affections on ideas or plans which could be changed by God or others (Colossians 3:2)
Forgiveness vs. Rejection
Clearing the record of those who have wronged me and allowing God to love them through me (Ephesians 4:32)
Generosity vs. Stinginess
Realizing that all I have belongs to God and using it for His purposes (II Corinthians 9:6)
Gentleness vs. Harshness
Showing personal care and concern in meeting the need of others (I Thessalonians 2:7)
Gratefulness vs. Unthankfulness
Making known to God and others in what ways they have benefited my life (I Corinthians 4:7)
Hospitality vs. Loneliness
Cheerfully sharing food, shelter, and spiritual refreshment with those whom God brings into my life (Hebrews 13:2)
Humility vs. Pride
Recognizing that it is actually God and others who are responsible for the achievements in my life (James 4:6)
Initiative vs. Unresponsiveness
Recognizing and doing what needs to be done before I am asked to do it (Romans 12:21)
Joyfulness vs. Self-pity
The spontaneous enthusiasm of my spirit when my soul is in fellowship with the Lord (Psalm 16:11)
Justice vs. Fairness
Personal responsibility to God’s unchanging laws (Micah 6:8)
Love vs. Selfishness
Giving to others’ basic needs without having as my motive personal reward (I Corinthians 13:3)
Loyalty vs. Unfaithfulness
Using difficult times to demonstrate my commitment to God and to those whom He has called me to serve (John 15:13)
Meekness vs. Anger
Yielding my personal rights and expectations to God (Psalm 62:5)
Obedience vs. Willfulness
Freedom to be creative under the protection of divinely appointed authority (II Corinthians 10:5)
Orderliness vs. Disorganization
Preparing myself and my surroundings so I will achieve the greatest efficiency (I Corinthians 14:40)
Patience vs. Restlessness
Accepting a difficult situation from God without giving Him a deadline to remove it (Romans 5:3–4)
Persuasiveness vs. Contentiousness
Guiding vital truths around another’s mental roadblocks (II Timothy 2:24)
Punctuality vs. Tardiness
Showing high esteem for other people and their time (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Resourcefulness vs. Wastefulness
Wise use of that which others would normally overlook or discard (Luke 16:10)
Responsibility vs. Unreliability
Knowing and doing what both God and others are expecting from me (Romans 14:12)
Reverence vs. Disrespect
Awareness of how God is working through the people and events in my life to produce the character of Christ in me (Proverbs 23:17–18)
Security vs. Anxiety
Structuring my life around that which is eternal and cannot be destroyed or taken away (John 6:27)
Self-Control vs. Self-indulgence
Instant obedience to the initial promptings of God’s Spirit (Galatians 5:24–25)
Sensitivity vs. Callousness
Exercising my senses so I can perceive the true spirit and emotions of those around me (Romans 12:15)
Sincerity vs. Hypocrisy
Eagerness to do what is right with transparent motives (I Peter 1:22)
Thoroughness vs. Incompleteness
Knowing what factors will diminish the effectiveness of my work or words if neglected (Proverbs 18:15)
Thriftiness vs. Extravagance
Not letting myself or others spend that which is not necessary (Luke 16:11)
Tolerance vs. Prejudice
Acceptance of others as unique expressions of specific character qualities in varying degrees of maturity (Philippians 2:2)
Truthfulness vs. Deception
Earning future trust by accurately reporting past facts (Ephesians 4:25)
Virtue vs. Impurity
The moral excellence and purity of spirit that radiate from my life as I obey God’s Word (II Peter 1:3)
Wisdom vs. Natural Inclinations
Seeing and responding to life’s situations from God’s frame of reference (Proverbs 9:10)
This is a list of some of the godly character qualities for Born Again to model after. Remember, however, our goal is not moralism or behaviorism. These character qualities are a reflection of the new man, a regenerate heart. We want to realize that external character, obedience or “polish” without a new heart is nothing but a works righteousness and legalism.
Character Qualities
Alertness vs. Unawareness
Being aware of that which is taking place around me so I can have the right response to it (Mark 14:38)
Attentiveness vs. Unconcern
Showing the worth of a person by giving undivided attention to his words and emotions (Hebrews 2:1)
Availability vs. Self-centeredness
Making my own schedule and priorities secondary to the wishes of those I am serving (Philippians 2:20–21)
Boldness vs. Fearfulness
Confidence that what I have to say or do is true and right and just in the sight of God (Acts 4:29)
Cautiousness vs. Rashness
Knowing how important right timing is in accomplishing right actions (Proverbs 19:2)
Compassion vs. Indifference
Investing whatever is necessary to heal the hurts of others (I John 3:17)
Contentment vs. Covetousness
Realizing that God has provided everything I need for my present happiness (I Timothy 6:8)
Creativity vs. Underachievement
Approaching a need, a task, an idea from a new perspective (Romans 12:2)
Decisiveness vs. Double-mindedness
The ability to finalize difficult decisions based on the will and ways of God (James 1:5)
Deference vs. Rudeness
Limiting my freedom in order not offend the tastes of those whom God has called me to serve (Romans 14:21)
Dependability vs. Inconsistency
Fulfilling what I consented to do even if it means unexpected sacrifice (Psalm 15:4)
Determination vs. Faintheartedness
Purposing to accomplish God’s goals in God’s time regardless of the opposition (II Timothy 4:7–8)
Dligence vs. Slothfulness
Visualizing each task as a special assignment from the Lord and using all my energies to accomplish it (Colossians 3:23)
Discernment vs. Judgment
The God-given ability to understand why things happen (I Samuel 16:7)
Discretion vs. Simplemindedness
The ability to avoid words, actions, and attitudes which could result in undesirable consequences (Proverbs 22:3)
Endurance vs. Giving up
The inward strength to withstand stress to accomplish God’s best (Galatians 6:9)
Enthusiasm vs. Apathy
Expressing with my soul the joy of my spirit (I Thessalonians 5:16,19)
Faith vs. Presumption
Visualizing what God intends to do in a given situation and acting in harmony with it (Hebrews 11:1)
Flexibility vs. Resistance
Not setting my affections on ideas or plans which could be changed by God or others (Colossians 3:2)
Forgiveness vs. Rejection
Clearing the record of those who have wronged me and allowing God to love them through me (Ephesians 4:32)
Generosity vs. Stinginess
Realizing that all I have belongs to God and using it for His purposes (II Corinthians 9:6)
Gentleness vs. Harshness
Showing personal care and concern in meeting the need of others (I Thessalonians 2:7)
Gratefulness vs. Unthankfulness
Making known to God and others in what ways they have benefited my life (I Corinthians 4:7)
Hospitality vs. Loneliness
Cheerfully sharing food, shelter, and spiritual refreshment with those whom God brings into my life (Hebrews 13:2)
Humility vs. Pride
Recognizing that it is actually God and others who are responsible for the achievements in my life (James 4:6)
Initiative vs. Unresponsiveness
Recognizing and doing what needs to be done before I am asked to do it (Romans 12:21)
Joyfulness vs. Self-pity
The spontaneous enthusiasm of my spirit when my soul is in fellowship with the Lord (Psalm 16:11)
Justice vs. Fairness
Personal responsibility to God’s unchanging laws (Micah 6:8)
Love vs. Selfishness
Giving to others’ basic needs without having as my motive personal reward (I Corinthians 13:3)
Loyalty vs. Unfaithfulness
Using difficult times to demonstrate my commitment to God and to those whom He has called me to serve (John 15:13)
Meekness vs. Anger
Yielding my personal rights and expectations to God (Psalm 62:5)
Obedience vs. Willfulness
Freedom to be creative under the protection of divinely appointed authority (II Corinthians 10:5)
Orderliness vs. Disorganization
Preparing myself and my surroundings so I will achieve the greatest efficiency (I Corinthians 14:40)
Patience vs. Restlessness
Accepting a difficult situation from God without giving Him a deadline to remove it (Romans 5:3–4)
Persuasiveness vs. Contentiousness
Guiding vital truths around another’s mental roadblocks (II Timothy 2:24)
Punctuality vs. Tardiness
Showing high esteem for other people and their time (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Resourcefulness vs. Wastefulness
Wise use of that which others would normally overlook or discard (Luke 16:10)
Responsibility vs. Unreliability
Knowing and doing what both God and others are expecting from me (Romans 14:12)
Reverence vs. Disrespect
Awareness of how God is working through the people and events in my life to produce the character of Christ in me (Proverbs 23:17–18)
Security vs. Anxiety
Structuring my life around that which is eternal and cannot be destroyed or taken away (John 6:27)
Self-Control vs. Self-indulgence
Instant obedience to the initial promptings of God’s Spirit (Galatians 5:24–25)
Sensitivity vs. Callousness
Exercising my senses so I can perceive the true spirit and emotions of those around me (Romans 12:15)
Sincerity vs. Hypocrisy
Eagerness to do what is right with transparent motives (I Peter 1:22)
Thoroughness vs. Incompleteness
Knowing what factors will diminish the effectiveness of my work or words if neglected (Proverbs 18:15)
Thriftiness vs. Extravagance
Not letting myself or others spend that which is not necessary (Luke 16:11)
Tolerance vs. Prejudice
Acceptance of others as unique expressions of specific character qualities in varying degrees of maturity (Philippians 2:2)
Truthfulness vs. Deception
Earning future trust by accurately reporting past facts (Ephesians 4:25)
Virtue vs. Impurity
The moral excellence and purity of spirit that radiate from my life as I obey God’s Word (II Peter 1:3)
Wisdom vs. Natural Inclinations
Seeing and responding to life’s situations from God’s frame of reference (Proverbs 9:10)
Men that play together become competitive with each other. Men that go to war together become brothers.
(6) Hurdles to being Born Again
The hurdles to being Born Again become crucial for those intensely seeking it.
We shall discuss some of the hurdles here:
- Interested but not intensely seeking
There is a difference between interested versus passionately / intensely seeking it.
Our actions say a lot about whether we are just merely interested or
- Never ask God for it
John 16:24 NIV
Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete.
James 4: 2-3
You do not have because you do not ask God. 3 When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.
- Unrepented Sins
Unrepented Sins can block us from reaching our Born Again experience. Examples of Unrepented Sins:
- Unteachable Attitude
Signs of Unteachable Attitudes (click here for details):
Being unteachable is a sign of a proud heart. Men and women who refuse to receive correction, necessary rebuke, and godly counsel are people who are destined to fall. Many verses in Scripture back this assertion.
Proverbs 11:14, for starters, tells us that, "Where there is no counsel, the people fall; But in the multitude of counsellors there is safety."
Proverbs 12:15 tells us, "The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, but he who heeds counsel is wise."
- Self Righteous
It is easier for prostitutes, murderers, thieves and etc to come into the Kingdom of God than Scholars and "Educated" people.
Perhaps the video below can illustrate the reason why scholars/educated people (mainly Moralists) are more at risks of being deceived by their own thoughts than those Hedonists.
The hurdles to being Born Again become crucial for those intensely seeking it.
We shall discuss some of the hurdles here:
- Interested but not intensely seeking
There is a difference between interested versus passionately / intensely seeking it.
Our actions say a lot about whether we are just merely interested or
- Never ask God for it
John 16:24 NIV
Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete.
James 4: 2-3
You do not have because you do not ask God. 3 When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.
- Unrepented Sins
Unrepented Sins can block us from reaching our Born Again experience. Examples of Unrepented Sins:
- Fornication (e.g. Unmarried couples living together)
- Homosexual relations (e.g. gay couples living together)
- Adultery
- Strife
- Causing division
- Gossips
- Self as God
- etc etc
- Unteachable Attitude
Signs of Unteachable Attitudes (click here for details):
- Thinking That Your Way Is the Best, Even If You Find It Failing
- Getting Offended for Being Corrected
- Appearing Receptive to Instruction, Correction, and Rebuke, But Secretly Rejecting It in Your Heart
- Cannot take instruction from those in lower positions
- Gets offended when someone tries to teach you something you already know
- Pretend to know what’s being taught, even when you don’t
- You feel certain tasks are beneath you, so you don’t need to learn them
- You try to “one-up” the one giving instruction by proving you know more than they do
Being unteachable is a sign of a proud heart. Men and women who refuse to receive correction, necessary rebuke, and godly counsel are people who are destined to fall. Many verses in Scripture back this assertion.
Proverbs 11:14, for starters, tells us that, "Where there is no counsel, the people fall; But in the multitude of counsellors there is safety."
Proverbs 12:15 tells us, "The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, but he who heeds counsel is wise."
- Self Righteous
It is easier for prostitutes, murderers, thieves and etc to come into the Kingdom of God than Scholars and "Educated" people.
Perhaps the video below can illustrate the reason why scholars/educated people (mainly Moralists) are more at risks of being deceived by their own thoughts than those Hedonists.
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The hurdles to being BORN AGAIN merits our attention because it is a prerequisite to enter the Kingdom of God.
A video below from David Pawson discuss Believers ending up in hell.
A video below from David Pawson discuss Believers ending up in hell.
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Example of Sins in the Bible
For those who think that they can meet the requirements of God, then they should not commit any sin. Otherwise, there is only one direction to go....HELL. To give you an examples of what sin is, please see some of the examples of sins from The Bible.
1. IDOLATRY — the making of any created thing to be your "god;" settings your ultimate love upon, finding your ultimate security in, or giving your ultimate allegiance to any created thing(s), whether material, human, or formal false religious gods. Attributing uniquely divine attributes to created entities or things; worshiping such as God. Idolatry is a a sin of atheism as by necessity it effectively makes "gods" out of created things. (Is. 45:18; Ex. 20:3 Dt. 5:7; 6:5,14; 17:2-7; 27:15; Acts 21:25; 1 Cor. 5:11; 12:2; 2 Cor. 6:16; 1 Thes. 1:9; 1 Jn. 5:21; Rev. 2:14,20; 9:20)
2. BLASPHEMY — attacking or otherwise showing disrespect toward God and His character, in word or deed. Includes charging God, who alone is eternal, infallible, omnipotent and omniscient, and does what is right (especially in the light of eternity), with being immoral. Such as many angry atheists do, effectively presuming omniscience and superior wisdom and judgment. (Mk. 7:22; Lv. 24:16; 1Ki. 21:10; Mt. 12:31; Acts 26:11; James 2:7)
3. TAKING THE NAME OF GOD IN VAIN — misusing or misappropriating God's name and authority for any purpose, such as invoking the name of God/Christ to give authority to the unholy curses or purposes of man. Includes falsely speaking prophecy in the name of the LORD. It is a form of the sin of profanity. (Lv. 19:8,12; Dt. 18:20a; 20:7; Jer. 20:1-6; 28:1,2,10-17;29:24-32)
4. PROFANITY — irreverence or being contemptuous in word or deed toward what God calls holy, sanctified. (Lev. 19:12; 21:23; Neh. 13:17-18; Ezek. 23:26; 44:23; Mal. 2:10,11; Eph. 4:29; 1Co. 7:14; 1Tim. 4:7; 6:20;; Heb. 12:16)
5. BEING A FALSE PREACHER — one who entices others to practice false religion, to go after other gods; apostasy, or which teach contrary to salvific Scriptural Truths. (Dt. 13:6-12; Mt. 23:15; Acts 13:10; 2Cor. 11:13-15) Akin to the sin of misdirecting people, from making the blind wander out of the way to maliciously giving false directions. (Dt. 27:18; Mt. 15:14)
6. WITCHCRAFT — the practice of witches; occultic magic: Ouija boards, astrology, palmistry, necromancy, divination, etc.; also likened to rebellion. (Ex. 22:18; Lv. 19:31; 20:6,27; 1Sam. 15:23) See here.
7. CHILD SACRIFICE TO IDOLS, FALSE GODS (see #1) — basically includes abortion (most of which are done for convenience), or directing them to laws and ideologies contrary to God's word, and which directs them on the path of damnation. (Lv. 18:21; 20:2; Dt. 12:31; 18:10)
8. REBELLION AGAINST PARENTS — Cursing, disrespect, or constant rebellion against parents (except where obedience is required due to conflict with God's word) (Ex. 20:12; 21:15, 17; cf. Lv. 20:9; Dt. 21:18; 27:16)
9. DISOBEDIENCE TO AUTHORITY — Disobedience to just judgments by God-ordained authority. (Dt. 17:9,10a, 11b,12; Josh 1:18; Rm. 13:1-7; 1Pet. 2:13,14)
10. MURDER — premeditated killing with malice; intentional unlawful and or unjust killing of another human; homicide with malicious forethought. (Ex. 21:12-14: Lv. 24:17; Num. 35:31; Dt. 19:11,12; Jn. 8:44; 1 Tim. 1:9; 1 Pet. 4:15; 1 Jn. 3:15) Includes murdering one in their thoughts. (Mk. 7:21)
11. NEGLIGENT HOMICIDE — death of another caused by one's own negligence. (Ex. 21:29)
12. HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONS — sexual activity between persons of the same gender; seeking to join same genders in marriage (cf. here and here (Lv. 18:22; 20:13; Rm. 1:26,27; 1 Tim. 1:10)
13. EFFEMINANCY — men unnaturally taking on female characteristics and behavior, contrary to the distinctive nature of opposite genders God created, and thus their complimentarity. (1 Cor. 6:9; cf. Dt. 22:5)
14. BESTIALITY — sexual relations between humans and animals. (Ex. 22:19; Lv. 18:23; 20:15; Dt. 27:21)
15. ADULTERY — violation of the marriage bed; extramarital sexual relations in heart or actions (includes lusting by pornography). (Lv. 20:10; Dt. 22:23-25; Mk. 7:20-23; Jn. 8:3-5; Gal. 5:19; 1 Cor. 6:9)
16. FORNICATION — sexual intercourse before marriage: also adultery and spiritual unfaithfulness. (Gn. 34; Mt. 19:9; Mk. 7:20-23; Acts 15:20; 21:25; Rm. 1:29; 1 Cor. 5:1,11; 6:13,19; 7:2; Gal. 5:19; Eph. 5:3; Col. 3:5; 1Thes. 4:3; Rev. 9:21; 14:8; 17:2,4; 18:3; 19:2);
17. SEXUAL UNCLEANNESS — all unnatural, impure or otherwise illicit (such as unmarried) sexual activity, in heart or deed. (Mk. 7:20-23; 2Cor. 12:21; Gal. 5:19; Eph. 5:3; Col. 3:5)
18. DECEIT, LYING — dishonesty in every form; being a false witness. (Dt. 19:15; Mk. 7:22; 14:1; Acts 13:10; Rm. 1:29; 1 Tim. 1:10; 1Thes. 2:3; 1Pet. 2:1,22; 3:10; Rev. 2:2; 14:5; 21:8)
19. FALSE PRETENSE IN MARRIAGE Marriage under the pretense of being a virgin. (Dt. 22:20)
20. LASCIVIOUSNESS — lustful, wanton; captivating lust. (Gal. 5:19; Eph. 4:19; 1Pet. 4:3; Jude 1:4)
21. COVETOUSNESS — Selfish lusting for things, whether pleasure (food, sex), possessions or power/prestige. (Lk. 12:15; Rm. 1:29; 2 Cor. 9:5; Eph. 4:19; 5:3; Col. 3:5; 1 Thes. 2:5; 2 Pet. 2:3,14; 1Jn. 2:16)
22. THEFTS — stealing; the unlawful taking of anything material, intellectual, etc. (Ex. 20:15; Lv. 19:11; Dt. 19:14; Dt. 27:17; Ezek. 22:29; Mk. 7:22; Jn. 12:6; Eph. 4:28; 1 Pet. 4:15)
23. PERVERTING JUSTICE — perversion of what is just and right for the afflicted, especially to the stranger, fatherless or widow (Ex. 22:22-24; Dt. 27:19)
24. HATRED — Unholy bitter aversion, animosity, antagonism, resentment. (Rm. 1:29; Gal. 5:20; James 4:4)
25. VARIANCE (archaic) — contentious spirit; refusal to submit to truth, or just rulings by lawful authority. (Rm. 1:29; 1Cor. 3:3; Gal. 5:20; Titus 3:9; Dt. 17:8-13)
26. EMULATIONS — unholy zeal; selfish ambition, strife to excel at the expense of another. (Num. 12; Gal. 5:20; Phil. 2:14)
27. WRATH — Carnal turbulent, violent passions of unholy anger, indignation. (2 Cor. 12:20; Gal. 5:20; Col. 3:8)
28. STRIFE — fleshly disputations; selfish contention for superiority. (Gal. 5:20; Rm. 1:29; 13:13; 1 Cor. 1:11; 2 Cor. 12:20; Phil. 1:15; 2:24; 1Tim. 6:4; 3:9; 1 Pet. 5:5)
29. SEDITION — carnal assembly of rebellious spirit in opposition to lawful authority: fleshly factious uprising; (Num. 12; 16; Rm. 16:7; 1 Cor. 3:3; Gal. 5:20)
30. HERESIES — unholy factions holding false doctrine opposed to established fundamental truths. (Gal. 5:20; Titus 1:3)
31. SIMONY — purchasing (by money or favors) ecclesiastical offices or power. (Acts 8:18-24)
32. ENVYINGS — Craving what others have, whether pleasure, possessions, or prestige (the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and the pride of life: 1Jn. 2:16)) even if you have no done nothing to deserve such (as with the devil seeking God's position). This is often used interchangeably with jealousy, but which can be feeling that what others give belongs to you or your interest instead of someone or something else, rightly or not (the coach was jealous for the devotion some of his talented players showed to video games). (Gal. 5:21; Num. 16:3,7; Mt. 27:18; Mk. 15:10; Rm. 1:29; Phil. 1:15; 1Tim. 6:4; Titus 3:3; 1Pet. 2:1)
33. DRUNKENNESS — the state of being drunk; under the influence of intoxicating substances which alter the senses for recreation. "Even the cares of the world, when they intoxicate the mind" (Adam Clarke). (Ga. 5:21; Dt. 21:20; Lk. 21:34; 1 Cor. 5:11; 6:10; Eph. 5:18; 1 Thes. 5:7)
34. REVELINGS — boisterous, indulgent festivities, carousing, loud merry-making, partying. (Gal. 5:21; Ex. 32:1-8; Rm. 13:13; 1Pet. 4:3)
35. PRIDE — haughtiness; egotism; conceit. Seeing yourself better than you really are. (Mk. 7:22; Ps. 12:3; 101:5; 119:21; 123:4; 138:6; Prv. 6:17; 15:25; 16:5; 21:4,24; 28:25; Eccl. 7:8; Is. 2:12)
36. FOOLISHNESS — frivolous or irresponsible behavior. (Mk. 7:22; Prv. 12:23; 22:15; 24:9; 27:2; Eccl. 7:25; 1 Pet. 2:15)
37. EXTORTION — forced extraction of money, sex, things, by manipulation; coercion. (1 Cor. 5:11; Lk. 18:11; Mt. 23:25; 7:15)
38. REFUSING TO FORGIVE — holding a grudge, harboring personal resentment, a bitter spirit against persons due to past injuries (see Hurt and Resentment); pressing charges in heart, especially despite ignorance or repentance on the other person's part. (Lv. 19:18; Mt. 6:12-15; 18:23-35; Heb. 12:15) This does not exclude bringing issues to a person or the church that should be addressed as being wrong in principle, and in the interest of peace and righteousness, (cf. Mt. 18:15-17) but a forgiving spirit, not a resentful one, is required in the light of God's forgiveness of us, and not seeking satisfaction for injuries is the higher standard. (Lk. 23:34; Acts 7:50; 1Co. 6:7)
39. EVIL THOUGHTS — any evil thoughts, or imaginations, including unwarranted suspicions; seeking vengeance; illicit sex fantasies; planning evil. (Mk. 7:21; Mt. 9:4; James 2:4)
40. THE ULTIMATE SIN OF DAMNATION - Rejecting the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God, and the only One who can save you from all your sins.
John. 3:18, 36 - He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on Him.
"In flaming fire taking vengeance on them that know not God, and that obey not the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ: Who shall be punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power; When he shall come to be glorified in his saints, and to be admired in all them that believe (because our testimony among you was believed) in that day" (2Thes. 1:-10).
(7) Carnal Christian
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Carnal Christians do not make it to heaven.
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(8) Narrow is the Way from REVELATION
Book of Revelation that Jesus reveals are:
- Revelation 1:3 - "Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written in it, because the time is near."
- Revelation 3:3 - "Remember, therefore, what you have received and heard; hold it fast, and repent. But if you do not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what time I will come to you."
- Revelation 3:17 - "You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked."
- Revelation 2:5 - "Consider how far you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place."
- Revelation 2:10 - "Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. I tell you, the devil will put some of you in prison to test you, and you will suffer persecution for ten days. Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you life as your victor’s crown."
- Revelation 13:10 - "‘If anyone is to go into captivity, into captivity they will go. If anyone is to be killed with the sword, with the sword they will be killed.’ This calls for patient endurance and faithfulness on the part of God’s people."
- Revelation 14:12 - "This calls for patient endurance on the part of the people of God who keep his commands and remain faithful to Jesus."
- Revelation 3:20 - "Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me."
- Revelation 12:11 - "They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death."
- Revelation 14:4-5 - "These are those who did not defile themselves with women, for they remained virgins. They follow the Lamb wherever he goes. They were purchased from among mankind and offered as firstfruits to God and the Lamb. No lie was found in their mouths; they are blameless."
1. The Modern Church is Spiritually Asleep and ComplacentThe central accusation is that the church has been lulled into a state of spiritual slumber. This isn't about being physically lazy, but about being:
6. The "Test" is Already HappeningThe final, chilling message is that the great tribulation or "test" isn't a future event to be decoded on a chart. It is happening now.
In summary, the key message is a call to awaken from spiritual complacency, reject a comfortable and costless Christianity, return to the challenging words of Jesus (especially in Revelation), and prepare for a faith that will require patient endurance and a willingness to sacrifice everything.
- Comfortable: Prioritizing feel-good messages over challenging truths.
- Distracted: Focused on programs, entertainment, and community rather than on Christ Himself.
- Complacent: Believing they are "rich" and blessed (in a material/prosperity sense) while being unaware of their true spiritual poverty (Rev. 3:17).
- Promising Blessing Without Cost: Teaching that faith leads to health, wealth, and ease.
- Omitting Suffering and Sacrifice: Avoiding any teaching that following Jesus might involve persecution, loss, or even death.
- Focusing on Escape (Rapture Theology): Teaching that believers will be removed before any tribulation, which the narrative claims creates a false sense of security and leaves believers unprepared for hardship.
- It contains explicit blessings for those who read it (Rev. 1:3).
- It is filled with urgent warnings to the church to wake up and repent.
- It clearly outlines the cost of discipleship, including the call to "patient endurance" and faithfulness unto death.
- Faith Perseveres: Real faith endures to the end, even through suffering (Rev. 13:10, 14:12).
- Faith Obeys: It's not just about claiming grace; it's about keeping God's commands as a result of that grace.
- Faith is Costly: It is willing to lose everything, including life itself, rather than deny Christ (Rev. 12:11).
6. The "Test" is Already HappeningThe final, chilling message is that the great tribulation or "test" isn't a future event to be decoded on a chart. It is happening now.
- The Test: Every moment, believers are choosing between truth and comfort.
- The Result: Those who choose comfort over the hard truths of Scripture are failing the test and may be among those who, on the final day, hear "I never knew you" (Matthew 7:23).
In summary, the key message is a call to awaken from spiritual complacency, reject a comfortable and costless Christianity, return to the challenging words of Jesus (especially in Revelation), and prepare for a faith that will require patient endurance and a willingness to sacrifice everything.
(9) Narrow is the Way
Near Death Experience 1
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a Christian going to hell)
The Life of a Christian
My name is Sarah Mitchell. I'm 51 years old, and I live in a quiet neighborhood in the city of Grand Rapids, Michigan. I was raised in a traditional Christian family. My mother was a woman of strong faith, and my father was the youth leader at our local church. From a young age, I was taught in an environment filled with love and reverence for God. The Bible was not just a book in our home; it was the compass that guided every decision in our lives.
Every morning, I would pray before starting my day, and each night before going to sleep, I would spend a few minutes asking God for protection and guidance. On weekends, my family and I always attended church services, where I felt a deep sense of peace in my soul and a strong connection with the community of believers.
I lived a life I believed to be righteous—working hard, living honestly, and treating others with respect. I was always proud of my faith and believed it was my guaranteed ticket to heaven. But now, looking back, I wonder: Had I confused a living faith with a labeled belief?
Though I was not a perfect person, I believed I had lived according to God's teachings. I stayed away from the big sins that I thought could lead a person to judgment. Everything seemed fine, and I thought my faith was a sure path to heaven.
But everything changed when I had a near-death experience—an experience that I now know opened a truth I had never imagined before.
The Moment Near Death
Everything began on December 15, 2020. It was a cold Tuesday afternoon. The sky was overcast, and the damp air seeped through every layer of my coat. I was on my way to the pharmacy to pick up my usual prescription—a simple task I had done countless times. But that day, something inside me felt off. That morning, my boss had harshly criticized me in front of the whole team—a rebuke I believed was unfair. I had worked hard, yet his words echoed, clinging to my mind like a persistent scratch that wouldn't fade. I stepped into the pharmacy, still fuming with frustration. The line was longer than I had expected, and the unease inside me grew stronger. I kept glancing at the clock, sighing as each minute passed like torture. When it was almost my turn, a strange sensation suddenly came over me. My head felt weightless, as if gravity had just disappeared. The fluorescent lights above became blinding, their rays stabbing into my eyes like needles. Everything started spinning—not like a fleeting dizziness, but like a whirlpool that engulfed all my senses. I tried to grab the shelf, but my hands were trembling, and my legs buckled beneath me, as if they no longer belonged to me. A panicked voice rang out: "She's collapsed!" I heard footsteps, murmurs, but everything quickly faded. Sounds vanished, light dimmed, and all physical sensations disappeared, as if someone had flipped the switch on the entire world.
I fell into a pitch-black void—absolute silence, no light, no sound, no time. In that darkness, there were no churches, no Bibles, no prayers. Only me and the question I had never dared to face: Was my faith truly alive, or had it just been a habit?
I could no longer feel my body—no arms to flail, no legs to run, no breath to draw. All that remained was existence—a drifting awareness, a lone soul in utter darkness. I had no idea how long I was there. Time did not exist in that place. A second could have been a century, or a century just a blink of an eye. I floated in nothingness, completely helpless. And then, from some faraway place, I noticed a point of light—tiny, like a lone star in the night sky. It grew larger—or maybe I was moving toward it—I couldn’t tell. That light was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was pure white but not blinding—instead, full of warmth and life, as if the light itself had a soul. As I drew closer, a sense of peace flooded me. The fear melted away, replaced by the feeling of coming home after a long and exhausting journey. Though I had never known a place like this in my life, I felt with certainty that I was approaching something sacred. And as I sank into that light, I knew one thing for sure: This was no dream. This was the beginning of something I never expected, and it would change me forever. Before I could ask anything, the gentle light surrounding me vanished in an instant. An invisible force pulled me away, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself standing before a pitch-black abyss. Below was a bottomless pit, rising with columns of blazing red fire, roaring like starving beasts.
This was no nightmare. It was real—down to every detail, every breath, every shiver that pierced my spine.
Hell Revealed
The ground beneath my feet wasn’t just cracked; it groaned. It wasn’t black but a scorched gray, like the ashes of souls, where every step felt like treading on silent cries of anguish. From the fissures, flames erupted without rest, shooting high as if trying to devour the heavens. Above me was no earthly sky but a thick and suffocating darkness, where light existed only in brief flashes of deep crimson lightning, tearing through the void before fading quickly, leaving behind an oppressive, choking heaviness. The air reeked of sulfur—so dry and scorching that every breath felt like dragging fire into my lungs. The fire here was unlike any earthly flame. It wasn’t red but a pale white—the color of fire that burns the soul. It left no burns on the flesh but consumed every last trace of hope. But the thing that terrified me most wasn’t the fire—it was the people, or rather, the souls tormented within it. They screamed, begged, wept. They burned but never vanished, suffered but could not die. Each scream was a cry of utter despair, as if they had lost everything—even the hope of an end. Some reached out as if pleading for rescue; others curled up, trembling in agony beyond words.
I had always believed hell was a place for murderers, for those who rejected God, for the wicked and depraved. But then, among those souls, I began to recognize familiar faces—people who once went to church with me. They had served, prayed, preached. So why were they here? Was there something I had never understood about salvation?
A woman who once led our Bible study group. A man who sang hymns every Sunday morning. A pastor who had placed his hand on my head during baptism. They were all here—suffering, despairing. And I couldn’t comprehend it. I turned to Jesus. He was still beside me, silent. I cried out, my voice trembling, "Why? Why are they here? They were Christians. They loved you. They served in your name."
He looked at me, his eyes both sorrowful and solemn, as though he had seen this scene far too many times. His voice echoed in my mind without moving his lips:
"They lived in pride. They came to church to hear me speak but never to let me correct them. They prayed for me to change the world but never asked me to change their hearts."
In that very moment, I began to see more clearly—as if a door had just opened, allowing me to look into the true lives of those souls. The woman who had taught Bible study—inside, she held contempt for those less knowledgeable than herself. The man who sang hymns—he harbored hatred toward his brothers and sisters in the church. The pastor—he believed himself to be above the congregation, using his knowledge to wield power, not to love. They were all guilty of the same sin: pride. None of them had allowed God to penetrate the depths of their hearts. They served but never surrendered. They preached but never let the word shape their own lives. I stood there, watching those who once sang praises now consumed by fire, and a dreadful thought began to rise within me: Could it be that I was just like them? I thought I was saved—but was I certain?
I looked at them—people once respected, once admired within the church—now screaming in torment. And I knew: If I didn’t change, my fate would be the same as theirs. Jesus still stood beside me, the light from him shielding me from being swallowed by the horrors of hell. He didn’t rebuke me, didn’t scold me. He simply said one thing: "You need to see this because it’s still happening every day."
When Pride Takes the Throne
Jesus led me deeper into that place of darkness. The scene around me was still ablaze and suffocating, but now my attention was no longer fixed on the physical surroundings. It was on the truth being revealed.
He pointed to a woman, her face twisted in agony, her eyes sunken, filled with hopelessness.
"She went to church for 40 years," Jesus said, his voice sorrowful but without condemnation. "She knew the Bible from beginning to end, could quote every verse, but she never allowed my words to change her heart."
I saw images from this woman’s life unfold like a film—scenes of her sitting in the front pew of the church, holding her Bible with a proud expression. She never said it out loud, but deep inside, she believed she was superior to others—the new believers, the ones who stumbled, the slow learners. She taught God’s word but didn’t live by it. Her knowledge became a platform for judgment rather than an opportunity to love.
Jesus whispered, "Pride isn’t always loud. Sometimes it hides beneath false humility—beneath the belief that ‘I do more, so I deserve more.’"
I shuddered. I had felt that way before—when I compared myself to others, when I thought that my consistency in reading the Bible somehow made me better. Could it be that my faithfulness was really just my ego wrapped in religious appearance? Had I truly lived with God, or had I only lived with a version of myself?
We continued. A man appeared, and I heard him whisper:
"I used to be a deacon in the church. I served, I prayed, I led others. But I believed my faithfulness made me more important than everyone else. I secretly looked down on those who weren’t as involved. I thought I was working for God, but in truth, I was only building an image of myself."
Jesus looked at me and said, "That is the most dangerous thing about pride. It blinds people to their own sin. They still serve, still pray, but they never allow me to shine light into the dark corners of their hearts."
I saw another woman. She had once led the youth group. She smiled brightly during meetings, always ready to help, but inside, she counted each good deed as if collecting spiritual points. She believed she had done enough to be saved—that her good works were a kind of spiritual currency. And she looked at those who struggled with a gaze mixed with pity and judgment.
I turned to Jesus, almost in tears. "But they did so many good things. They gave their whole lives."
He nodded, then gently replied, "But they never let me transform their hearts. They used their works as a covering for the emptiness within. They never truly surrendered; they only acted as if they had. They didn’t receive grace; they tried to earn salvation on their own."
Then I saw something that made my blood run cold. Many of them were still clinging to symbols of their faith—a scorched Bible, a cross necklace. But now, those objects only intensified their pain, serving as proof that they had once been close to the truth but never let the truth enter their hearts.
Jesus said, "Religion cannot save. Rituals cannot save. Only a humble, surrendered, and truly repentant heart—that is what I seek."
I saw a pastor, his robe in tatters, his face soaked with tears.
"He preached for 30 years," Jesus said. "But he preached like an orator, not like a man transformed. He knew much, but he never allowed me to touch the wounds and pride inside him."
I stood in silence, realizing one profound truth:
Hell is not only filled with those who openly sinned. It also holds many who were outwardly righteous but inwardly cold—those who bore my name but never carried my heart.
Jesus looked deep into my eyes and spoke words I will never forget:
"Many know about me but do not truly know me. Many go to church but never let me enter their hearts. You have seen it, and now you must choose."
Judgment and Mercy
I stood motionless amid that terrifying scene, where souls continued to cry out in despair, consumed by a fire that didn’t burn flesh but scorched their very spirits in eternal punishment. A man suddenly looked straight at me—his eyes hollow yet carrying a deep, aching sorrow. His voice was hoarse and faint: "I was once a deacon. I stood on the holy platform, shared God’s word, but I despised those who couldn’t do what I did. I served for recognition, not for love." Each of his words pierced my heart like sharp daggers. I felt suffocated, as if the very pride that Jesus was exposing in these souls was quietly living within me.
I had served. I had prayed. I had believed I was living righteously. But was I truly any different? If my heart was filled with judgment and self-righteousness? Jesus looked at me, and in his eyes, there was no condemnation—only a sorrow full of compassion. "Many serve in my name but never allow me to restore them from within. They hold on to their wounds, their bitterness, their pride, and cover it with religious activity. They serve my name, but they never surrender to me."
He led me to a woman I once knew—a woman active in the church, always smiling, always showing up when help was needed. But now, she was burning, her face contorted in horror. "I did so much for the church!" she cried out through the flames. "I served all my life. Why am I here?" Jesus said, "She believed that service could replace surrender. She never forgave those who hurt her. She stored up her works like spiritual points but never opened her heart to receive grace." I saw memories rush back—how she would look at newcomers with a scrutinizing gaze, how she spoke about others’ failures behind their backs, all while smiling. She never believed she was wrong because she always did the "right things." But as Jesus said, she never allowed truth to pierce through her cloak of self-righteousness.
We came to another area. I saw people wearing crosses, holding Bibles, but their eyes were filled with confusion, unable to comprehend why they were here. I saw a pastor who had once preached God’s word with power, now screaming in desperation:
"I preached the truth! I gave thousands of sermons!" "He taught the truth but lived a lie," Jesus said. "He loved preaching, but he didn’t love me. He used the truth as a weapon, not as a path to healing." A wave of dizziness swept over me. I had admired these people. I had believed that being faithful in church work was enough. They carried bitterness within them. They asked me for forgiveness.
As we continued our journey through this realm of suffering, a wave of fear began to flood me like a cold tide engulfing my entire being. If these people—the pastors who once stood on pulpits, the worship leaders who lifted their voices in praise, the Bible teachers who shared God’s word, the faithful church members—if all of them ended up here in this terrifying place, what hope did I have? I had lived like them—attending church faithfully, reading the Bible daily, praying as an essential part of life. I used to believe those things were enough to secure my salvation—that they were evidence of my faith. But now, seeing these souls surrounded by flames, I couldn’t stop myself from asking: "Am I any different from them? Could I be deceiving myself, believing that outward rituals could cover a heart that had never truly been transformed?" I stood there, my feet feeling nailed to the scorched ground, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath short and rapid in the smoke-laden air. The fear didn’t come only from the scene before me—the flames, the cries, the stench of sulfur. But from a deeper truth that was slowly surfacing:
I was no better than these people. How many times had I thought, "I’m doing the right thing"? How many times had I believed I was fine just because I was busy with church work? I had lived with the same false confidence—the same belief that my deeds could save me. I turned to Jesus, and my eyes must have reflected the confusion and despair that were rising within me.
He looked at me, and in his eyes, I saw deep compassion—a love that did not judge yet did not avoid the truth.
"You are beginning to understand," he said, his voice gentle but steady, like a teacher guiding a student through a difficult lesson. "This fear—the realization of how vulnerable you are to pride—is the beginning of wisdom. Many never have this awakening until it’s too late." His words were like a beam of light piercing through the darkness in my mind—both comforting and challenging. I didn’t know how to respond, but I sensed that he was opening a door—a chance that the souls around me no longer had.
He led me away from the area consumed by the fiercest flames to a quieter place. Though the air was still heavy with the scent of smoke and the presence of suffering, the cries still echoed from afar. But here, I could think more clearly—if only just a little.
"Pride is especially dangerous because it blinds people to itself," Jesus explained, his voice deep and clear. "The prideful heart believes it is humble. It wears the robe of morality, the mask of faith, and hides me behind rituals. It focuses on the sins it hasn’t committed rather than facing the true condition of the heart. It thanks God for not being like those sinners instead of recognizing its own desperate need for grace."
As Jesus spoke, he led me to a surface like glass—not a physical mirror but something supernatural, reflecting not just my outer appearance but the hidden depths of my soul. "Look," he said softly. And I did. What I saw stunned me. It wasn’t the Sarah who smiled politely at church or read the Bible every morning. It was the real me—my heart fully exposed before his holy light.
Beneath all the religious habits, Bible knowledge, and faithful church attendance was a heart tangled with pride, judgment, and self-righteousness. I watched scenes from my life unfold—times I silently compared myself to others, believing I was better because of how I lived. I remembered the grudges I held, the prayers I recited without true openness, the pride I carried in my faith. It all stood in stark contrast to the holiness before me. I felt naked before the truth.
"This is why salvation cannot be earned," Jesus said, his voice both gentle and unshakable. "No amount of good works can turn a proud heart into a humble one. That change only comes through surrender—when you truly recognize your need for my grace." His words shattered the defenses I had built for years. I dropped to my knees, touching the cold ground beneath me. For the first time in my life, salvation became real—not a theological idea, but a desperate personal need.
I had nothing to offer God. All my religious works—once my security—now felt like filthy rags.
"This is true repentance," he continued. "Not just sorrow over sins, but the awareness of the sinful condition itself. Not just regret over wrong actions, but the humble realization of your need for transformation. This kind of honesty is where salvation begins."
I remained kneeling, overwhelmed by what I was experiencing. Tears streamed—not from fear or guilt, but from a sorrow mingled with hope. I saw the pride that had quietly ruled my life. How many times had I assumed I was okay just because I was active in the church? How often had I hidden behind religion while my heart remained unchanged?
Jesus continued speaking, and his words pierced deeper:
"Many ask for forgiveness without truly repenting. They want the comfort of being forgiven but avoid the discomfort of truly seeing themselves." That was me. I wasn’t just saying sorry. I was facing who I really was. And as I stayed there, something inside began to shift. A lightness entered me. The invisible weight of pride and self-dependence that I had carried for years began to lift as I embraced my total reliance on his grace. I looked up at him. Tears still fell, but they were now tears of release.
"This is the paradox of my kingdom," he said with a soft smile. "Those who humble themselves will be lifted. Those who admit their spiritual poverty will be filled with my grace. Those who embrace their weakness will find my strength."
He reached out and helped me stand. I felt something stir inside—not complete, not instant, but undeniably new.
For the first time, I stopped trying to prove I was worthy. I simply stood there—uncovered and honest—letting his grace wash over me. He held my hand—not to overpower, but to support and lead.
"You’ve seen what pride does to a soul," he said. "Now you will see what happens when humility is allowed to rule."
As he spoke, the atmosphere began to change. The cries faded. The stench of sulfur disappeared. And I knew he was leading me out of hell—toward another place, a place where light awaited after all the darkness I had just seen. But even as we left, what I had experienced remained with me like a holy fire in my soul—a reminder that salvation cannot be earned, only received with empty hands and a surrendered, broken heart.
Awakening and Repentance
He helped me to my feet and led me to a place of indescribable beauty—a realm completely opposite of hell.
Everything was in perfect harmony, bursting with vibrant colors, and the air was filled with joy. Light didn’t just come from the sky; it radiated from every living thing—trees, rivers, even the atmosphere itself glowed softly, like the very breath of God.
I heard music, but there were no instruments. The sound didn’t come from strings, drums, or voices. It came from the light itself, as if the light was singing the word of God in every pulse of space. With each step I took, the ground responded—soft, warm, as if it were embracing me. No one was rushing. No one had anything to flee. Here, space wasn’t governed by time. It was governed by love. "This is what awaits those who live with true humility," Jesus said.
I saw people from every nation, united by genuine love for God and for one another. They wore no masks, no pretense.
"They understand the true meaning of faith," he said. "Salvation is not just about escaping hell or entering heaven. It’s about restoring relationship with me." Then he showed me a glimpse of my potential future—if I allowed the Holy Spirit to transform me. A humble Sarah, filled with love and radiant joy. "This transformation doesn’t happen all at once," he said. "It’s a lifelong journey—a daily surrender of pride."
He returned to the edge of the chasm.
"Every soul faces this choice," he said. "Every day, you either bow before me or bow before your own self."
As he spoke the final words, the scene began to fade.
I awoke in a hospital bed. My heart had stopped for nearly 3 minutes due to stress and dehydration. The doctors called it a hallucination, but I know what I saw was real. Sarah Mitchell was given a precious opportunity to witness both hell and heaven—and to wake up and tell the story. But she wasn’t the only one whom God, in his mercy, chose to awaken in this time.
On the other side of the world, a man named Andrew also experienced a similar encounter—one that shattered every belief he had clung to. Sarah’s story is a warning, but his is the second alarm ringing urgently for all who still believe that outward faith is enough.
-------------------------------------------
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a Christian going to hell)
The Life of a Christian
My name is Sarah Mitchell. I'm 51 years old, and I live in a quiet neighborhood in the city of Grand Rapids, Michigan. I was raised in a traditional Christian family. My mother was a woman of strong faith, and my father was the youth leader at our local church. From a young age, I was taught in an environment filled with love and reverence for God. The Bible was not just a book in our home; it was the compass that guided every decision in our lives.
Every morning, I would pray before starting my day, and each night before going to sleep, I would spend a few minutes asking God for protection and guidance. On weekends, my family and I always attended church services, where I felt a deep sense of peace in my soul and a strong connection with the community of believers.
I lived a life I believed to be righteous—working hard, living honestly, and treating others with respect. I was always proud of my faith and believed it was my guaranteed ticket to heaven. But now, looking back, I wonder: Had I confused a living faith with a labeled belief?
Though I was not a perfect person, I believed I had lived according to God's teachings. I stayed away from the big sins that I thought could lead a person to judgment. Everything seemed fine, and I thought my faith was a sure path to heaven.
But everything changed when I had a near-death experience—an experience that I now know opened a truth I had never imagined before.
The Moment Near Death
Everything began on December 15, 2020. It was a cold Tuesday afternoon. The sky was overcast, and the damp air seeped through every layer of my coat. I was on my way to the pharmacy to pick up my usual prescription—a simple task I had done countless times. But that day, something inside me felt off. That morning, my boss had harshly criticized me in front of the whole team—a rebuke I believed was unfair. I had worked hard, yet his words echoed, clinging to my mind like a persistent scratch that wouldn't fade. I stepped into the pharmacy, still fuming with frustration. The line was longer than I had expected, and the unease inside me grew stronger. I kept glancing at the clock, sighing as each minute passed like torture. When it was almost my turn, a strange sensation suddenly came over me. My head felt weightless, as if gravity had just disappeared. The fluorescent lights above became blinding, their rays stabbing into my eyes like needles. Everything started spinning—not like a fleeting dizziness, but like a whirlpool that engulfed all my senses. I tried to grab the shelf, but my hands were trembling, and my legs buckled beneath me, as if they no longer belonged to me. A panicked voice rang out: "She's collapsed!" I heard footsteps, murmurs, but everything quickly faded. Sounds vanished, light dimmed, and all physical sensations disappeared, as if someone had flipped the switch on the entire world.
I fell into a pitch-black void—absolute silence, no light, no sound, no time. In that darkness, there were no churches, no Bibles, no prayers. Only me and the question I had never dared to face: Was my faith truly alive, or had it just been a habit?
I could no longer feel my body—no arms to flail, no legs to run, no breath to draw. All that remained was existence—a drifting awareness, a lone soul in utter darkness. I had no idea how long I was there. Time did not exist in that place. A second could have been a century, or a century just a blink of an eye. I floated in nothingness, completely helpless. And then, from some faraway place, I noticed a point of light—tiny, like a lone star in the night sky. It grew larger—or maybe I was moving toward it—I couldn’t tell. That light was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was pure white but not blinding—instead, full of warmth and life, as if the light itself had a soul. As I drew closer, a sense of peace flooded me. The fear melted away, replaced by the feeling of coming home after a long and exhausting journey. Though I had never known a place like this in my life, I felt with certainty that I was approaching something sacred. And as I sank into that light, I knew one thing for sure: This was no dream. This was the beginning of something I never expected, and it would change me forever. Before I could ask anything, the gentle light surrounding me vanished in an instant. An invisible force pulled me away, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself standing before a pitch-black abyss. Below was a bottomless pit, rising with columns of blazing red fire, roaring like starving beasts.
This was no nightmare. It was real—down to every detail, every breath, every shiver that pierced my spine.
Hell Revealed
The ground beneath my feet wasn’t just cracked; it groaned. It wasn’t black but a scorched gray, like the ashes of souls, where every step felt like treading on silent cries of anguish. From the fissures, flames erupted without rest, shooting high as if trying to devour the heavens. Above me was no earthly sky but a thick and suffocating darkness, where light existed only in brief flashes of deep crimson lightning, tearing through the void before fading quickly, leaving behind an oppressive, choking heaviness. The air reeked of sulfur—so dry and scorching that every breath felt like dragging fire into my lungs. The fire here was unlike any earthly flame. It wasn’t red but a pale white—the color of fire that burns the soul. It left no burns on the flesh but consumed every last trace of hope. But the thing that terrified me most wasn’t the fire—it was the people, or rather, the souls tormented within it. They screamed, begged, wept. They burned but never vanished, suffered but could not die. Each scream was a cry of utter despair, as if they had lost everything—even the hope of an end. Some reached out as if pleading for rescue; others curled up, trembling in agony beyond words.
I had always believed hell was a place for murderers, for those who rejected God, for the wicked and depraved. But then, among those souls, I began to recognize familiar faces—people who once went to church with me. They had served, prayed, preached. So why were they here? Was there something I had never understood about salvation?
A woman who once led our Bible study group. A man who sang hymns every Sunday morning. A pastor who had placed his hand on my head during baptism. They were all here—suffering, despairing. And I couldn’t comprehend it. I turned to Jesus. He was still beside me, silent. I cried out, my voice trembling, "Why? Why are they here? They were Christians. They loved you. They served in your name."
He looked at me, his eyes both sorrowful and solemn, as though he had seen this scene far too many times. His voice echoed in my mind without moving his lips:
"They lived in pride. They came to church to hear me speak but never to let me correct them. They prayed for me to change the world but never asked me to change their hearts."
In that very moment, I began to see more clearly—as if a door had just opened, allowing me to look into the true lives of those souls. The woman who had taught Bible study—inside, she held contempt for those less knowledgeable than herself. The man who sang hymns—he harbored hatred toward his brothers and sisters in the church. The pastor—he believed himself to be above the congregation, using his knowledge to wield power, not to love. They were all guilty of the same sin: pride. None of them had allowed God to penetrate the depths of their hearts. They served but never surrendered. They preached but never let the word shape their own lives. I stood there, watching those who once sang praises now consumed by fire, and a dreadful thought began to rise within me: Could it be that I was just like them? I thought I was saved—but was I certain?
I looked at them—people once respected, once admired within the church—now screaming in torment. And I knew: If I didn’t change, my fate would be the same as theirs. Jesus still stood beside me, the light from him shielding me from being swallowed by the horrors of hell. He didn’t rebuke me, didn’t scold me. He simply said one thing: "You need to see this because it’s still happening every day."
When Pride Takes the Throne
Jesus led me deeper into that place of darkness. The scene around me was still ablaze and suffocating, but now my attention was no longer fixed on the physical surroundings. It was on the truth being revealed.
He pointed to a woman, her face twisted in agony, her eyes sunken, filled with hopelessness.
"She went to church for 40 years," Jesus said, his voice sorrowful but without condemnation. "She knew the Bible from beginning to end, could quote every verse, but she never allowed my words to change her heart."
I saw images from this woman’s life unfold like a film—scenes of her sitting in the front pew of the church, holding her Bible with a proud expression. She never said it out loud, but deep inside, she believed she was superior to others—the new believers, the ones who stumbled, the slow learners. She taught God’s word but didn’t live by it. Her knowledge became a platform for judgment rather than an opportunity to love.
Jesus whispered, "Pride isn’t always loud. Sometimes it hides beneath false humility—beneath the belief that ‘I do more, so I deserve more.’"
I shuddered. I had felt that way before—when I compared myself to others, when I thought that my consistency in reading the Bible somehow made me better. Could it be that my faithfulness was really just my ego wrapped in religious appearance? Had I truly lived with God, or had I only lived with a version of myself?
We continued. A man appeared, and I heard him whisper:
"I used to be a deacon in the church. I served, I prayed, I led others. But I believed my faithfulness made me more important than everyone else. I secretly looked down on those who weren’t as involved. I thought I was working for God, but in truth, I was only building an image of myself."
Jesus looked at me and said, "That is the most dangerous thing about pride. It blinds people to their own sin. They still serve, still pray, but they never allow me to shine light into the dark corners of their hearts."
I saw another woman. She had once led the youth group. She smiled brightly during meetings, always ready to help, but inside, she counted each good deed as if collecting spiritual points. She believed she had done enough to be saved—that her good works were a kind of spiritual currency. And she looked at those who struggled with a gaze mixed with pity and judgment.
I turned to Jesus, almost in tears. "But they did so many good things. They gave their whole lives."
He nodded, then gently replied, "But they never let me transform their hearts. They used their works as a covering for the emptiness within. They never truly surrendered; they only acted as if they had. They didn’t receive grace; they tried to earn salvation on their own."
Then I saw something that made my blood run cold. Many of them were still clinging to symbols of their faith—a scorched Bible, a cross necklace. But now, those objects only intensified their pain, serving as proof that they had once been close to the truth but never let the truth enter their hearts.
Jesus said, "Religion cannot save. Rituals cannot save. Only a humble, surrendered, and truly repentant heart—that is what I seek."
I saw a pastor, his robe in tatters, his face soaked with tears.
"He preached for 30 years," Jesus said. "But he preached like an orator, not like a man transformed. He knew much, but he never allowed me to touch the wounds and pride inside him."
I stood in silence, realizing one profound truth:
Hell is not only filled with those who openly sinned. It also holds many who were outwardly righteous but inwardly cold—those who bore my name but never carried my heart.
Jesus looked deep into my eyes and spoke words I will never forget:
"Many know about me but do not truly know me. Many go to church but never let me enter their hearts. You have seen it, and now you must choose."
Judgment and Mercy
I stood motionless amid that terrifying scene, where souls continued to cry out in despair, consumed by a fire that didn’t burn flesh but scorched their very spirits in eternal punishment. A man suddenly looked straight at me—his eyes hollow yet carrying a deep, aching sorrow. His voice was hoarse and faint: "I was once a deacon. I stood on the holy platform, shared God’s word, but I despised those who couldn’t do what I did. I served for recognition, not for love." Each of his words pierced my heart like sharp daggers. I felt suffocated, as if the very pride that Jesus was exposing in these souls was quietly living within me.
I had served. I had prayed. I had believed I was living righteously. But was I truly any different? If my heart was filled with judgment and self-righteousness? Jesus looked at me, and in his eyes, there was no condemnation—only a sorrow full of compassion. "Many serve in my name but never allow me to restore them from within. They hold on to their wounds, their bitterness, their pride, and cover it with religious activity. They serve my name, but they never surrender to me."
He led me to a woman I once knew—a woman active in the church, always smiling, always showing up when help was needed. But now, she was burning, her face contorted in horror. "I did so much for the church!" she cried out through the flames. "I served all my life. Why am I here?" Jesus said, "She believed that service could replace surrender. She never forgave those who hurt her. She stored up her works like spiritual points but never opened her heart to receive grace." I saw memories rush back—how she would look at newcomers with a scrutinizing gaze, how she spoke about others’ failures behind their backs, all while smiling. She never believed she was wrong because she always did the "right things." But as Jesus said, she never allowed truth to pierce through her cloak of self-righteousness.
We came to another area. I saw people wearing crosses, holding Bibles, but their eyes were filled with confusion, unable to comprehend why they were here. I saw a pastor who had once preached God’s word with power, now screaming in desperation:
"I preached the truth! I gave thousands of sermons!" "He taught the truth but lived a lie," Jesus said. "He loved preaching, but he didn’t love me. He used the truth as a weapon, not as a path to healing." A wave of dizziness swept over me. I had admired these people. I had believed that being faithful in church work was enough. They carried bitterness within them. They asked me for forgiveness.
As we continued our journey through this realm of suffering, a wave of fear began to flood me like a cold tide engulfing my entire being. If these people—the pastors who once stood on pulpits, the worship leaders who lifted their voices in praise, the Bible teachers who shared God’s word, the faithful church members—if all of them ended up here in this terrifying place, what hope did I have? I had lived like them—attending church faithfully, reading the Bible daily, praying as an essential part of life. I used to believe those things were enough to secure my salvation—that they were evidence of my faith. But now, seeing these souls surrounded by flames, I couldn’t stop myself from asking: "Am I any different from them? Could I be deceiving myself, believing that outward rituals could cover a heart that had never truly been transformed?" I stood there, my feet feeling nailed to the scorched ground, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath short and rapid in the smoke-laden air. The fear didn’t come only from the scene before me—the flames, the cries, the stench of sulfur. But from a deeper truth that was slowly surfacing:
I was no better than these people. How many times had I thought, "I’m doing the right thing"? How many times had I believed I was fine just because I was busy with church work? I had lived with the same false confidence—the same belief that my deeds could save me. I turned to Jesus, and my eyes must have reflected the confusion and despair that were rising within me.
He looked at me, and in his eyes, I saw deep compassion—a love that did not judge yet did not avoid the truth.
"You are beginning to understand," he said, his voice gentle but steady, like a teacher guiding a student through a difficult lesson. "This fear—the realization of how vulnerable you are to pride—is the beginning of wisdom. Many never have this awakening until it’s too late." His words were like a beam of light piercing through the darkness in my mind—both comforting and challenging. I didn’t know how to respond, but I sensed that he was opening a door—a chance that the souls around me no longer had.
He led me away from the area consumed by the fiercest flames to a quieter place. Though the air was still heavy with the scent of smoke and the presence of suffering, the cries still echoed from afar. But here, I could think more clearly—if only just a little.
"Pride is especially dangerous because it blinds people to itself," Jesus explained, his voice deep and clear. "The prideful heart believes it is humble. It wears the robe of morality, the mask of faith, and hides me behind rituals. It focuses on the sins it hasn’t committed rather than facing the true condition of the heart. It thanks God for not being like those sinners instead of recognizing its own desperate need for grace."
As Jesus spoke, he led me to a surface like glass—not a physical mirror but something supernatural, reflecting not just my outer appearance but the hidden depths of my soul. "Look," he said softly. And I did. What I saw stunned me. It wasn’t the Sarah who smiled politely at church or read the Bible every morning. It was the real me—my heart fully exposed before his holy light.
Beneath all the religious habits, Bible knowledge, and faithful church attendance was a heart tangled with pride, judgment, and self-righteousness. I watched scenes from my life unfold—times I silently compared myself to others, believing I was better because of how I lived. I remembered the grudges I held, the prayers I recited without true openness, the pride I carried in my faith. It all stood in stark contrast to the holiness before me. I felt naked before the truth.
"This is why salvation cannot be earned," Jesus said, his voice both gentle and unshakable. "No amount of good works can turn a proud heart into a humble one. That change only comes through surrender—when you truly recognize your need for my grace." His words shattered the defenses I had built for years. I dropped to my knees, touching the cold ground beneath me. For the first time in my life, salvation became real—not a theological idea, but a desperate personal need.
I had nothing to offer God. All my religious works—once my security—now felt like filthy rags.
"This is true repentance," he continued. "Not just sorrow over sins, but the awareness of the sinful condition itself. Not just regret over wrong actions, but the humble realization of your need for transformation. This kind of honesty is where salvation begins."
I remained kneeling, overwhelmed by what I was experiencing. Tears streamed—not from fear or guilt, but from a sorrow mingled with hope. I saw the pride that had quietly ruled my life. How many times had I assumed I was okay just because I was active in the church? How often had I hidden behind religion while my heart remained unchanged?
Jesus continued speaking, and his words pierced deeper:
"Many ask for forgiveness without truly repenting. They want the comfort of being forgiven but avoid the discomfort of truly seeing themselves." That was me. I wasn’t just saying sorry. I was facing who I really was. And as I stayed there, something inside began to shift. A lightness entered me. The invisible weight of pride and self-dependence that I had carried for years began to lift as I embraced my total reliance on his grace. I looked up at him. Tears still fell, but they were now tears of release.
"This is the paradox of my kingdom," he said with a soft smile. "Those who humble themselves will be lifted. Those who admit their spiritual poverty will be filled with my grace. Those who embrace their weakness will find my strength."
He reached out and helped me stand. I felt something stir inside—not complete, not instant, but undeniably new.
For the first time, I stopped trying to prove I was worthy. I simply stood there—uncovered and honest—letting his grace wash over me. He held my hand—not to overpower, but to support and lead.
"You’ve seen what pride does to a soul," he said. "Now you will see what happens when humility is allowed to rule."
As he spoke, the atmosphere began to change. The cries faded. The stench of sulfur disappeared. And I knew he was leading me out of hell—toward another place, a place where light awaited after all the darkness I had just seen. But even as we left, what I had experienced remained with me like a holy fire in my soul—a reminder that salvation cannot be earned, only received with empty hands and a surrendered, broken heart.
Awakening and Repentance
He helped me to my feet and led me to a place of indescribable beauty—a realm completely opposite of hell.
Everything was in perfect harmony, bursting with vibrant colors, and the air was filled with joy. Light didn’t just come from the sky; it radiated from every living thing—trees, rivers, even the atmosphere itself glowed softly, like the very breath of God.
I heard music, but there were no instruments. The sound didn’t come from strings, drums, or voices. It came from the light itself, as if the light was singing the word of God in every pulse of space. With each step I took, the ground responded—soft, warm, as if it were embracing me. No one was rushing. No one had anything to flee. Here, space wasn’t governed by time. It was governed by love. "This is what awaits those who live with true humility," Jesus said.
I saw people from every nation, united by genuine love for God and for one another. They wore no masks, no pretense.
"They understand the true meaning of faith," he said. "Salvation is not just about escaping hell or entering heaven. It’s about restoring relationship with me." Then he showed me a glimpse of my potential future—if I allowed the Holy Spirit to transform me. A humble Sarah, filled with love and radiant joy. "This transformation doesn’t happen all at once," he said. "It’s a lifelong journey—a daily surrender of pride."
He returned to the edge of the chasm.
"Every soul faces this choice," he said. "Every day, you either bow before me or bow before your own self."
As he spoke the final words, the scene began to fade.
I awoke in a hospital bed. My heart had stopped for nearly 3 minutes due to stress and dehydration. The doctors called it a hallucination, but I know what I saw was real. Sarah Mitchell was given a precious opportunity to witness both hell and heaven—and to wake up and tell the story. But she wasn’t the only one whom God, in his mercy, chose to awaken in this time.
On the other side of the world, a man named Andrew also experienced a similar encounter—one that shattered every belief he had clung to. Sarah’s story is a warning, but his is the second alarm ringing urgently for all who still believe that outward faith is enough.
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Near Death Experience 2
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a doctor encountering Jesus)
Intro
I am a 40-year-old Doctor who has always placed my faith in science and logic. Throughout my career, I have witnessed countless moments of life and death, but I never thought I would one day face it myself. That fateful night, after a long and exhausting night shift, I was driving home when drowsiness suddenly took over. In a split second, my car veered off and crashed into the guard rail. A chilling sensation ran down my spine, and then everything went black.
When I regained consciousness, a startling realization hit me—I was no longer in my physical body. I could clearly see myself lying motionless in the car, surrounded by a crowd of people. Their voices were frantic as they shouted for help, desperately calling an ambulance. The scene was chaotic, but amidst it all, I felt strangely detached. There was no fear, no pain, only a profound sense of calm that seemed to wrap around me like a warm embrace. It was a peace unlike anything I had ever known, as though all the burdens of life had been lifted.
Slowly, I became aware of a force pulling me upward—gentle yet irresistible. My surroundings began to blur, and the noise of the frantic crowd faded into silence. I felt myself ascending, moving farther and farther away from everything that once felt so tangible, so real. The world I had known seemed to shrink below me, replaced by a sensation of boundless serenity and freedom. It was as if I were shedding the weight of my earthly existence, leaving behind all the worries and attachments of life.
Suddenly, a radiant, blinding light appeared--
A Blinding Light and the Journey to Another World
—wrapping itself around me in a way that was both overwhelming and comforting. It wasn’t the kind of light that hurt your eyes or made you squint. It was warm, inviting, and full of a profound sense of purpose. I felt as if this light was alive, pulsating with energy that reached into every part of my being. As I stood there, surrounded by its brilliance, I realized I wasn’t standing still—I was moving, almost as if floating, yet my feet felt like they were treading a path. I didn’t know where I was going, but I wasn’t afraid. Instead, I felt a pull, gentle yet irresistible, guiding me forward on a journey with no clear destination.
The world around me was unlike anything I had ever known. It was utterly serene—there was no noise, no chaos, not even the faintest whisper of pain or fear. The overwhelming calm was like an embrace, soothing and reassuring. For the first time, I felt completely free, as though all the weight and struggles of my earthly existence had been left behind.
I tried to look around, but all I could see was light—a light that seemed to extend infinitely in every direction, yet it wasn’t empty. The light carried a sense of presence, as if it were alive and aware of my every step. I felt safe, as though I were being guided by an unseen hand, drawing me closer to something far greater than myself.
As I continued, time seemed to lose all meaning. I had no sense of how long I had been walking—minutes, hours, perhaps an eternity. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t in a hurry, and there was no sense of urgency. All that existed was this journey, this moment, and the unshakable peace that surrounded me.
Somewhere deep within, I knew I was heading toward a place where answers awaited—a place where the mysteries of life and death would finally be revealed. In that moment, I saw Him--
The Encounter with Jesus
—a figure so radiant and majestic that words felt utterly inadequate to describe His presence. He was not just a man; He was the embodiment of light and love. The brilliance emanating from Him didn’t simply illuminate the space—it reached into the deepest corners of my soul, uncovering emotions and truths I didn’t even know existed. He stood there, silent yet commanding, and I couldn’t look away. His presence filled the air with a sense of peace that was both overwhelming and soothing. Though He didn’t speak, His essence communicated everything—love so profound it brought tears to my eyes, forgiveness so encompassing it lifted the burdens I didn’t realize I was carrying, and a power so infinite it left me in awe.
In His presence, I felt completely known—as if every thought, every action, and every doubt I had ever held were laid bare before Him. And yet, I felt no shame. Instead, I felt accepted, cherished, and renewed. Then His eyes met mine—eyes that shone with wisdom and authority, yet carried a deep seriousness that demanded attention.
“You think you know Me,” He said, His voice resonating with both calmness and strength, as though it was carving His words into my very being. “But you have been deceived by lies. The world has distorted the truth about Me. When you return, seek the truth in My Word and warn others.” His words were not just a statement—they were a call to action, a charge that carried immense weight. It was as if He had taken a veil from my eyes, revealing the depth of misconceptions I had unknowingly accepted. The world I lived in, the beliefs I held, and the truths I thought I understood—all of it had been shaped by distortions and human interference. His warning was clear and undeniable. I could no longer live in ignorance. As He raised His hand, a series of vivid, living images began to unfold before my eyes. Each scene was more striking than the last, revealing the lies the world had created in His name.
The first image showed people celebrating His birth on December 25th—decorating trees and exchanging gifts in His honor. Jesus looked at me, His expression filled with both sadness and resolve. “I was not born on that day,” He said, His voice gentle yet firm. “This date is a creation of mankind, a tradition that has nothing to do with the truth of My coming into the world.”
Next, I saw scenes of wealthy individuals flaunting their riches, claiming their prosperity was a sign of His favor. Lavish churches, extravagant possessions, and public displays of wealth were paraded as blessings from Him. Jesus’s voice carried sorrow as He said, “I did not come to make anyone rich. I came to save them. My message has been twisted to serve human greed, but My purpose was never about earthly wealth.”
Then the images shifted again. I saw people misunderstanding His identity—some portrayed Him as a mere prophet, others as a political leader who would champion their worldly causes. His expression grew heavy with sorrow, and He spoke with a sigh that seemed to echo through eternity. “I am the Son of God. I did not come to lead political movements or to be just a prophet. I came to redeem humanity—to bring them back to the Father and to offer them eternal life.”
With every word He spoke, I felt the weight of His mission and the enormity of the distortions that had clouded His truth. Each image seared into my mind, revealing how far the world had strayed from understanding Him. Yet, even in His sorrow, I could feel His love—for me, for those who had been misled, and even for those who had twisted His message for their own gain.
His message was unmistakable: I had been chosen to see the truth—not to keep it to myself, but to share it with the world.
His words were not merely a suggestion—they were a command. He was entrusting me with a responsibility—to seek the truth in His Word, to challenge the lies, and to help others see Him as He truly is.
As I stood in His presence, I felt humbled and unworthy, yet strengthened by His love and guidance. The peace that surrounded me was unlike anything I had ever known, and it filled me with a sense of purpose that could not be shaken. I knew, deep in my soul, that my life would never be the same. When I returned to the world, I would carry this encounter with me—a sacred truth to be shared, no matter the cost. This was more than a vision—it was a divine commission. The realization that I was not alone—He was with me, guiding me, just as He was with all those who sought Him. The journey I was about to embark on would not be easy—but it was one I was now prepared to face. For His light had shown me the way.
Back From The Dead
It was quick—almost violent—and completely unexpected. One moment, I was surrounded by divine light and peace, and the next, I was plummeted downward faster than I could comprehend. When my eyes opened, a bright artificial light pierced through the darkness—the glaring overhead lights of the emergency room. The contrast was jarring, almost unbearable, as the sterile, chaotic reality of the hospital replaced the serenity I had just experienced. Around me, I could see my colleagues frantically working to save my life. Their faces were tense, their hands steady yet urgent as they fought to pull me back from the brink. Machines beeped incessantly, and the air was thick with the smell of antiseptic. I realized I had returned—but nothing felt the same. Though I was back in my body, it felt foreign—like I was a visitor inhabiting it. The profound peace and clarity I had felt moments before lingered in my mind, but I also carried a deep awareness that my life could no longer continue as it had.
I had seen and heard things that would forever change me. I had returned to the world of the living—but the person who opened their eyes in that hospital bed was no longer the same. I had been shown the truth, given a mission, and granted a second chance. Life as I had once known it would never be the same again.
I couldn’t shake the images and words of Jesus from my mind. They replayed over and over, etched deeply into my soul. His gaze, His voice, His command—they were more vivid than anything I had ever experienced, more real than the world I had returned to. I knew, with absolute certainty, that He had given me this second chance for a reason. It wasn’t just an opportunity to live again—it was a calling, a mission far greater than myself. His words echoed within me: “Seek the truth in My Word and warn others.” I realized my life could no longer be about the ordinary routines or the shallow pursuits that had once consumed me. Every moment, every breath, now carried a divine purpose. I was alive—not simply to exist, but to uncover the truth He had revealed and to share it with the world. This newfound responsibility filled me with both humility and determination. I didn’t know where to begin or how to carry out such a profound task—but I trusted that He would guide me. His presence had been so powerful, His love so transformative, that I couldn’t ignore the path He had set before me. From that moment on, I vowed to live differently—not for myself, but for Him. My life, my voice, and my actions would be dedicated to seeking the truth, standing against the lies, and helping others see Him as He truly is. I had been given a second chance—and I would not waste it.
In the months following, I found myself consumed by an insatiable need to understand. I turned to the Bible—the source of truth Jesus had pointed me to—and devoured its pages with a hunger I had never felt before. Each page seemed to come alive, revealing layers of meaning that I had overlooked or misunderstood in the past. Scriptures I had once skimmed now spoke directly to my heart, uncovering truths I had never considered. The deeper I delved, the more I realized how much of what I thought I knew had been shaped by misconceptions and human distortions. The lies that Jesus had warned me about began to crystallize—traditions that had been presented as sacred truths, teachings that twisted His message for personal gain, and interpretations that reduced His divine purpose to worldly agendas. All of it became painfully clear. It was as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes, allowing me to see the depth of the deceptions that had clouded the understanding of His Word.
Yet, along with these revelations came a profound sense of hope. The Word of God was not just a book—it was alive, offering guidance, truth, and answers to the questions I didn’t even know I had. Day by day, as I immersed myself in the Bible, I felt my purpose becoming clearer. This was not just about my own understanding—it was about equipping myself to fulfill the mission Jesus had entrusted to me: to share the truth and expose the lies, so that others might also come to know Him as He truly is.
15 Lies About Jesus
Through prayerful reflection and deep study, I began to piece together a clearer, more profound understanding of Jesus—one rooted in His Word rather than the distortions of the world. These revelations reshaped my faith and solidified my mission to share the truth with others.
The Awakening and the Call
I once believed that I understood Jesus—that my knowledge of Him was complete. But that extraordinary experience opened my eyes to a truth far greater than I had ever imagined. It was a truth that shattered my preconceptions and illuminated the depth of His love, His purpose, and His mission.
Through this awakening, I realized I had a responsibility—a divine calling—not just to seek Him with all my heart but also to share what I had learned with others.
His words, His truth, and His sacrifice are too profound to be kept to myself.
If you have ever found yourself questioning who Jesus truly is, I encourage you to seek Him earnestly through the Word of God. The Bible is not just a book—it is a living testimony, a guide to understanding Him and His eternal plan for humanity.
“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
These words of Jesus have become my guiding light. Just as He freed me from the chains of doubt and distortion, He can do the same for you.
Seek Him—and you will find Him.
Let His truth transform your life as it has transformed mine.
Do not let the world’s lies distract you from His voice.
Jesus stands at the door of your heart, waiting for you to invite Him in.
He has the power to heal your wounds, to restore what has been broken, and to lead you to a life of eternal purpose.
If you open your heart to Him, you will find a peace that surpasses all understanding.
This is not just my testimony—it can be yours too.
Take that step of faith today, and allow His light to guide your path.
A Prayer for Truth and Transformation
Heavenly Father,
I come before You today with a heart full of gratitude and humility. Thank You for being patient with me—for guiding me even when I wandered in confusion and misunderstanding. You are the source of all truth, and through Your grace, I have come to see more clearly.
Lord, I acknowledge that I have often accepted the distortions and lies of this world—but now, I yearn for Your truth, the truth that brings freedom and life.
Jesus, my Savior, I am in awe of Your love and sacrifice. Thank You for enduring the cross, for bearing the weight of my sins, and for offering me a path to eternal life. You are the way, the truth, and the life, and I want to follow You with all that I am.
Teach me to know You more deeply, to seek Your Word with an open heart, and to live according to Your example. Fill me with Your peace, Your wisdom, and Your courage, so that I may walk boldly in the light of Your love.
Holy Spirit, I invite You to work within me. Illuminate the Scriptures as I study them, and reveal the truth that will transform my heart and mind. Help me discern what is right and reject what is false. Empower me to live a life that honors You—to speak boldly of the truths You reveal and to reflect Your love and compassion in all that I do.
Father, I recognize that I have a responsibility to share what You have shown me. Equip me to be a vessel of Your truth, spreading Your light in a world that so desperately needs it. Let my words and actions inspire others to seek You, to know Your love, and to experience the freedom found in You.
Lord, I surrender my life to You completely. I place my fears, my doubts, and my burdens at Your feet, trusting in Your perfect plan for me. Guide me as I take steps to fulfill the calling You have placed on my life. Give me the strength to persevere, the humility to learn, and the faith to trust You in all circumstances.
Thank You, Lord, for Your endless love, mercy, and grace. Thank You for never giving up on me—for lifting me out of darkness and for giving me a second chance to live for You.
I dedicate my life to seeking Your truth, sharing Your Word, and glorifying Your name.
In Jesus’s holy and precious name, I pray.
Amen.
--------------------------------------------
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a doctor encountering Jesus)
Intro
I am a 40-year-old Doctor who has always placed my faith in science and logic. Throughout my career, I have witnessed countless moments of life and death, but I never thought I would one day face it myself. That fateful night, after a long and exhausting night shift, I was driving home when drowsiness suddenly took over. In a split second, my car veered off and crashed into the guard rail. A chilling sensation ran down my spine, and then everything went black.
When I regained consciousness, a startling realization hit me—I was no longer in my physical body. I could clearly see myself lying motionless in the car, surrounded by a crowd of people. Their voices were frantic as they shouted for help, desperately calling an ambulance. The scene was chaotic, but amidst it all, I felt strangely detached. There was no fear, no pain, only a profound sense of calm that seemed to wrap around me like a warm embrace. It was a peace unlike anything I had ever known, as though all the burdens of life had been lifted.
Slowly, I became aware of a force pulling me upward—gentle yet irresistible. My surroundings began to blur, and the noise of the frantic crowd faded into silence. I felt myself ascending, moving farther and farther away from everything that once felt so tangible, so real. The world I had known seemed to shrink below me, replaced by a sensation of boundless serenity and freedom. It was as if I were shedding the weight of my earthly existence, leaving behind all the worries and attachments of life.
Suddenly, a radiant, blinding light appeared--
A Blinding Light and the Journey to Another World
—wrapping itself around me in a way that was both overwhelming and comforting. It wasn’t the kind of light that hurt your eyes or made you squint. It was warm, inviting, and full of a profound sense of purpose. I felt as if this light was alive, pulsating with energy that reached into every part of my being. As I stood there, surrounded by its brilliance, I realized I wasn’t standing still—I was moving, almost as if floating, yet my feet felt like they were treading a path. I didn’t know where I was going, but I wasn’t afraid. Instead, I felt a pull, gentle yet irresistible, guiding me forward on a journey with no clear destination.
The world around me was unlike anything I had ever known. It was utterly serene—there was no noise, no chaos, not even the faintest whisper of pain or fear. The overwhelming calm was like an embrace, soothing and reassuring. For the first time, I felt completely free, as though all the weight and struggles of my earthly existence had been left behind.
I tried to look around, but all I could see was light—a light that seemed to extend infinitely in every direction, yet it wasn’t empty. The light carried a sense of presence, as if it were alive and aware of my every step. I felt safe, as though I were being guided by an unseen hand, drawing me closer to something far greater than myself.
As I continued, time seemed to lose all meaning. I had no sense of how long I had been walking—minutes, hours, perhaps an eternity. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t in a hurry, and there was no sense of urgency. All that existed was this journey, this moment, and the unshakable peace that surrounded me.
Somewhere deep within, I knew I was heading toward a place where answers awaited—a place where the mysteries of life and death would finally be revealed. In that moment, I saw Him--
The Encounter with Jesus
—a figure so radiant and majestic that words felt utterly inadequate to describe His presence. He was not just a man; He was the embodiment of light and love. The brilliance emanating from Him didn’t simply illuminate the space—it reached into the deepest corners of my soul, uncovering emotions and truths I didn’t even know existed. He stood there, silent yet commanding, and I couldn’t look away. His presence filled the air with a sense of peace that was both overwhelming and soothing. Though He didn’t speak, His essence communicated everything—love so profound it brought tears to my eyes, forgiveness so encompassing it lifted the burdens I didn’t realize I was carrying, and a power so infinite it left me in awe.
In His presence, I felt completely known—as if every thought, every action, and every doubt I had ever held were laid bare before Him. And yet, I felt no shame. Instead, I felt accepted, cherished, and renewed. Then His eyes met mine—eyes that shone with wisdom and authority, yet carried a deep seriousness that demanded attention.
“You think you know Me,” He said, His voice resonating with both calmness and strength, as though it was carving His words into my very being. “But you have been deceived by lies. The world has distorted the truth about Me. When you return, seek the truth in My Word and warn others.” His words were not just a statement—they were a call to action, a charge that carried immense weight. It was as if He had taken a veil from my eyes, revealing the depth of misconceptions I had unknowingly accepted. The world I lived in, the beliefs I held, and the truths I thought I understood—all of it had been shaped by distortions and human interference. His warning was clear and undeniable. I could no longer live in ignorance. As He raised His hand, a series of vivid, living images began to unfold before my eyes. Each scene was more striking than the last, revealing the lies the world had created in His name.
The first image showed people celebrating His birth on December 25th—decorating trees and exchanging gifts in His honor. Jesus looked at me, His expression filled with both sadness and resolve. “I was not born on that day,” He said, His voice gentle yet firm. “This date is a creation of mankind, a tradition that has nothing to do with the truth of My coming into the world.”
Next, I saw scenes of wealthy individuals flaunting their riches, claiming their prosperity was a sign of His favor. Lavish churches, extravagant possessions, and public displays of wealth were paraded as blessings from Him. Jesus’s voice carried sorrow as He said, “I did not come to make anyone rich. I came to save them. My message has been twisted to serve human greed, but My purpose was never about earthly wealth.”
Then the images shifted again. I saw people misunderstanding His identity—some portrayed Him as a mere prophet, others as a political leader who would champion their worldly causes. His expression grew heavy with sorrow, and He spoke with a sigh that seemed to echo through eternity. “I am the Son of God. I did not come to lead political movements or to be just a prophet. I came to redeem humanity—to bring them back to the Father and to offer them eternal life.”
With every word He spoke, I felt the weight of His mission and the enormity of the distortions that had clouded His truth. Each image seared into my mind, revealing how far the world had strayed from understanding Him. Yet, even in His sorrow, I could feel His love—for me, for those who had been misled, and even for those who had twisted His message for their own gain.
His message was unmistakable: I had been chosen to see the truth—not to keep it to myself, but to share it with the world.
His words were not merely a suggestion—they were a command. He was entrusting me with a responsibility—to seek the truth in His Word, to challenge the lies, and to help others see Him as He truly is.
As I stood in His presence, I felt humbled and unworthy, yet strengthened by His love and guidance. The peace that surrounded me was unlike anything I had ever known, and it filled me with a sense of purpose that could not be shaken. I knew, deep in my soul, that my life would never be the same. When I returned to the world, I would carry this encounter with me—a sacred truth to be shared, no matter the cost. This was more than a vision—it was a divine commission. The realization that I was not alone—He was with me, guiding me, just as He was with all those who sought Him. The journey I was about to embark on would not be easy—but it was one I was now prepared to face. For His light had shown me the way.
Back From The Dead
It was quick—almost violent—and completely unexpected. One moment, I was surrounded by divine light and peace, and the next, I was plummeted downward faster than I could comprehend. When my eyes opened, a bright artificial light pierced through the darkness—the glaring overhead lights of the emergency room. The contrast was jarring, almost unbearable, as the sterile, chaotic reality of the hospital replaced the serenity I had just experienced. Around me, I could see my colleagues frantically working to save my life. Their faces were tense, their hands steady yet urgent as they fought to pull me back from the brink. Machines beeped incessantly, and the air was thick with the smell of antiseptic. I realized I had returned—but nothing felt the same. Though I was back in my body, it felt foreign—like I was a visitor inhabiting it. The profound peace and clarity I had felt moments before lingered in my mind, but I also carried a deep awareness that my life could no longer continue as it had.
I had seen and heard things that would forever change me. I had returned to the world of the living—but the person who opened their eyes in that hospital bed was no longer the same. I had been shown the truth, given a mission, and granted a second chance. Life as I had once known it would never be the same again.
I couldn’t shake the images and words of Jesus from my mind. They replayed over and over, etched deeply into my soul. His gaze, His voice, His command—they were more vivid than anything I had ever experienced, more real than the world I had returned to. I knew, with absolute certainty, that He had given me this second chance for a reason. It wasn’t just an opportunity to live again—it was a calling, a mission far greater than myself. His words echoed within me: “Seek the truth in My Word and warn others.” I realized my life could no longer be about the ordinary routines or the shallow pursuits that had once consumed me. Every moment, every breath, now carried a divine purpose. I was alive—not simply to exist, but to uncover the truth He had revealed and to share it with the world. This newfound responsibility filled me with both humility and determination. I didn’t know where to begin or how to carry out such a profound task—but I trusted that He would guide me. His presence had been so powerful, His love so transformative, that I couldn’t ignore the path He had set before me. From that moment on, I vowed to live differently—not for myself, but for Him. My life, my voice, and my actions would be dedicated to seeking the truth, standing against the lies, and helping others see Him as He truly is. I had been given a second chance—and I would not waste it.
In the months following, I found myself consumed by an insatiable need to understand. I turned to the Bible—the source of truth Jesus had pointed me to—and devoured its pages with a hunger I had never felt before. Each page seemed to come alive, revealing layers of meaning that I had overlooked or misunderstood in the past. Scriptures I had once skimmed now spoke directly to my heart, uncovering truths I had never considered. The deeper I delved, the more I realized how much of what I thought I knew had been shaped by misconceptions and human distortions. The lies that Jesus had warned me about began to crystallize—traditions that had been presented as sacred truths, teachings that twisted His message for personal gain, and interpretations that reduced His divine purpose to worldly agendas. All of it became painfully clear. It was as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes, allowing me to see the depth of the deceptions that had clouded the understanding of His Word.
Yet, along with these revelations came a profound sense of hope. The Word of God was not just a book—it was alive, offering guidance, truth, and answers to the questions I didn’t even know I had. Day by day, as I immersed myself in the Bible, I felt my purpose becoming clearer. This was not just about my own understanding—it was about equipping myself to fulfill the mission Jesus had entrusted to me: to share the truth and expose the lies, so that others might also come to know Him as He truly is.
15 Lies About Jesus
Through prayerful reflection and deep study, I began to piece together a clearer, more profound understanding of Jesus—one rooted in His Word rather than the distortions of the world. These revelations reshaped my faith and solidified my mission to share the truth with others.
- Jesus was not born on December 25th.
One of the most widespread misconceptions became clear as I delved into the Scriptures. Jesus’s birth date is not recorded in the Bible. The tradition of celebrating His birth on December 25th stems from human customs and adaptations, likely influenced by historical events and cultural practices. While His birth is one of the most miraculous moments in history, its exact date remains a mystery known only to God. This revelation reminded me to focus on the significance of His coming rather than the traditions surrounding it. - Jesus is the Son of God, not God the Father.
The Bible revealed the beautiful relationship within the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Jesus is not the Father but the Son of God, distinct yet unified with the Father in divine essence. Through Him, we see the Father’s love, mercy, and power revealed. This profound truth deepened my awe of the Trinity and clarified how Jesus fulfills His role as Savior and mediator. - Jesus came to fulfill the law, not abolish it.
Jesus’s teachings often spoke of the law, and through my study, I realized how misunderstood His mission is. He did not come to discard God’s law but to fulfill it completely, bringing it to its ultimate purpose. His life, death, and resurrection are the perfect completion of God’s covenant, showing us the way to live in righteousness and grace. - Jesus had no romantic relationship with Mary Magdalene.
The Bible portrays Mary Magdalene as a devoted follower of Jesus—one of the first witnesses of His resurrection. Yet the world has twisted her story, introducing false narratives of a romantic connection. Scripture makes it clear that Jesus’s mission was entirely spiritual, centered on salvation for humanity. This distortion is one of many lies that attempt to reduce His divine purpose to human terms. - Jesus lived a humble life, not one of wealth or luxury.
As I studied the Gospels, I was struck by the simplicity of Jesus’s life. He had no earthly wealth, no possessions to call His own, and no desire for material gain. He walked among the poor, the sick, and the outcasts, teaching that true riches are found in the kingdom of God. This stark contrast to modern portrayals of wealth in His name reinforced the humility and love that defined His ministry. - Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life.
The Bible repeatedly emphasizes that Jesus is far more than a prophet or teacher—He is the Son of God and the only path to salvation. His sacrifice on the cross was the ultimate act of love, bridging the gap between humanity and God. This truth became the cornerstone of my faith and my understanding of His divine mission. - Jesus was not a political leader.
Throughout His ministry, Jesus rejected political power and earthly authority. He declared that His kingdom was not of this world—a statement that often confused His followers and critics alike. His purpose was spiritual, not political—to bring salvation and eternal life, not to lead worldly revolutions. - Jesus declared Himself as the Messiah.
Far from being a secret, Jesus openly proclaimed that He was the promised Messiah. Through His words and actions, He fulfilled the prophecies of the Old Testament, leaving no doubt about His divine identity. This declaration was central to His mission and the reason He was ultimately crucified by those who refused to believe. - Jesus experienced true suffering.
In studying His crucifixion, I came to understand the depth of Jesus’s suffering—not just physical pain but also spiritual agony. He bore the weight of humanity’s sin, enduring separation from the Father so that we might be reconciled to God. His suffering was real, profound, and a testament to His boundless love. - Jesus never endorsed violence in His name.
As I reflected on history and Scripture, it became clear that Jesus never supported violence or coercion. His teachings were rooted in peace, love, and forgiveness. Any acts of violence committed in His name are direct contradictions of His message and a tragic distortion of His purpose. - The resurrection was a physical, historical event.
The resurrection of Jesus is not a metaphor or spiritual concept—it is a physical, historical reality. The empty tomb, the eyewitness accounts, and the transformation of His disciples all testify to the truth of this miraculous event. It is the cornerstone of Christian faith, proving His victory over sin and death. - Jesus will return.
The Bible promises that Jesus will come again—not as a humble servant but as a triumphant King, to bring justice and restoration. His second coming is a source of hope and anticipation for all believers, reminding us to live in faith and readiness. - Jesus’s miracles were real.
The miracles performed by Jesus were not symbolic but tangible acts of divine power. They revealed His authority over nature, disease, and even death, pointing to His identity as the Son of God and the fulfillment of God’s promises. - Jesus spoke clearly about hell.
Far from being an abstract concept, Jesus taught explicitly about the reality of hell. He warned of its consequences and called people to repentance, emphasizing the urgency of turning to God. - Jesus is not a created being.
Through Scripture, I came to understand that Jesus is eternal, uncreated, and fully divine. He existed before the foundation of the world and is coequal with the Father and the Holy Spirit. This truth reinforced the magnitude of His love—that the eternal God would take on human form to save us.
The Awakening and the Call
I once believed that I understood Jesus—that my knowledge of Him was complete. But that extraordinary experience opened my eyes to a truth far greater than I had ever imagined. It was a truth that shattered my preconceptions and illuminated the depth of His love, His purpose, and His mission.
Through this awakening, I realized I had a responsibility—a divine calling—not just to seek Him with all my heart but also to share what I had learned with others.
His words, His truth, and His sacrifice are too profound to be kept to myself.
If you have ever found yourself questioning who Jesus truly is, I encourage you to seek Him earnestly through the Word of God. The Bible is not just a book—it is a living testimony, a guide to understanding Him and His eternal plan for humanity.
“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
These words of Jesus have become my guiding light. Just as He freed me from the chains of doubt and distortion, He can do the same for you.
Seek Him—and you will find Him.
Let His truth transform your life as it has transformed mine.
Do not let the world’s lies distract you from His voice.
Jesus stands at the door of your heart, waiting for you to invite Him in.
He has the power to heal your wounds, to restore what has been broken, and to lead you to a life of eternal purpose.
If you open your heart to Him, you will find a peace that surpasses all understanding.
This is not just my testimony—it can be yours too.
Take that step of faith today, and allow His light to guide your path.
A Prayer for Truth and Transformation
Heavenly Father,
I come before You today with a heart full of gratitude and humility. Thank You for being patient with me—for guiding me even when I wandered in confusion and misunderstanding. You are the source of all truth, and through Your grace, I have come to see more clearly.
Lord, I acknowledge that I have often accepted the distortions and lies of this world—but now, I yearn for Your truth, the truth that brings freedom and life.
Jesus, my Savior, I am in awe of Your love and sacrifice. Thank You for enduring the cross, for bearing the weight of my sins, and for offering me a path to eternal life. You are the way, the truth, and the life, and I want to follow You with all that I am.
Teach me to know You more deeply, to seek Your Word with an open heart, and to live according to Your example. Fill me with Your peace, Your wisdom, and Your courage, so that I may walk boldly in the light of Your love.
Holy Spirit, I invite You to work within me. Illuminate the Scriptures as I study them, and reveal the truth that will transform my heart and mind. Help me discern what is right and reject what is false. Empower me to live a life that honors You—to speak boldly of the truths You reveal and to reflect Your love and compassion in all that I do.
Father, I recognize that I have a responsibility to share what You have shown me. Equip me to be a vessel of Your truth, spreading Your light in a world that so desperately needs it. Let my words and actions inspire others to seek You, to know Your love, and to experience the freedom found in You.
Lord, I surrender my life to You completely. I place my fears, my doubts, and my burdens at Your feet, trusting in Your perfect plan for me. Guide me as I take steps to fulfill the calling You have placed on my life. Give me the strength to persevere, the humility to learn, and the faith to trust You in all circumstances.
Thank You, Lord, for Your endless love, mercy, and grace. Thank You for never giving up on me—for lifting me out of darkness and for giving me a second chance to live for You.
I dedicate my life to seeking Your truth, sharing Your Word, and glorifying Your name.
In Jesus’s holy and precious name, I pray.
Amen.
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Near Death Experience 3
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a Christian going to hell)
Life Before the Near-Death Experience
My name is Andrew. I’m 58 years old, and my life has always been steeped in faith. I was raised in a devout Christian family where God was the center of everything. Morning and evening prayers were a habit I’ve kept to this day. I always saw myself as a sincere believer—a man who followed the rules, went to church on Sundays, and tried to live a righteous life.
But to be honest, there were certain things I never gave much thought to. For example, I didn’t believe in demons or hell. To me, it seemed absurd that a loving God would allow a place of eternal torment to exist. I thought they were just symbols—images created to scare those who lacked faith. I always believed my life was enough to secure me a place in heaven. I never questioned that—until that one afternoon. It was December 2018, just a few weeks before Christmas. I remember the biting cold and the bright Christmas lights lining the streets. I was at a large shopping mall, finishing up gift shopping for my grandkids. I picked up a new calendar for my sister and a building set for the youngest in the family. I was tired but content, feeling that unique joy that Christmas always brings. After I finished shopping, I headed down to the underground parking garage. My hands were full of gift bags, and I was exhausted, so I chose the elevator instead of taking the stairs. When I stepped into the elevator, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was a modern lift with polished metal walls and soft background music. Two other people were with me—a middle-aged man glued to his phone and a young woman wearing a red scarf. I pressed the button for the ground floor, and the elevator began its descent. Then—a strange noise. A creaking sound, as if something was being stretched beyond its limit, followed by a slight jolt. I didn’t think much of it. I’d always believed I wasn’t afraid of confined spaces. To me, claustrophobia was just an exaggeration—something that affected other people. I also thought panic attacks were just a cry for attention or the result of drug abuse. I never imagined I would experience one myself. The elevator suddenly stopped between two floors. The lights were still on, but the sense of movement was gone. I pressed the emergency button, but there was no immediate response. The man next to me grew uneasy, trying to make a phone call, but there was no signal.
A strange silence fell over us, broken only by the growing chaos inside my mind. "It’s probably nothing serious," I told myself.
But my heart began to race. Then it happened. The elevator, which had seemed calm moments ago, now felt like it was closing in on me. Not physically, but that’s how it felt.
The walls seemed to press inward. My breathing became difficult.
Sweat poured from my body.
I couldn’t believe it—me, sweating, chest tightening, hands shaking.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
I leaned against the wall, trying not to draw attention.
The woman with the red scarf looked at me with concern and asked, "Are you okay?"
I tried to smile but could only manage a faint, strained grimace.
"I’m fine," I replied, my voice tight and dry.
I wasn’t fine at all.
My body was betraying me.
My breathing was out of control.
My mind was spinning.
I felt like I was falling into a bottomless void.
I tried to focus—to think positive thoughts—but the panic had already taken over.
I saw myself reflected in the shiny metal wall—pale face, wide eyes, hair matted with sweat.
I tried to pray, but the words shattered in my mind.
For the first time, I felt completely out of control.
The two people in the elevator tried to help, but I couldn’t speak.
My body was frozen.
Then, everything went black.
I don’t remember hearing anything anymore—only a deep, dark emptiness surrounded me, as if I were suspended in a void.
No time.
No space.
Nothing at all.
Suddenly, a light appeared in the distance.
But it wasn’t ordinary light.
It was white yet vibrant, pulsating and warm.
It pulled me toward it, though I couldn’t quite tell how I was moving.
I was drawn toward the light without resistance.
As I got closer, it grew brighter, and within it, a figure emerged.
I couldn’t see the face clearly, but there was something familiar—majestic yet comforting.
The fear I had felt in the darkness slowly gave way to curiosity.
"Andrew," the figure said in a deep yet calm voice. "It’s time for you to see what you’ve always denied."
The voice echoed through me—not just in my ears but into my very soul, as if each word sank deep into the core of who I was.
I felt peace but also an increasing tension—the sense that judgment was approaching, a truth I could no longer escape.
"You never believed in hell," the voice continued. "You always thought it was a myth—a story used to frighten the guilty. Now, I will show you what you chose not to see."
Instantly, the scenery around me changed.
The light pulled back, revealing a terror beyond anything I had ever imagined.
Before me stretched a great chasm.
Towering flames rose from cracked, blackened ground.
The air was thick with smoke and ash.
The heat was suffocating.
The sky was pitch black, streaked with flashes of deep red lightning.
But what made me tremble were the figures in the flames—men and women engulfed in fire, screaming in agony.
Their cries tore through me, filled with unending pain.
Some reached their hands upward as if pleading for help, but their eyes held no hope.
Others twisted and writhed in torment I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
What shocked me most was that I recognized some of them.
They were Christians—people I knew, people who had prayed with me, worshipped beside me every Sunday.
In the midst of the damned were familiar faces—people like me who believed they were saved.
I saw pastors, deacons, people who had served the Christian community for years—all of them burning, hands clenched as if still praying but receiving no answer.
As I stood in the midst of hell, flames rose like towering, majestic yet terrifying mountains. Smoke and ash choked the air, and the screams of the damned echoed endlessly around me.
My heart felt like it stopped beating at the horrifying truth:
Many of them were Christians.
Not the atheists or openly sinful people I once imagined would be here—but people I had known.
Those who once sat beside me in church.
Who once sang hymns with a passion I had.
I saw pastors, deacons, devoted believers—all now consumed by eternal fire, their faces contorted in unspeakable agony.
I turned to the divine figure beside me—Jesus—with tearful eyes and a trembling voice:
"Why, Lord? Why are they here? These people lived for you, prayed to you, believed in you. How could they end up in such a dreadful place?"
My confusion was like a violent wave, sweeping away everything I thought I knew about salvation.
Jesus looked at me, his eyes deep enough to contain life and death—both gentle like a father and stern like a righteous judge.
His voice rang out—warm but powerful, piercing every corner of my soul:
"Andrew, they are here because of one sin—one silent but deadly sin. A sin that billions who claim my name have committed without ever realizing it. That sin is pride."
"Pride is the flame that burns the soul before hell’s fire touches the flesh. It is the enemy’s most subtle trap—the wall that separates mankind from me. And the one reason why even those who pray daily and attend church weekly still cannot pass through heaven’s gates."
I stood stunned, my mind reeling.
Pride.
I had always thought of it as something obvious—the arrogance of unbelievers, the vanity of the rich and powerful.
I never imagined it could hide within people like me—those who seem humble in the eyes of the world, who live religious lives.
But Jesus didn’t let me remain in doubt.
He waved his hand, and before me, hell opened like a living book—each page a story of a condemned soul, each line a painful testimony to his words.
"Look, Andrew," he said, his voice filled with sorrow and sternness. "These people did everything the world calls faith. They prayed before meals, sang hymns in church, gave to the poor, even preached my name before thousands. But in their hearts, pride grew silently—like weeds in an abandoned garden."
"They prayed not to seek my will but to strengthen their own egos. They went to church not to worship me but to be seen—to feel superior to those who didn’t come. They did good deeds not out of love but because they believed those acts could purchase salvation—as if I were a merchant who could be bribed."
I saw a man—a deacon I once respected—now kneeling in the flames, hands raised in desperate prayers. No one answered.
In life, he was always the earliest to church, always criticizing those who were late or improperly dressed. He took pride in his strictness, believing it was the mark of deeper faith.
Jesus said, "He lived as though the rules were his God, not me. He judged his brothers harshly, believing his obedience made him noble. But pride blinded him to the truth—that I do not seek outward perfection but a humble heart willing to bow before me and love even those he despised."
"He thought faith was a badge to flaunt, not a gift to treasure."
Then a woman appeared. She had been the loudest voice in prayer meetings, always taking the front row so everyone could see her devotion.
But in the shadows of her life, I saw her spread rumors about others, refused to help the poor because they were "undeserving," and offer shallow apologies after each wrongdoing.
"She believed I was an easy God," Jesus explained. "She thought reciting prayers was enough to erase her sins—that the label ‘Christian’ would shield her from consequences. But pride blinded her to the hypocrisy in her heart. She never truly repented. She was only afraid of being exposed, not of losing me. And now, this fire reflects the emptiness of prayers that lacked heart."
I felt a chill down my spine as I looked at another man—a famous preacher who once stood on pulpits with fiery passion, bringing hundreds to faith.
But now, he was here—flames licking his body, face twisted in eternal horror.
I remembered how he boasted about his attendance numbers, how he refused advice because he "knew better."
Jesus said, "He preached my word but did not live it. He used my name to build his reputation, believing his works earned him heaven. But pride turned his good deeds into ash before me. He didn’t seek my forgiveness; he sought the praise of men. And when he judged those who didn’t measure up to him, he placed himself on the throne where only I belong."
I trembled, my mind swirling with questions.
"But Lord, if pride is so dangerous, why don’t we see it? Why is it the one sin that can destroy even those who believe in you—those who’ve spent their lives serving you?"
Jesus stepped closer, his light covering me like a warm blanket in the cold storm of hell. But that light also made me feel small, exposing every hidden corner of my soul to his holiness.
"Pride is the only sin, Andrew," he said gently but with authority. "Because it is the root of all distance between man and me. It is unlike other sins—like adultery, theft, or murder—which are easier to recognize and confess. Pride hides in the dark corners of the heart, disguised as faith, disguised as righteousness."
"It convinces you that you don’t need me—that you can save yourself with works, with prayers, or with the title of ‘believer.’ It makes you your own god. And when you put yourself above me, there’s no room left for my grace."
He paused, then continued with stern love:
"Look at these souls. They’re not here because they lacked faith but because they distorted it. They prayed, but their prayers never passed the ceiling because they didn’t come from a humble heart. They read scripture but used it as a weapon to judge others, not as a mirror to examine themselves. They did good works, but in their hearts was smugness, believing I owed them salvation for what they did."
"Pride is the only sin because it destroys the true meaning of faith—the full surrender before me, the admission that without me, you are nothing."
I saw another man—a regular believer I had once met in a prayer group. He wasn’t a pastor or leader—just someone who went to church regularly, always smiling and talking about God.
But now, he was here—eyes hollow in the flames.
I saw moments from his life—times he refused to apologize when he hurt others because he "wasn’t wrong," times he secretly looked down on those less devout, times he told himself he was safe because he "believed in Jesus."
"He lived believing that faith was a contract—that as long as he believed, I was obligated to save him," Jesus said. "But pride kept him from ever asking, ‘Does my heart truly belong to God?’ He thought I was a God who served his will, rather than him being a servant of mine."
I knelt down, tears streaming endlessly.
His words burned through every illusion I had ever held about my faith.
I saw myself in those souls—in the moments I was proud for praying daily, in the times I silently compared myself to others, in the times I believed that God had to forgive me because I had "done enough."
But how can we recognize pride, Lord? I whispered, my voice trembling with fear and despair. It’s too subtle, too deeply hidden. How can we know we’ve fallen into its trap?
Jesus leaned down, his gaze softening but still holding an undeniable truth:
"Pride always tries to lift you above others, Andrew," he said. "It whispers that you are better, more deserving—that you don’t need to change because you’re already good enough. It causes you to focus on others’ sins instead of your own. It turns prayer into a performance, good deeds into medals, and faith into something to boast about."
"But I do not look at what you do. I look at your heart. And a prideful heart—no matter how many prayers or good works it hides behind—is still a heart far from me."
He pointed toward a group of other souls—those who had once been church leaders, had organized large prayer meetings, had been praised for their devotion.
Now, they stood there, surrounded by flames, screaming in belated regret.
"They thought I measured faith by the number of people they preached to, the amount of money they donated, or how often they stood in front of crowds," Jesus said. "But I do not count those things. I count the tears they never shed for their own sins, the apologies they never spoke, the times they refused to bow before me out of fear of losing their image."
"Pride turned them into beautiful statues on the outside—but empty within."
I felt suffocated under the weight of his words.
"But Lord," I cried out, "if pride hides within everything we do—if it can deceive even the most devout—how do we have hope? How can we ever escape it?"
He placed his hand on my shoulder, and a warm current flowed through my body—like light piercing through the thick darkness of hell.
"Pride can only be defeated by humility, Andrew," he said, his voice full of love but unwavering. "Humility is not about lowering yourself before others but about exalting me above all else. It requires you to look into your heart each day—not with self-satisfaction but with a healthy fear that you might drift away."
"It demands that you confess—not only with words but with actions—by surrendering the self you cling to, by abandoning the belief that you deserve salvation."
"Love others not because they deserve it but because I loved you when you didn’t deserve it. Live each day as if it’s your last chance to do what is right before me—for one day, it will be."
He paused, then added with an urgency I had never heard before:
"Billions of believers have ended up here because they ignored this warning. They thought I was a lenient God—that I would turn a blind eye to their pride simply because they carried my name. But I am righteous, and I cannot accept a heart that refuses to bow."
"Pride is the path that leads to this place. But humility is the road that brings you back to me. Choose that road, Andrew—and tell others before it’s too late."
I collapsed, face to the ground, my tears soaking the earth.
His words were not just a lesson. They were a calling, a warning, a fire illuminating every hidden corner of my soul.
I saw clearly my own pride—not in grand actions but in the small thoughts, the moments I believed I was better, the times I prayed without truly surrendering.
And I knew—without his grace, I too would be here in these flames, among the very souls I once called brothers.
Hell for Sinful Believers
Then the Lord led me to another part of hell.
Here, the fire didn’t blaze as fiercely as before. It was thinner, more hidden, but the pain was just as crippling.
This place was reserved for believers who lived in pride—who believed their faith made them superior.
It was a different kind of hell—not only physical but deeply spiritual.
I saw people being forced to relive their lives—every action, every thought.
Their torment came from an eternal awareness of the chances they had to repent but missed because of pride.
Their cries weren’t just from physical agony but from a deep, burning regret that consumed them from within.
An old man looked at me as I approached.
"I was like you," he said, his voice broken by anguish. "I thought I was saved—that faith was enough. But I judged others, believed I was better, and now I’m here."
I couldn’t bear his gaze. It was filled with eternal remorse.
What terrified me most was how similar his story was to mine.
How many believers, I wondered, were condemned here because they lived in pride—never imagining hell could be their fate?
The divine figure beside me looked at me.
"Do you understand now, Andrew? Do you see why hell isn’t just for the openly wicked? Many believers are here—not because they didn’t pray or believe—but because they never gave up the pride in their hearts. They thought faith would automatically save them without truly transforming their souls."
Those words burned into me.
Everything I had believed felt like it was crumbling.
I had prayed. Lived as a Christian.
But now I understood—I had missed the most essential part: humility.
I had never truly grasped what it meant to be humble before God.
"But there is still hope for you, Andrew," Jesus said gently, breaking the silence. "You are here to learn—to understand what many ignore until it’s too late. I did not bring you here to condemn you but to give you a second chance."
Immediately, the world I had known vanished.
I found myself in a place of peace—beyond time and space, where everything felt perfectly in place, created with divine purpose.
There were no problems, no pain, no burdens.
Every disappointment, sorrow, and regret dissolved into complete serenity.
It was a harmonious world—crafted for me—where every detail had been touched by divine care.
I couldn’t quite define what was around me, but I knew that everything held meaning.
And then, I saw Him.
Jesus—standing before me, his presence radiant, filled with love and understanding.
There was no judgment in his eyes—only deep awareness and tenderness.
He looked at me and said, his voice full of grace:
"This journey is a lesson for you. Everything you have seen and experienced is written in scripture, but over time, many have stopped believing. Faith has weakened, and in the last 20 years, indifference has grown. Yet everything I have revealed through my word remains true—and now, you are a witness."
His words touched me deeply—sweet yet filled with truth.
I didn’t feel condemned—even though I knew I had been wrong.
It was as if his words illuminated parts of me I had ignored.
I felt small—yet more loved than I had ever known.
Then Jesus added:
"I must show you one last thing before you return."
Before me, images appeared—projected like scenes on an invisible screen.
Moments from my life.
I saw my failures.
An elderly woman whose shopping bag had torn on the street—I had walked past without stopping.
A pregnant woman, exhausted on a crowded bus—I had pretended not to notice.
Scene by scene, Jesus showed me moments when I had chosen indifference over love.
Each image cut into my heart like a blade.
I felt small, weak, and deeply ashamed.
He explained calmly:
"These moments were not just missed actions. They were opportunities I gave you—signals sent to help you grow, to love. Faith is not just about going to church every Sunday or repeating prayers by habit. Faith is more than that. It is living in love for others."
"Every time you choose to do good, your soul strengthens. But when you turn away from someone else’s pain, it darkens."
"I see people’s hearts. I see what truly drives them."
He looked at me with infinite tenderness.
"I know you have a great heart, Andrew. That’s why I’m asking you to carry this message to others. I don’t want anyone to forget what you have seen and heard. Hell is not just a metaphor. Evil truly exists. But you were created free—with the power to choose what is good and reject what is evil."
"Every act of love—no matter how small—brings your soul closer to eternal light. I promise you, if you choose what is good, you will find everlasting peace."
His words were like medicine to my soul.
I felt the weight of my mistakes—but for the first time, I understood the true meaning of faith.
Not rituals or duty—but a journey of loving others and loving God.
A journey I was now determined to live—and to share.
Then everything vanished.
Return with a Mission
I don’t know what happened to my body from the moment the elevator got stuck to when I woke up in the hospital. It was a blank space I can’t explain.
But I know exactly what happened to my soul.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed—the steady beeping of heart monitors and breathing machines echoing around me.
My hands trembled.
My body was exhausted.
I was alive—but I felt different.
Beside me was my wife—her eyes swollen from crying, her face a mix of anguish and relief.
She held my hand and said the doctors had saved me.
But deep inside, I knew something greater had happened.
God had given me a second chance.
I hadn’t just regained my body—something deep within me had been changed.
I had been proud—thinking I knew what was right, believing that shallow faith would be enough to protect me.
But what I saw and heard had shaken me to the core.
I knew how close I had come to being condemned—not as a metaphor, but as a horrifying reality.
And more importantly, I learned something I had always dismissed:
Panic attacks are real—not exaggerations or weakness.
When they hit, your world collapses.
You lose control over even your own breath.
Now I understand.
We must respect those who suffer them.
No one should be judged for something so brutal and unexpected.
Lying there in that hospital bed—weak but alive—I felt a deep sense of gratitude and responsibility.
My soul could never be the same.
I had lived with a comfortable faith—full of habits, empty gestures, and a pride that made me believe I was immune to judgment.
Now I understood that merely calling myself a believer wasn’t enough.
Repetitive prayers or attending church on Sundays wasn’t enough.
I had to change.
Every prayer needed to be a real connection—an honest confrontation with who I was.
Every day had to be lived in humility—with a willingness to look at my sins, not justify them or ignore them.
I learned that faith isn’t a badge to carry pride behind—it’s a journey, a conscious choice that demands courage, dedication, and above all, love for others.
I now live with a new awareness.
I know I’ll never be perfect—but I also understand that salvation doesn’t come from perfection.
It comes from recognizing our failures, trying to do good even in small ways, and not turning away from those in need.
God showed me that to live by faith means to accept humility—to embrace our fragility and to walk forward, step by step, toward change.
My soul has changed—and so has the way I live each day.
Hell is real—and many believers like me end up there because they overlook the truth about what true devotion means.
This is the truth I want everyone to know:
The sin of pride can send believers to hell.
Evil is real. So is the devil. Don’t ignore this lesson.
Repent sincerely every day—and live humbly before God.
Only then can we hope to escape the fate I saw with my own eyes.
I want to end with a quote that has stayed with me—though I don’t remember where I read it:
"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he doesn’t exist."
Conclusion
Andrew’s story is more than just a vivid testimony of a supernatural encounter with Jesus. It is a powerful wake-up call to all of us.
In a world where religious routine often replaces true surrender, his journey reveals that even the most devout can lose their way if pride is left unchecked. Through the fire of revelation and the mercy of God, Andrew was shown that salvation is not about performance or perfection—but about a humble heart that truly knows its need for grace.
If you’ve ever assumed that your spiritual routine guarantees your place in heaven, let this story gently challenge you.
Let it call you to search your heart—not in fear but in freedom—because as Andrew learned, it’s never too late to begin again.
Not with pride—but with humility.
Not with certainty—but with love.
And not with show—but with surrender.
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My name is Rebecca Morales, and I was a lifelong Christian who never imagined hell could be for people like me.
I read my Bible, prayed daily, went to church, and lived what I thought was a "good" life. But during my near-death experience, Jesus revealed something terrifying—many Christians, including those like me, are being sent to hell every hour for a sin we often overlook. I always thought hell was for murderers or those who hated God, but I was wrong. What I saw shook me to my core and changed everything I believed about salvation. What I saw is a warning that cannot be ignored.
It happened on January 15, 2019. It was a cold Tuesday afternoon, and I was in a hurry to pick up my prescription from the pharmacy before heading home. I remember feeling particularly stressed that day because my boss had criticized my work, and I felt it was unfair. I was dwelling on this as I entered the pharmacy. The line was long, and I found myself getting increasingly irritated. After about ten minutes of waiting, I suddenly felt dizzy. The fluorescent lights seemed too bright, and the room started spinning. I reached out to steady myself against a shelf, but my legs gave way. I heard someone shout, "She's collapsing!" and then everything went black.
What happened next changed my life forever. I found myself in complete darkness. Not the kind of darkness you experience when you close your eyes, but an absolute void - a darkness so complete it seemed to have substance. I couldn't feel my body anymore. I was simply... aware. Conscious, but without physical form.
I don't know how long I existed in this state - time seemed meaningless there. Then, far away, I noticed a tiny pinpoint of light. It grew larger, or perhaps I was moving toward it. This light was unlike anything I'd seen before - pure white but somehow alive, pulsating with energy and warmth. As I approached, I began to feel a sense of peace washing over me.
Within the light, a figure started to take shape. I couldn't make out specific features, but I knew immediately who it was. There was an unmistakable presence of love, authority, and holiness.
"Rebecca," Jesus said, "I have something important to show you - something you and many others have chosen not to see." Before I could respond, the scene around me changed dramatically. The peaceful light disappeared, and I found myself standing at the edge of what I can only describe as an abyss. Stretched before me was a landscape of horror that no words can adequately capture. The ground was cracked and blackened, and from these fissures rose flames that reached impossibly high. The sky above was dark, almost black, but with streaks of deep red cutting through it like wounds. Lightning occasionally flashed, briefly illuminating the terrible scene below.
The air was thick with smoke and the smell of sulfur. It was difficult to breathe, and each breath burned my lungs. But what truly horrified me were the people - countless individuals consumed by flames that seemed to burn them without ever destroying them. Their screams echoed throughout this desolate place, cries of agony that contained no hope of relief. Some of these souls reached upward, as if seeking escape, while others had collapsed into themselves, overwhelmed by their suffering. As I watched, frozen with horror, I began to recognize faces among the tormented. To my absolute shock, I saw people I knew from church - a woman who led our women's Bible study, a man who sang in the choir every Sunday, even a former pastor who had baptized me.
"Why are they here? These are Christians. They professed faith in You and they served in Your name."
"They lived in pride," He said. "They spoke prayers but never truly opened their hearts. They judged others while believing themselves righteous. They assumed forgiveness without genuine repentance."
As He spoke, I began to see glimpses of these people's lives - not just their public actions but their inner thoughts and attitudes. The woman who led Bible study had secretly felt superior to those she taught, believing her knowledge made her more worthy of salvation. The choir member had harbored resentments against others in the church, refusing to forgive even as he sang about God's mercy. The pastor had preached humility while believing himself better than his congregation.
"Pride is the deadliest sin," Jesus explained.
"It was the first sin that led to all others. Lucifer's pride caused his fall, and pride continues to be the downfall of many who call themselves by My name."
He guided me closer to one woman whose face was contorted in agony. "She attended church faithfully for forty years," Jesus said. "She knew Scripture well and could quote many verses from memory. But she never allowed My words to transform her heart. She judged those who didn't meet her standards of righteousness. She looked down on those who struggled with sin, forgetting that without My grace, she was no different."
I watched as this woman reached out, as if still praying, but her prayers now were not the confident recitations they had been in life. They were desperate pleas, filled with the horrible realization that she had missed what was most important.
"Many Christians believe that saying the right prayers or attending services guarantees salvation," Jesus continued. "They treat faith as a transaction - they give Me their words and expect heaven in return. But I look at the heart. A proud heart cannot approach Me, no matter how many prayers it speaks."
We moved through different areas of this terrible place. In one section, the flames were less visible, but the suffering no less intense. Here were people forced to continuously relive their lives, seeing every opportunity they had rejected, every person they had judged, every moment they could have chosen love but instead chose self-righteousness.
One man looked directly at me. "I was a deacon," he said. "I served communion every month. I went on missions. But inside, I believed my devotion made me better than others. I silently judged those who didn't serve as I did. I never truly understood that without genuine humility, all my service was meaningless." His words pierced my heart. How many times had I silently judged others? How often had I felt superior because I followed religious practices? How frequently had I gone through the motions of faith without examining my heart?
"Pride blinds people to their own sin," Jesus explained. "It creates a false sense of security. Many Christians end up here not because they didn't know Me, but because they never truly knew themselves. They never allowed My Spirit to reveal their hearts to them."
He led me to another area where I saw a woman I recognized from my own church - someone who had always seemed so devoted, who volunteered for every event and led children's ministries. "She believed her works saved her," Jesus said. "She accumulated good deeds like currency, believing she could earn My favor. But she never understood that salvation is a gift that must be received with humility. She never truly repented because she didn't believe she needed to - her good works, she thought, outweighed her sins." I watched as this woman wept, her tears seeming to evaporate in the heat before they could fall. "I did so much," she cried out. "I gave so much. How can I be here?"
"You did many things in My name, but you never allowed Me to change your heart. You served to be seen by others, to feel righteous. You judged those who didn't serve as you did. Your pride prevented you from seeing your need for grace."
As we continued through this realm of suffering, I began to notice something else - many of these souls were clinging to religious symbols. Some still held Bibles, others wore crosses or clutched prayer beads. These objects, which had once brought them comfort, now seemed to increase their torment - constant reminders of a faith they had professed but never fully embraced.
"Religion without transformation is dangerous," Jesus said, noting my observation. "It creates an illusion of safety. Many believe that identifying as Christian protects them from judgment, but faith that doesn't change the heart is no faith at all."
He brought me to a man dressed in what appeared to be pastoral robes, now tattered and scorched by flames. The man's face was a mask of horror and disbelief.
"He preached My word for thirty years," Jesus explained. "He knew theology and doctrine. He could explain complex passages of Scripture. But he used My word as a weapon against others rather than allowing it to penetrate his own heart. He loved the authority his position gave him more than he loved Me or My people. He preached grace but lived in judgment."
I watched as this former pastor cried out, reciting Scripture verses about mercy and forgiveness - verses he had once preached confidently but now desperately needed to experience.
"Many who teach My word will face stricter judgment," Jesus said. "Those who lead others carry greater responsibility. This man led many to a superficial faith that mirrored his own - a faith of words and appearances rather than transformed hearts."
We moved to another section where the souls seemed particularly anguished. These people were reaching out to each other but could never make contact - eternally isolated despite being surrounded by others.
"These are those who refused to forgive," Jesus explained. "They carried grudges while praying for their own forgiveness. They recited 'forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors' without understanding what they were asking. They wanted mercy for themselves but justice for others."
One woman in this group looked at me with eyes full of regret. "I thought I was right," she said. "My sister wronged me, and I refused to forgive her. I justified my bitterness, believing it was righteous anger. I prayed daily but never released my resentment. I didn't understand that my unforgiveness was pride - I believed I had the right to withhold what God had freely given to me."
Jesus touched my shoulder gently. "Unforgiveness is often rooted in pride," He said. "It assumes a position of superior righteousness. It says, 'My hurt is too significant to forgive.' Yet I forgave those who crucified Me. True humility recognizes that all have sinned and fallen short of glory - that none can stand righteous on their own merit."
As we continued our journey through this place of torment, Jesus showed me Christians from different denominations, cultures, and time periods. Some had been pastors, some missionaries, some regular churchgoers. All had professed faith in Jesus, but all had allowed pride to prevent true transformation.
"Pride manifests in many ways," Jesus explained. "For some, it's obvious arrogance. For others, it's subtle self-righteousness. For many, it's the belief that their theological understanding guarantees salvation. For others, it's the conviction that their good works earn My favor. All of these are different faces of the same sin - the sin that caused Lucifer's fall and continues to ensnare many who bear My name."
We approached a group of souls who seemed to be arguing even in their torment. They were quoting Scripture at each other, defending theological positions, continuing debates that had obviously begun in their earthly lives.
"These placed doctrine above love," Jesus said. "They were so convinced of their theological rightness that they forgot the greatest commandments - to love God and love others. They used My word to divide rather than unite, to condemn rather than redeem. Their knowledge puffed them up with pride rather than humbling them with wisdom."
I watched as these souls continued their theological debates even as flames engulfed them. They seemed unable to stop, trapped in patterns of thought and behavior that had defined their earthly lives.
"Knowledge without love is empty," Jesus continued. "Many study My word but miss its heart. They gain information but not transformation. True understanding of Scripture leads to humility, not pride. It reveals how much we need grace, not how much we deserve it."
He guided me to another section where I saw souls who appeared to be performing religious rituals - some were kneeling as if in prayer, others lifting their hands as if in worship, still others reciting what seemed to be Scripture verses or prayers.
"These confused rituals with relationships," Jesus explained. "They believed that performing certain religious acts guaranteed My favor. They prayed specific prayers, attended certain services, participated in particular rituals, believing these actions earned salvation. They never understood that I desire mercy, not sacrifice - that I look at the heart, not just the hands."
I watched as these souls continued their religious performances, their faces reflecting the horrible realization that these acts, which they had believed would save them, had become part of their torment.
"Religious performance often masks pride," Jesus said. "It creates the illusion of righteousness while allowing the heart to remain unchanged. Many find comfort in rituals because they're controllable - unlike the messy work of genuine heart transformation, which requires vulnerability and surrender."
As we moved through this terrible landscape, I began to feel overwhelming fear. If these people - pastors, worship leaders, Bible study teachers, faithful church members - had ended up here, what hope did I have? I had lived much like them, going to church, reading my Bible, praying daily. Was I any different?
Jesus looked at me with eyes full of compassion. "You're beginning to understand," He said. "This fear - this recognition of your own vulnerability to pride - is the beginning of wisdom. Many never experience this realization until it's too late."
He brought me to a quieter area, away from the worst of the flames and screams, though the air was still heavy with suffering.
"Pride is especially dangerous because it blinds people to itself," Jesus explained. "The proud heart believes it is humble. It compares itself to others and finds itself superior. It focuses on the sins it doesn't commit rather than the condition of the heart. It thanks God for not being like 'those sinners' rather than recognizing its own desperate need for grace."
He showed me a man who appeared to be a modern-day Pharisee - well-dressed, respectable, clearly religious. This man was reciting a prayer that sounded eerily like the one in Scripture: "God, I thank you that I am not like other men - adulterers, evildoers, immoral people. I attended church regularly, tithed faithfully, and served on committees."
"This man lived a morally upright life," Jesus said. "He never committed the 'big sins' that others fell into. This reinforced his pride. He couldn't see that his self-righteousness was more offensive than the sins of those he judged. He never truly repented because he never truly believed he needed to."
I watched as this man continued his self-justifying prayer, seemingly unable to stop even as it condemned him further.
"Many Christians focus on external behaviors rather than internal attitudes," Jesus continued. "They avoid certain visible sins while nursing hidden pride, judgment, unforgiveness, and self-righteousness. They don't understand that it's not just what you do or don't do that matters - it's who you are becoming."
He guided me to an area where I saw people who seemed to be trying to climb out of their torment, building structures of good deeds that collapsed as soon as they were assembled.
"These believed they could earn their way out of judgment," Jesus explained. "Even now, they don't understand that salvation cannot be earned - it can only be received with humility. Their pride prevents them from accepting the gift that could have saved them."
I watched as these souls continued their futile efforts, piling up memories of good works that disintegrated in the heat of judgment.
"Many Christians live with a works-based mentality while professing grace-based theology," Jesus said. "They say they believe in salvation by grace through faith, but they live as if their good works earn My favor. This subtle pride prevents them from experiencing true freedom in grace."
Throughout our journey, I noticed that many of the souls kept repeating the same phrase: "Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?"
Jesus looked at these souls with deep sadness. "These words from Matthew 7 are fulfilled here daily," He said. "Many who called Me 'Lord' with their lips never knew Me in their hearts. They did religious works but never submitted to My lordship. They wanted My blessings but not My authority. They desired salvation but not transformation."
I was overwhelmed with the implications of what I was seeing. How many people sitting in churches every Sunday were on this same path? How many, like me, believed their religious activities guaranteed salvation while their hearts remained unchanged?
Jesus, sensing my thoughts, led me to yet another area. Here, the souls seemed more aware of their surroundings than others we had seen. Their expressions reflected not just suffering but painful clarity - they understood exactly why they were there.
"These had knowledge but lacked application," Jesus explained. "They knew the truth but didn't live it. They could quote Scripture about humility, love, and forgiveness, but they never internalized these principles. Their knowledge actually increased their judgment, because to whom much is given, much is required."
One woman looked at me with clear, agonized eyes. "I knew better," she said. "I taught others about pride and humility. I warned against self-righteousness. But I never applied these truths to myself. I identified pride in everyone except myself. Don't make my mistake. Examine your heart now, while there's still time."
Her words sent a chill through me. How often had I judged others for the very sins I excused in myself? How frequently had I noticed the speck in another's eye while ignoring the log in my own?
Jesus led me away from the abyss to a quiet place where the horrors of what I had seen were still visible but somewhat distant.
"Pride is so dangerous because it's the gateway to all other sins," He explained. "It was pride that led Eve to believe she could be like God. It was pride that caused Cain to murder Abel. It was pride that built the Tower of Babel. Throughout history, pride has been at the root of humanity's separation from Me."
He showed me images of religious leaders throughout history - many who had started with genuine faith but had been corrupted by pride as their influence grew. I saw how their growing self-importance had led them to compromise truth, abuse power, and lead others astray.
"Position and recognition often feed pride," Jesus said. "Many start well but become enamored with their own importance. They begin to believe that their gifts, their platform, their influence come from themselves rather than from Me. They forget that all they have is given, not earned."
I thought about my own life - how often I had silently congratulated myself for my faithfulness, my biblical knowledge, my regular church attendance. Had these things made me more humble or more proud? Had they brought me closer to God or given me a false sense of spiritual security?
"Rebecca," Jesus said, interrupting my thoughts, "what you're experiencing now - this self-examination, this recognition of your vulnerability to pride - this is the beginning of true humility. Humility isn't thinking less of yourself; it's thinking of yourself less. It's honest self-assessment in light of who I am."
He showed me images of truly humble people throughout history - many I didn't recognize. They weren't all famous spiritual leaders; many were ordinary believers who had quietly lived out extraordinary faith. What they shared was a genuine awareness of their need for grace and a willingness to extend that same grace to others.
"These understood that without Me, they could do nothing," Jesus explained. "They took no pride in their good works because they recognized these works flowed from My Spirit, not their own effort. They judged no one because they knew the depth of their own sin and the magnitude of My forgiveness. They lived in constant gratitude rather than entitlement."
Jesus then showed me a vision of two people praying. From outward appearances, they were saying the same words, performing the same actions. But I could somehow see their hearts - one was merely reciting words, going through motions, while the other was genuinely communicating with God in humility and love.
"Prayer can be an expression of either pride or humility," Jesus explained. "Some pray to be heard by others, to appear righteous, to fulfill religious obligation. Others pray from awareness of their need, from desire for relationship, from hearts overflowing with gratitude. I hear not just the words but the heart behind them."
This revelation struck me deeply. How many of my own prayers had been performance rather than conversation? How often had I prayed from obligation rather than love? How frequently had my prayers been focused on my wants rather than God's will?
Jesus then led me to a vast area where I could see what appeared to be billions of souls - all those currently living on earth. What struck me was how many of them were surrounded by a subtle darkness that they themselves couldn't see. This darkness seemed to grow or diminish based on their heart attitudes.
"Pride blinds," Jesus explained. "The more pride grows in a heart, the less that person can see their own condition. This is why many will be shocked when judgment comes - they cannot see the reality of their spiritual state."
I noticed that many who were surrounded by the most darkness were religious people - those who regularly attended worship services, participated in religious activities, and identified as Christians. Yet this darkness seemed to follow them even into their churches and Bible studies.
"Religiosity often masks pride," Jesus said. "It's easier to perform religious acts than to allow genuine heart transformation. Many find comfort in religious identity while resisting the vulnerability required for an authentic relationship with Me."
He showed me how this darkness influenced people's perceptions - how it caused them to see others as worse than themselves, to justify their own sins while condemning similar sins in others, to focus on maintaining appearances rather than cultivating authentic faith.
"This is happening right now in churches around the world," Jesus said solemnly. "Every hour, Christians are dying in this state of pride-induced blindness. They believe they are saved because of their religious activities, their theological knowledge, their moral behavior. They die confident in their salvation, only to discover too late that they never truly knew Me."
The gravity of this statement overwhelmed me. Every hour? How many souls were entering eternity with false confidence? How many were experiencing the horrible shock of discovering that their religious performance had not saved them?
"Why are You showing me this?"
"Because you have the same blindness," He said gently. "But unlike many, you have been given this opportunity to see before it's too late. Not everyone receives such grace."
He brought me to a mirror-like surface where I could see myself - not just my physical appearance but the condition of my heart. What I saw horrified me. Beneath my religious activities, my biblical knowledge, my regular church attendance was a heart full of judgment, self-righteousness, and pride. I had been comparing myself to others and finding myself superior. I had been going through religious motions while harboring unforgiveness, resentment, and spiritual arrogance.
"This is why salvation cannot be earned," Jesus explained. "No amount of good works can transform a proud heart into a humble one. This transformation comes only through surrender - through honest recognition of your need for grace."
I fell to my knees before this revelation of my true self. For perhaps the first time in my life, I saw my desperate need for salvation not as a theological concept but as a personal reality. I had no righteousness of my own, no goodness that could earn God's favor. My religious activities, which I had trusted to save me, now seemed like filthy rags in light of God's holiness.
"This is true repentance," Jesus said. "Not just sorrow for individual sins, but recognition of your sinful condition. Not just regret for bad actions, but acknowledgment of your desperate need for transformation. This humility - this honest self-assessment in light of My holiness - this is the beginning of salvation."
For what seemed like hours, I remained in this state of genuine repentance. I saw my pride, my self-righteousness, my judgmental attitudes toward others. I saw how I had used religion as a mask, appearing devout while my heart remained unchanged. I saw how I had trusted in my religious performance rather than in Christ's finished work.
"Many pray for forgiveness without truly repenting," Jesus explained. "They say the words but don't experience the godly sorrow that leads to genuine change. They want the comfort of forgiveness without the discomfort of honest self-examination."
As I continued in this state of true repentance, I began to experience something new - a lightness, a freedom I had never known before. The proud, self-righteous weight I had carried for so long began to lift as I acknowledged my complete dependence on grace.
"This is the paradox of My kingdom," Jesus said. "Those who humble themselves will be exalted. Those who acknowledge their spiritual poverty receive the riches of My grace. Those who recognize their weakness find My strength."
He helped me to my feet and led me to a different area - a place of indescribable beauty and peace. The contrast with the horrors I had witnessed earlier was overwhelming. Here, everything seemed to exist in perfect harmony. The colors were more vivid, the light more pure, the very air seemed alive with joy.
"This is what awaits those who live in true humility," Jesus explained. "Not those who merely profess faith, but those who allow that faith to transform them from the inside out. Not those who simply perform religious rituals, but those who cultivate genuine relationships with Me."
In this beautiful place, I saw people from every nation, tribe, and tongue. What united them wasn't their theological knowledge or religious performance but their authentic love for God and for each other. They wore no masks, carried no pretense. They existed in perfect unity with God and with one another.
"These understood the true meaning of faith," Jesus said. "They grasped that salvation isn't just about escaping hell or gaining heaven - it's about restoring a relationship with Me. They allowed My Spirit to transform them daily, to root out pride and cultivate humility. They lived not to impress others but to express love."
As I observed these saints, I noticed something remarkable - they seemed utterly unaware of their own goodness. Unlike the proud souls I had seen in hell, who were preoccupied with their religious credentials, these humble souls were focused entirely on Christ. Their good works flowed naturally from their relationship with Him, not from desire for recognition or reward.
"True humility isn't self-deprecation," Jesus explained, noting my observation. "It's self-forgetfulness. It's being so captivated by Me that you cease to be preoccupied with yourself - either positively or negatively. These souls don't think less of themselves; they simply think of themselves less."
I was struck by the freedom these people exhibited - freedom from the exhausting work of maintaining appearances, freedom from the constant comparison with others, freedom from the fear that they weren't doing enough to earn God's favor. They lived in the liberating knowledge that their standing with God depended not on their performance but on Christ's finished work.
"This is the rest I promised," Jesus said. "Not inactivity, but freedom from striving to earn what has already been given. These souls are more active in love and good works than the proud religious performers you saw earlier, but their activity flows from gratitude, not obligation. They serve not to gain My approval but because they already have it."
As I continued to observe this heavenly scene, Jesus brought me to a place where I could see my own potential future - the person I could become if I allowed His Spirit to transform me daily. This version of myself was characterized by genuine humility, authentic love, and deep joy. She wasn't concerned with appearances or reputation. She served others not to be seen but because she genuinely loved them. She studied Scripture not to accumulate knowledge but to know God more intimately.
"This transformation doesn't happen overnight," Jesus explained. "It's a lifelong process of surrendering pride and embracing humility. It requires daily death to self and daily submission to My Spirit. It often involves painful refinement as I root out pride in all its subtle forms."
He showed me how this refinement might look in my life - circumstances that would expose my pride, relationships that would challenge my self-righteousness, situations that would reveal my need for grace. These glimpses weren't threatening but hopeful - evidence that God loved me enough to not leave me in my current state of pride-induced blindness.
"Many pray for blessings but resist refinement," Jesus said. "They want comfort more than character, ease more than transformation. They don't understand that My greatest blessing is conforming them to My image, even when that process involves suffering."
As our time in this heavenly realm came to an end, Jesus brought me back to the edge of the abyss we had visited earlier. The contrast between the two destinations was stark and sobering.
"Every soul faces this choice," He said. "Not just once in a dramatic moment of conversion, but daily in thousands of small decisions. Will you humble yourself, acknowledge your need for grace, and allow My Spirit to transform you? Or will you cling to pride, trust in religious performance, and remain unchanged?"
"What you've seen today is reality, Rebecca. Every hour, Christians are entering eternity - some to discover that their genuine humility and transformed hearts have prepared them for heaven, others to realize with horror that their religious pride led them to hell. This isn't just theological theory; it's the most practical reality you will ever encounter."
I felt the weight of this truth settle on me - not as condemnation but as loving warning. I had been living in the dangerous illusion that my religious activities guaranteed my salvation, while my heart remained proud and unchanged.
"Remember what you've seen," Jesus said. "Not to live in fear, but to live in wisdom. Not to judge others, but to examine yourself. Not to trust in your own righteousness, but to depend entirely on Mine."
As He spoke these final words, the scene began to fade. The heavenly beauty, the hellish horror, and Jesus Himself grew dim as consciousness began to return to my body.
I awakened in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and concerned faces. According to the doctors, I had experienced a severe cardiac event triggered by stress and dehydration. I had been clinically dead for nearly three minutes before they were able to resuscitate me.
From a medical perspective, what I experienced could be explained as the hallucinations of an oxygen-deprived brain. But I know with absolute certainty that what I saw was real - more real than the physical world around me. The doctors kept me for observation overnight, and I was released the next day with instructions to follow up with a cardiologist. But the medical details seem insignificant compared to the spiritual reality I had witnessed. I've shared this experience not to frighten anyone, but because I believe with all my heart that what Jesus showed me is happening right now. Christians who trust in their religious performance rather than allowing genuine heart transformation are entering eternity every hour - and many are discovering too late that they never truly knew Jesus. My life has changed completely since that day. I still attend church, read my Bible, and pray, but these activities are no longer religious performances that I trust to save me. They're expressions of relationship with a God who saved me by grace through faith - a faith that is transforming me from the inside out.
I examine my heart daily, asking God to reveal any pride that might be blinding me to my true condition. I no longer compare myself to others, finding false security in seeming "better" than they are. Instead, I compare myself to Christ, which keeps me constantly aware of my need for grace.
If you're reading this, take time to honestly examine your heart.
Are you trusting in religious activities to save you?
Are you comparing yourself to others rather than measuring yourself against God's holiness?
Are you satisfied with outward performance while your heart remains unchanged?
The most dangerous sin isn't murder or adultery or theft
- it's the pride that convinces you that you're righteous when you're not,
that you're humble when you're not,
that you know Jesus when you don't.
And this sin is sending Christians to hell every hour.
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a Christian going to hell)
Life Before the Near-Death Experience
My name is Andrew. I’m 58 years old, and my life has always been steeped in faith. I was raised in a devout Christian family where God was the center of everything. Morning and evening prayers were a habit I’ve kept to this day. I always saw myself as a sincere believer—a man who followed the rules, went to church on Sundays, and tried to live a righteous life.
But to be honest, there were certain things I never gave much thought to. For example, I didn’t believe in demons or hell. To me, it seemed absurd that a loving God would allow a place of eternal torment to exist. I thought they were just symbols—images created to scare those who lacked faith. I always believed my life was enough to secure me a place in heaven. I never questioned that—until that one afternoon. It was December 2018, just a few weeks before Christmas. I remember the biting cold and the bright Christmas lights lining the streets. I was at a large shopping mall, finishing up gift shopping for my grandkids. I picked up a new calendar for my sister and a building set for the youngest in the family. I was tired but content, feeling that unique joy that Christmas always brings. After I finished shopping, I headed down to the underground parking garage. My hands were full of gift bags, and I was exhausted, so I chose the elevator instead of taking the stairs. When I stepped into the elevator, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was a modern lift with polished metal walls and soft background music. Two other people were with me—a middle-aged man glued to his phone and a young woman wearing a red scarf. I pressed the button for the ground floor, and the elevator began its descent. Then—a strange noise. A creaking sound, as if something was being stretched beyond its limit, followed by a slight jolt. I didn’t think much of it. I’d always believed I wasn’t afraid of confined spaces. To me, claustrophobia was just an exaggeration—something that affected other people. I also thought panic attacks were just a cry for attention or the result of drug abuse. I never imagined I would experience one myself. The elevator suddenly stopped between two floors. The lights were still on, but the sense of movement was gone. I pressed the emergency button, but there was no immediate response. The man next to me grew uneasy, trying to make a phone call, but there was no signal.
A strange silence fell over us, broken only by the growing chaos inside my mind. "It’s probably nothing serious," I told myself.
But my heart began to race. Then it happened. The elevator, which had seemed calm moments ago, now felt like it was closing in on me. Not physically, but that’s how it felt.
The walls seemed to press inward. My breathing became difficult.
Sweat poured from my body.
I couldn’t believe it—me, sweating, chest tightening, hands shaking.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
I leaned against the wall, trying not to draw attention.
The woman with the red scarf looked at me with concern and asked, "Are you okay?"
I tried to smile but could only manage a faint, strained grimace.
"I’m fine," I replied, my voice tight and dry.
I wasn’t fine at all.
My body was betraying me.
My breathing was out of control.
My mind was spinning.
I felt like I was falling into a bottomless void.
I tried to focus—to think positive thoughts—but the panic had already taken over.
I saw myself reflected in the shiny metal wall—pale face, wide eyes, hair matted with sweat.
I tried to pray, but the words shattered in my mind.
For the first time, I felt completely out of control.
The two people in the elevator tried to help, but I couldn’t speak.
My body was frozen.
Then, everything went black.
I don’t remember hearing anything anymore—only a deep, dark emptiness surrounded me, as if I were suspended in a void.
No time.
No space.
Nothing at all.
Suddenly, a light appeared in the distance.
But it wasn’t ordinary light.
It was white yet vibrant, pulsating and warm.
It pulled me toward it, though I couldn’t quite tell how I was moving.
I was drawn toward the light without resistance.
As I got closer, it grew brighter, and within it, a figure emerged.
I couldn’t see the face clearly, but there was something familiar—majestic yet comforting.
The fear I had felt in the darkness slowly gave way to curiosity.
"Andrew," the figure said in a deep yet calm voice. "It’s time for you to see what you’ve always denied."
The voice echoed through me—not just in my ears but into my very soul, as if each word sank deep into the core of who I was.
I felt peace but also an increasing tension—the sense that judgment was approaching, a truth I could no longer escape.
"You never believed in hell," the voice continued. "You always thought it was a myth—a story used to frighten the guilty. Now, I will show you what you chose not to see."
Instantly, the scenery around me changed.
The light pulled back, revealing a terror beyond anything I had ever imagined.
Before me stretched a great chasm.
Towering flames rose from cracked, blackened ground.
The air was thick with smoke and ash.
The heat was suffocating.
The sky was pitch black, streaked with flashes of deep red lightning.
But what made me tremble were the figures in the flames—men and women engulfed in fire, screaming in agony.
Their cries tore through me, filled with unending pain.
Some reached their hands upward as if pleading for help, but their eyes held no hope.
Others twisted and writhed in torment I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
What shocked me most was that I recognized some of them.
They were Christians—people I knew, people who had prayed with me, worshipped beside me every Sunday.
In the midst of the damned were familiar faces—people like me who believed they were saved.
I saw pastors, deacons, people who had served the Christian community for years—all of them burning, hands clenched as if still praying but receiving no answer.
As I stood in the midst of hell, flames rose like towering, majestic yet terrifying mountains. Smoke and ash choked the air, and the screams of the damned echoed endlessly around me.
My heart felt like it stopped beating at the horrifying truth:
Many of them were Christians.
Not the atheists or openly sinful people I once imagined would be here—but people I had known.
Those who once sat beside me in church.
Who once sang hymns with a passion I had.
I saw pastors, deacons, devoted believers—all now consumed by eternal fire, their faces contorted in unspeakable agony.
I turned to the divine figure beside me—Jesus—with tearful eyes and a trembling voice:
"Why, Lord? Why are they here? These people lived for you, prayed to you, believed in you. How could they end up in such a dreadful place?"
My confusion was like a violent wave, sweeping away everything I thought I knew about salvation.
Jesus looked at me, his eyes deep enough to contain life and death—both gentle like a father and stern like a righteous judge.
His voice rang out—warm but powerful, piercing every corner of my soul:
"Andrew, they are here because of one sin—one silent but deadly sin. A sin that billions who claim my name have committed without ever realizing it. That sin is pride."
"Pride is the flame that burns the soul before hell’s fire touches the flesh. It is the enemy’s most subtle trap—the wall that separates mankind from me. And the one reason why even those who pray daily and attend church weekly still cannot pass through heaven’s gates."
I stood stunned, my mind reeling.
Pride.
I had always thought of it as something obvious—the arrogance of unbelievers, the vanity of the rich and powerful.
I never imagined it could hide within people like me—those who seem humble in the eyes of the world, who live religious lives.
But Jesus didn’t let me remain in doubt.
He waved his hand, and before me, hell opened like a living book—each page a story of a condemned soul, each line a painful testimony to his words.
"Look, Andrew," he said, his voice filled with sorrow and sternness. "These people did everything the world calls faith. They prayed before meals, sang hymns in church, gave to the poor, even preached my name before thousands. But in their hearts, pride grew silently—like weeds in an abandoned garden."
"They prayed not to seek my will but to strengthen their own egos. They went to church not to worship me but to be seen—to feel superior to those who didn’t come. They did good deeds not out of love but because they believed those acts could purchase salvation—as if I were a merchant who could be bribed."
I saw a man—a deacon I once respected—now kneeling in the flames, hands raised in desperate prayers. No one answered.
In life, he was always the earliest to church, always criticizing those who were late or improperly dressed. He took pride in his strictness, believing it was the mark of deeper faith.
Jesus said, "He lived as though the rules were his God, not me. He judged his brothers harshly, believing his obedience made him noble. But pride blinded him to the truth—that I do not seek outward perfection but a humble heart willing to bow before me and love even those he despised."
"He thought faith was a badge to flaunt, not a gift to treasure."
Then a woman appeared. She had been the loudest voice in prayer meetings, always taking the front row so everyone could see her devotion.
But in the shadows of her life, I saw her spread rumors about others, refused to help the poor because they were "undeserving," and offer shallow apologies after each wrongdoing.
"She believed I was an easy God," Jesus explained. "She thought reciting prayers was enough to erase her sins—that the label ‘Christian’ would shield her from consequences. But pride blinded her to the hypocrisy in her heart. She never truly repented. She was only afraid of being exposed, not of losing me. And now, this fire reflects the emptiness of prayers that lacked heart."
I felt a chill down my spine as I looked at another man—a famous preacher who once stood on pulpits with fiery passion, bringing hundreds to faith.
But now, he was here—flames licking his body, face twisted in eternal horror.
I remembered how he boasted about his attendance numbers, how he refused advice because he "knew better."
Jesus said, "He preached my word but did not live it. He used my name to build his reputation, believing his works earned him heaven. But pride turned his good deeds into ash before me. He didn’t seek my forgiveness; he sought the praise of men. And when he judged those who didn’t measure up to him, he placed himself on the throne where only I belong."
I trembled, my mind swirling with questions.
"But Lord, if pride is so dangerous, why don’t we see it? Why is it the one sin that can destroy even those who believe in you—those who’ve spent their lives serving you?"
Jesus stepped closer, his light covering me like a warm blanket in the cold storm of hell. But that light also made me feel small, exposing every hidden corner of my soul to his holiness.
"Pride is the only sin, Andrew," he said gently but with authority. "Because it is the root of all distance between man and me. It is unlike other sins—like adultery, theft, or murder—which are easier to recognize and confess. Pride hides in the dark corners of the heart, disguised as faith, disguised as righteousness."
"It convinces you that you don’t need me—that you can save yourself with works, with prayers, or with the title of ‘believer.’ It makes you your own god. And when you put yourself above me, there’s no room left for my grace."
He paused, then continued with stern love:
"Look at these souls. They’re not here because they lacked faith but because they distorted it. They prayed, but their prayers never passed the ceiling because they didn’t come from a humble heart. They read scripture but used it as a weapon to judge others, not as a mirror to examine themselves. They did good works, but in their hearts was smugness, believing I owed them salvation for what they did."
"Pride is the only sin because it destroys the true meaning of faith—the full surrender before me, the admission that without me, you are nothing."
I saw another man—a regular believer I had once met in a prayer group. He wasn’t a pastor or leader—just someone who went to church regularly, always smiling and talking about God.
But now, he was here—eyes hollow in the flames.
I saw moments from his life—times he refused to apologize when he hurt others because he "wasn’t wrong," times he secretly looked down on those less devout, times he told himself he was safe because he "believed in Jesus."
"He lived believing that faith was a contract—that as long as he believed, I was obligated to save him," Jesus said. "But pride kept him from ever asking, ‘Does my heart truly belong to God?’ He thought I was a God who served his will, rather than him being a servant of mine."
I knelt down, tears streaming endlessly.
His words burned through every illusion I had ever held about my faith.
I saw myself in those souls—in the moments I was proud for praying daily, in the times I silently compared myself to others, in the times I believed that God had to forgive me because I had "done enough."
But how can we recognize pride, Lord? I whispered, my voice trembling with fear and despair. It’s too subtle, too deeply hidden. How can we know we’ve fallen into its trap?
Jesus leaned down, his gaze softening but still holding an undeniable truth:
"Pride always tries to lift you above others, Andrew," he said. "It whispers that you are better, more deserving—that you don’t need to change because you’re already good enough. It causes you to focus on others’ sins instead of your own. It turns prayer into a performance, good deeds into medals, and faith into something to boast about."
"But I do not look at what you do. I look at your heart. And a prideful heart—no matter how many prayers or good works it hides behind—is still a heart far from me."
He pointed toward a group of other souls—those who had once been church leaders, had organized large prayer meetings, had been praised for their devotion.
Now, they stood there, surrounded by flames, screaming in belated regret.
"They thought I measured faith by the number of people they preached to, the amount of money they donated, or how often they stood in front of crowds," Jesus said. "But I do not count those things. I count the tears they never shed for their own sins, the apologies they never spoke, the times they refused to bow before me out of fear of losing their image."
"Pride turned them into beautiful statues on the outside—but empty within."
I felt suffocated under the weight of his words.
"But Lord," I cried out, "if pride hides within everything we do—if it can deceive even the most devout—how do we have hope? How can we ever escape it?"
He placed his hand on my shoulder, and a warm current flowed through my body—like light piercing through the thick darkness of hell.
"Pride can only be defeated by humility, Andrew," he said, his voice full of love but unwavering. "Humility is not about lowering yourself before others but about exalting me above all else. It requires you to look into your heart each day—not with self-satisfaction but with a healthy fear that you might drift away."
"It demands that you confess—not only with words but with actions—by surrendering the self you cling to, by abandoning the belief that you deserve salvation."
"Love others not because they deserve it but because I loved you when you didn’t deserve it. Live each day as if it’s your last chance to do what is right before me—for one day, it will be."
He paused, then added with an urgency I had never heard before:
"Billions of believers have ended up here because they ignored this warning. They thought I was a lenient God—that I would turn a blind eye to their pride simply because they carried my name. But I am righteous, and I cannot accept a heart that refuses to bow."
"Pride is the path that leads to this place. But humility is the road that brings you back to me. Choose that road, Andrew—and tell others before it’s too late."
I collapsed, face to the ground, my tears soaking the earth.
His words were not just a lesson. They were a calling, a warning, a fire illuminating every hidden corner of my soul.
I saw clearly my own pride—not in grand actions but in the small thoughts, the moments I believed I was better, the times I prayed without truly surrendering.
And I knew—without his grace, I too would be here in these flames, among the very souls I once called brothers.
Hell for Sinful Believers
Then the Lord led me to another part of hell.
Here, the fire didn’t blaze as fiercely as before. It was thinner, more hidden, but the pain was just as crippling.
This place was reserved for believers who lived in pride—who believed their faith made them superior.
It was a different kind of hell—not only physical but deeply spiritual.
I saw people being forced to relive their lives—every action, every thought.
Their torment came from an eternal awareness of the chances they had to repent but missed because of pride.
Their cries weren’t just from physical agony but from a deep, burning regret that consumed them from within.
An old man looked at me as I approached.
"I was like you," he said, his voice broken by anguish. "I thought I was saved—that faith was enough. But I judged others, believed I was better, and now I’m here."
I couldn’t bear his gaze. It was filled with eternal remorse.
What terrified me most was how similar his story was to mine.
How many believers, I wondered, were condemned here because they lived in pride—never imagining hell could be their fate?
The divine figure beside me looked at me.
"Do you understand now, Andrew? Do you see why hell isn’t just for the openly wicked? Many believers are here—not because they didn’t pray or believe—but because they never gave up the pride in their hearts. They thought faith would automatically save them without truly transforming their souls."
Those words burned into me.
Everything I had believed felt like it was crumbling.
I had prayed. Lived as a Christian.
But now I understood—I had missed the most essential part: humility.
I had never truly grasped what it meant to be humble before God.
"But there is still hope for you, Andrew," Jesus said gently, breaking the silence. "You are here to learn—to understand what many ignore until it’s too late. I did not bring you here to condemn you but to give you a second chance."
Immediately, the world I had known vanished.
I found myself in a place of peace—beyond time and space, where everything felt perfectly in place, created with divine purpose.
There were no problems, no pain, no burdens.
Every disappointment, sorrow, and regret dissolved into complete serenity.
It was a harmonious world—crafted for me—where every detail had been touched by divine care.
I couldn’t quite define what was around me, but I knew that everything held meaning.
And then, I saw Him.
Jesus—standing before me, his presence radiant, filled with love and understanding.
There was no judgment in his eyes—only deep awareness and tenderness.
He looked at me and said, his voice full of grace:
"This journey is a lesson for you. Everything you have seen and experienced is written in scripture, but over time, many have stopped believing. Faith has weakened, and in the last 20 years, indifference has grown. Yet everything I have revealed through my word remains true—and now, you are a witness."
His words touched me deeply—sweet yet filled with truth.
I didn’t feel condemned—even though I knew I had been wrong.
It was as if his words illuminated parts of me I had ignored.
I felt small—yet more loved than I had ever known.
Then Jesus added:
"I must show you one last thing before you return."
Before me, images appeared—projected like scenes on an invisible screen.
Moments from my life.
I saw my failures.
An elderly woman whose shopping bag had torn on the street—I had walked past without stopping.
A pregnant woman, exhausted on a crowded bus—I had pretended not to notice.
Scene by scene, Jesus showed me moments when I had chosen indifference over love.
Each image cut into my heart like a blade.
I felt small, weak, and deeply ashamed.
He explained calmly:
"These moments were not just missed actions. They were opportunities I gave you—signals sent to help you grow, to love. Faith is not just about going to church every Sunday or repeating prayers by habit. Faith is more than that. It is living in love for others."
"Every time you choose to do good, your soul strengthens. But when you turn away from someone else’s pain, it darkens."
"I see people’s hearts. I see what truly drives them."
He looked at me with infinite tenderness.
"I know you have a great heart, Andrew. That’s why I’m asking you to carry this message to others. I don’t want anyone to forget what you have seen and heard. Hell is not just a metaphor. Evil truly exists. But you were created free—with the power to choose what is good and reject what is evil."
"Every act of love—no matter how small—brings your soul closer to eternal light. I promise you, if you choose what is good, you will find everlasting peace."
His words were like medicine to my soul.
I felt the weight of my mistakes—but for the first time, I understood the true meaning of faith.
Not rituals or duty—but a journey of loving others and loving God.
A journey I was now determined to live—and to share.
Then everything vanished.
Return with a Mission
I don’t know what happened to my body from the moment the elevator got stuck to when I woke up in the hospital. It was a blank space I can’t explain.
But I know exactly what happened to my soul.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed—the steady beeping of heart monitors and breathing machines echoing around me.
My hands trembled.
My body was exhausted.
I was alive—but I felt different.
Beside me was my wife—her eyes swollen from crying, her face a mix of anguish and relief.
She held my hand and said the doctors had saved me.
But deep inside, I knew something greater had happened.
God had given me a second chance.
I hadn’t just regained my body—something deep within me had been changed.
I had been proud—thinking I knew what was right, believing that shallow faith would be enough to protect me.
But what I saw and heard had shaken me to the core.
I knew how close I had come to being condemned—not as a metaphor, but as a horrifying reality.
And more importantly, I learned something I had always dismissed:
Panic attacks are real—not exaggerations or weakness.
When they hit, your world collapses.
You lose control over even your own breath.
Now I understand.
We must respect those who suffer them.
No one should be judged for something so brutal and unexpected.
Lying there in that hospital bed—weak but alive—I felt a deep sense of gratitude and responsibility.
My soul could never be the same.
I had lived with a comfortable faith—full of habits, empty gestures, and a pride that made me believe I was immune to judgment.
Now I understood that merely calling myself a believer wasn’t enough.
Repetitive prayers or attending church on Sundays wasn’t enough.
I had to change.
Every prayer needed to be a real connection—an honest confrontation with who I was.
Every day had to be lived in humility—with a willingness to look at my sins, not justify them or ignore them.
I learned that faith isn’t a badge to carry pride behind—it’s a journey, a conscious choice that demands courage, dedication, and above all, love for others.
I now live with a new awareness.
I know I’ll never be perfect—but I also understand that salvation doesn’t come from perfection.
It comes from recognizing our failures, trying to do good even in small ways, and not turning away from those in need.
God showed me that to live by faith means to accept humility—to embrace our fragility and to walk forward, step by step, toward change.
My soul has changed—and so has the way I live each day.
Hell is real—and many believers like me end up there because they overlook the truth about what true devotion means.
This is the truth I want everyone to know:
The sin of pride can send believers to hell.
Evil is real. So is the devil. Don’t ignore this lesson.
Repent sincerely every day—and live humbly before God.
Only then can we hope to escape the fate I saw with my own eyes.
I want to end with a quote that has stayed with me—though I don’t remember where I read it:
"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he doesn’t exist."
Conclusion
Andrew’s story is more than just a vivid testimony of a supernatural encounter with Jesus. It is a powerful wake-up call to all of us.
In a world where religious routine often replaces true surrender, his journey reveals that even the most devout can lose their way if pride is left unchecked. Through the fire of revelation and the mercy of God, Andrew was shown that salvation is not about performance or perfection—but about a humble heart that truly knows its need for grace.
If you’ve ever assumed that your spiritual routine guarantees your place in heaven, let this story gently challenge you.
Let it call you to search your heart—not in fear but in freedom—because as Andrew learned, it’s never too late to begin again.
Not with pride—but with humility.
Not with certainty—but with love.
And not with show—but with surrender.
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My name is Rebecca Morales, and I was a lifelong Christian who never imagined hell could be for people like me.
I read my Bible, prayed daily, went to church, and lived what I thought was a "good" life. But during my near-death experience, Jesus revealed something terrifying—many Christians, including those like me, are being sent to hell every hour for a sin we often overlook. I always thought hell was for murderers or those who hated God, but I was wrong. What I saw shook me to my core and changed everything I believed about salvation. What I saw is a warning that cannot be ignored.
It happened on January 15, 2019. It was a cold Tuesday afternoon, and I was in a hurry to pick up my prescription from the pharmacy before heading home. I remember feeling particularly stressed that day because my boss had criticized my work, and I felt it was unfair. I was dwelling on this as I entered the pharmacy. The line was long, and I found myself getting increasingly irritated. After about ten minutes of waiting, I suddenly felt dizzy. The fluorescent lights seemed too bright, and the room started spinning. I reached out to steady myself against a shelf, but my legs gave way. I heard someone shout, "She's collapsing!" and then everything went black.
What happened next changed my life forever. I found myself in complete darkness. Not the kind of darkness you experience when you close your eyes, but an absolute void - a darkness so complete it seemed to have substance. I couldn't feel my body anymore. I was simply... aware. Conscious, but without physical form.
I don't know how long I existed in this state - time seemed meaningless there. Then, far away, I noticed a tiny pinpoint of light. It grew larger, or perhaps I was moving toward it. This light was unlike anything I'd seen before - pure white but somehow alive, pulsating with energy and warmth. As I approached, I began to feel a sense of peace washing over me.
Within the light, a figure started to take shape. I couldn't make out specific features, but I knew immediately who it was. There was an unmistakable presence of love, authority, and holiness.
"Rebecca," Jesus said, "I have something important to show you - something you and many others have chosen not to see." Before I could respond, the scene around me changed dramatically. The peaceful light disappeared, and I found myself standing at the edge of what I can only describe as an abyss. Stretched before me was a landscape of horror that no words can adequately capture. The ground was cracked and blackened, and from these fissures rose flames that reached impossibly high. The sky above was dark, almost black, but with streaks of deep red cutting through it like wounds. Lightning occasionally flashed, briefly illuminating the terrible scene below.
The air was thick with smoke and the smell of sulfur. It was difficult to breathe, and each breath burned my lungs. But what truly horrified me were the people - countless individuals consumed by flames that seemed to burn them without ever destroying them. Their screams echoed throughout this desolate place, cries of agony that contained no hope of relief. Some of these souls reached upward, as if seeking escape, while others had collapsed into themselves, overwhelmed by their suffering. As I watched, frozen with horror, I began to recognize faces among the tormented. To my absolute shock, I saw people I knew from church - a woman who led our women's Bible study, a man who sang in the choir every Sunday, even a former pastor who had baptized me.
"Why are they here? These are Christians. They professed faith in You and they served in Your name."
"They lived in pride," He said. "They spoke prayers but never truly opened their hearts. They judged others while believing themselves righteous. They assumed forgiveness without genuine repentance."
As He spoke, I began to see glimpses of these people's lives - not just their public actions but their inner thoughts and attitudes. The woman who led Bible study had secretly felt superior to those she taught, believing her knowledge made her more worthy of salvation. The choir member had harbored resentments against others in the church, refusing to forgive even as he sang about God's mercy. The pastor had preached humility while believing himself better than his congregation.
"Pride is the deadliest sin," Jesus explained.
"It was the first sin that led to all others. Lucifer's pride caused his fall, and pride continues to be the downfall of many who call themselves by My name."
He guided me closer to one woman whose face was contorted in agony. "She attended church faithfully for forty years," Jesus said. "She knew Scripture well and could quote many verses from memory. But she never allowed My words to transform her heart. She judged those who didn't meet her standards of righteousness. She looked down on those who struggled with sin, forgetting that without My grace, she was no different."
I watched as this woman reached out, as if still praying, but her prayers now were not the confident recitations they had been in life. They were desperate pleas, filled with the horrible realization that she had missed what was most important.
"Many Christians believe that saying the right prayers or attending services guarantees salvation," Jesus continued. "They treat faith as a transaction - they give Me their words and expect heaven in return. But I look at the heart. A proud heart cannot approach Me, no matter how many prayers it speaks."
We moved through different areas of this terrible place. In one section, the flames were less visible, but the suffering no less intense. Here were people forced to continuously relive their lives, seeing every opportunity they had rejected, every person they had judged, every moment they could have chosen love but instead chose self-righteousness.
One man looked directly at me. "I was a deacon," he said. "I served communion every month. I went on missions. But inside, I believed my devotion made me better than others. I silently judged those who didn't serve as I did. I never truly understood that without genuine humility, all my service was meaningless." His words pierced my heart. How many times had I silently judged others? How often had I felt superior because I followed religious practices? How frequently had I gone through the motions of faith without examining my heart?
"Pride blinds people to their own sin," Jesus explained. "It creates a false sense of security. Many Christians end up here not because they didn't know Me, but because they never truly knew themselves. They never allowed My Spirit to reveal their hearts to them."
He led me to another area where I saw a woman I recognized from my own church - someone who had always seemed so devoted, who volunteered for every event and led children's ministries. "She believed her works saved her," Jesus said. "She accumulated good deeds like currency, believing she could earn My favor. But she never understood that salvation is a gift that must be received with humility. She never truly repented because she didn't believe she needed to - her good works, she thought, outweighed her sins." I watched as this woman wept, her tears seeming to evaporate in the heat before they could fall. "I did so much," she cried out. "I gave so much. How can I be here?"
"You did many things in My name, but you never allowed Me to change your heart. You served to be seen by others, to feel righteous. You judged those who didn't serve as you did. Your pride prevented you from seeing your need for grace."
As we continued through this realm of suffering, I began to notice something else - many of these souls were clinging to religious symbols. Some still held Bibles, others wore crosses or clutched prayer beads. These objects, which had once brought them comfort, now seemed to increase their torment - constant reminders of a faith they had professed but never fully embraced.
"Religion without transformation is dangerous," Jesus said, noting my observation. "It creates an illusion of safety. Many believe that identifying as Christian protects them from judgment, but faith that doesn't change the heart is no faith at all."
He brought me to a man dressed in what appeared to be pastoral robes, now tattered and scorched by flames. The man's face was a mask of horror and disbelief.
"He preached My word for thirty years," Jesus explained. "He knew theology and doctrine. He could explain complex passages of Scripture. But he used My word as a weapon against others rather than allowing it to penetrate his own heart. He loved the authority his position gave him more than he loved Me or My people. He preached grace but lived in judgment."
I watched as this former pastor cried out, reciting Scripture verses about mercy and forgiveness - verses he had once preached confidently but now desperately needed to experience.
"Many who teach My word will face stricter judgment," Jesus said. "Those who lead others carry greater responsibility. This man led many to a superficial faith that mirrored his own - a faith of words and appearances rather than transformed hearts."
We moved to another section where the souls seemed particularly anguished. These people were reaching out to each other but could never make contact - eternally isolated despite being surrounded by others.
"These are those who refused to forgive," Jesus explained. "They carried grudges while praying for their own forgiveness. They recited 'forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors' without understanding what they were asking. They wanted mercy for themselves but justice for others."
One woman in this group looked at me with eyes full of regret. "I thought I was right," she said. "My sister wronged me, and I refused to forgive her. I justified my bitterness, believing it was righteous anger. I prayed daily but never released my resentment. I didn't understand that my unforgiveness was pride - I believed I had the right to withhold what God had freely given to me."
Jesus touched my shoulder gently. "Unforgiveness is often rooted in pride," He said. "It assumes a position of superior righteousness. It says, 'My hurt is too significant to forgive.' Yet I forgave those who crucified Me. True humility recognizes that all have sinned and fallen short of glory - that none can stand righteous on their own merit."
As we continued our journey through this place of torment, Jesus showed me Christians from different denominations, cultures, and time periods. Some had been pastors, some missionaries, some regular churchgoers. All had professed faith in Jesus, but all had allowed pride to prevent true transformation.
"Pride manifests in many ways," Jesus explained. "For some, it's obvious arrogance. For others, it's subtle self-righteousness. For many, it's the belief that their theological understanding guarantees salvation. For others, it's the conviction that their good works earn My favor. All of these are different faces of the same sin - the sin that caused Lucifer's fall and continues to ensnare many who bear My name."
We approached a group of souls who seemed to be arguing even in their torment. They were quoting Scripture at each other, defending theological positions, continuing debates that had obviously begun in their earthly lives.
"These placed doctrine above love," Jesus said. "They were so convinced of their theological rightness that they forgot the greatest commandments - to love God and love others. They used My word to divide rather than unite, to condemn rather than redeem. Their knowledge puffed them up with pride rather than humbling them with wisdom."
I watched as these souls continued their theological debates even as flames engulfed them. They seemed unable to stop, trapped in patterns of thought and behavior that had defined their earthly lives.
"Knowledge without love is empty," Jesus continued. "Many study My word but miss its heart. They gain information but not transformation. True understanding of Scripture leads to humility, not pride. It reveals how much we need grace, not how much we deserve it."
He guided me to another section where I saw souls who appeared to be performing religious rituals - some were kneeling as if in prayer, others lifting their hands as if in worship, still others reciting what seemed to be Scripture verses or prayers.
"These confused rituals with relationships," Jesus explained. "They believed that performing certain religious acts guaranteed My favor. They prayed specific prayers, attended certain services, participated in particular rituals, believing these actions earned salvation. They never understood that I desire mercy, not sacrifice - that I look at the heart, not just the hands."
I watched as these souls continued their religious performances, their faces reflecting the horrible realization that these acts, which they had believed would save them, had become part of their torment.
"Religious performance often masks pride," Jesus said. "It creates the illusion of righteousness while allowing the heart to remain unchanged. Many find comfort in rituals because they're controllable - unlike the messy work of genuine heart transformation, which requires vulnerability and surrender."
As we moved through this terrible landscape, I began to feel overwhelming fear. If these people - pastors, worship leaders, Bible study teachers, faithful church members - had ended up here, what hope did I have? I had lived much like them, going to church, reading my Bible, praying daily. Was I any different?
Jesus looked at me with eyes full of compassion. "You're beginning to understand," He said. "This fear - this recognition of your own vulnerability to pride - is the beginning of wisdom. Many never experience this realization until it's too late."
He brought me to a quieter area, away from the worst of the flames and screams, though the air was still heavy with suffering.
"Pride is especially dangerous because it blinds people to itself," Jesus explained. "The proud heart believes it is humble. It compares itself to others and finds itself superior. It focuses on the sins it doesn't commit rather than the condition of the heart. It thanks God for not being like 'those sinners' rather than recognizing its own desperate need for grace."
He showed me a man who appeared to be a modern-day Pharisee - well-dressed, respectable, clearly religious. This man was reciting a prayer that sounded eerily like the one in Scripture: "God, I thank you that I am not like other men - adulterers, evildoers, immoral people. I attended church regularly, tithed faithfully, and served on committees."
"This man lived a morally upright life," Jesus said. "He never committed the 'big sins' that others fell into. This reinforced his pride. He couldn't see that his self-righteousness was more offensive than the sins of those he judged. He never truly repented because he never truly believed he needed to."
I watched as this man continued his self-justifying prayer, seemingly unable to stop even as it condemned him further.
"Many Christians focus on external behaviors rather than internal attitudes," Jesus continued. "They avoid certain visible sins while nursing hidden pride, judgment, unforgiveness, and self-righteousness. They don't understand that it's not just what you do or don't do that matters - it's who you are becoming."
He guided me to an area where I saw people who seemed to be trying to climb out of their torment, building structures of good deeds that collapsed as soon as they were assembled.
"These believed they could earn their way out of judgment," Jesus explained. "Even now, they don't understand that salvation cannot be earned - it can only be received with humility. Their pride prevents them from accepting the gift that could have saved them."
I watched as these souls continued their futile efforts, piling up memories of good works that disintegrated in the heat of judgment.
"Many Christians live with a works-based mentality while professing grace-based theology," Jesus said. "They say they believe in salvation by grace through faith, but they live as if their good works earn My favor. This subtle pride prevents them from experiencing true freedom in grace."
Throughout our journey, I noticed that many of the souls kept repeating the same phrase: "Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?"
Jesus looked at these souls with deep sadness. "These words from Matthew 7 are fulfilled here daily," He said. "Many who called Me 'Lord' with their lips never knew Me in their hearts. They did religious works but never submitted to My lordship. They wanted My blessings but not My authority. They desired salvation but not transformation."
I was overwhelmed with the implications of what I was seeing. How many people sitting in churches every Sunday were on this same path? How many, like me, believed their religious activities guaranteed salvation while their hearts remained unchanged?
Jesus, sensing my thoughts, led me to yet another area. Here, the souls seemed more aware of their surroundings than others we had seen. Their expressions reflected not just suffering but painful clarity - they understood exactly why they were there.
"These had knowledge but lacked application," Jesus explained. "They knew the truth but didn't live it. They could quote Scripture about humility, love, and forgiveness, but they never internalized these principles. Their knowledge actually increased their judgment, because to whom much is given, much is required."
One woman looked at me with clear, agonized eyes. "I knew better," she said. "I taught others about pride and humility. I warned against self-righteousness. But I never applied these truths to myself. I identified pride in everyone except myself. Don't make my mistake. Examine your heart now, while there's still time."
Her words sent a chill through me. How often had I judged others for the very sins I excused in myself? How frequently had I noticed the speck in another's eye while ignoring the log in my own?
Jesus led me away from the abyss to a quiet place where the horrors of what I had seen were still visible but somewhat distant.
"Pride is so dangerous because it's the gateway to all other sins," He explained. "It was pride that led Eve to believe she could be like God. It was pride that caused Cain to murder Abel. It was pride that built the Tower of Babel. Throughout history, pride has been at the root of humanity's separation from Me."
He showed me images of religious leaders throughout history - many who had started with genuine faith but had been corrupted by pride as their influence grew. I saw how their growing self-importance had led them to compromise truth, abuse power, and lead others astray.
"Position and recognition often feed pride," Jesus said. "Many start well but become enamored with their own importance. They begin to believe that their gifts, their platform, their influence come from themselves rather than from Me. They forget that all they have is given, not earned."
I thought about my own life - how often I had silently congratulated myself for my faithfulness, my biblical knowledge, my regular church attendance. Had these things made me more humble or more proud? Had they brought me closer to God or given me a false sense of spiritual security?
"Rebecca," Jesus said, interrupting my thoughts, "what you're experiencing now - this self-examination, this recognition of your vulnerability to pride - this is the beginning of true humility. Humility isn't thinking less of yourself; it's thinking of yourself less. It's honest self-assessment in light of who I am."
He showed me images of truly humble people throughout history - many I didn't recognize. They weren't all famous spiritual leaders; many were ordinary believers who had quietly lived out extraordinary faith. What they shared was a genuine awareness of their need for grace and a willingness to extend that same grace to others.
"These understood that without Me, they could do nothing," Jesus explained. "They took no pride in their good works because they recognized these works flowed from My Spirit, not their own effort. They judged no one because they knew the depth of their own sin and the magnitude of My forgiveness. They lived in constant gratitude rather than entitlement."
Jesus then showed me a vision of two people praying. From outward appearances, they were saying the same words, performing the same actions. But I could somehow see their hearts - one was merely reciting words, going through motions, while the other was genuinely communicating with God in humility and love.
"Prayer can be an expression of either pride or humility," Jesus explained. "Some pray to be heard by others, to appear righteous, to fulfill religious obligation. Others pray from awareness of their need, from desire for relationship, from hearts overflowing with gratitude. I hear not just the words but the heart behind them."
This revelation struck me deeply. How many of my own prayers had been performance rather than conversation? How often had I prayed from obligation rather than love? How frequently had my prayers been focused on my wants rather than God's will?
Jesus then led me to a vast area where I could see what appeared to be billions of souls - all those currently living on earth. What struck me was how many of them were surrounded by a subtle darkness that they themselves couldn't see. This darkness seemed to grow or diminish based on their heart attitudes.
"Pride blinds," Jesus explained. "The more pride grows in a heart, the less that person can see their own condition. This is why many will be shocked when judgment comes - they cannot see the reality of their spiritual state."
I noticed that many who were surrounded by the most darkness were religious people - those who regularly attended worship services, participated in religious activities, and identified as Christians. Yet this darkness seemed to follow them even into their churches and Bible studies.
"Religiosity often masks pride," Jesus said. "It's easier to perform religious acts than to allow genuine heart transformation. Many find comfort in religious identity while resisting the vulnerability required for an authentic relationship with Me."
He showed me how this darkness influenced people's perceptions - how it caused them to see others as worse than themselves, to justify their own sins while condemning similar sins in others, to focus on maintaining appearances rather than cultivating authentic faith.
"This is happening right now in churches around the world," Jesus said solemnly. "Every hour, Christians are dying in this state of pride-induced blindness. They believe they are saved because of their religious activities, their theological knowledge, their moral behavior. They die confident in their salvation, only to discover too late that they never truly knew Me."
The gravity of this statement overwhelmed me. Every hour? How many souls were entering eternity with false confidence? How many were experiencing the horrible shock of discovering that their religious performance had not saved them?
"Why are You showing me this?"
"Because you have the same blindness," He said gently. "But unlike many, you have been given this opportunity to see before it's too late. Not everyone receives such grace."
He brought me to a mirror-like surface where I could see myself - not just my physical appearance but the condition of my heart. What I saw horrified me. Beneath my religious activities, my biblical knowledge, my regular church attendance was a heart full of judgment, self-righteousness, and pride. I had been comparing myself to others and finding myself superior. I had been going through religious motions while harboring unforgiveness, resentment, and spiritual arrogance.
"This is why salvation cannot be earned," Jesus explained. "No amount of good works can transform a proud heart into a humble one. This transformation comes only through surrender - through honest recognition of your need for grace."
I fell to my knees before this revelation of my true self. For perhaps the first time in my life, I saw my desperate need for salvation not as a theological concept but as a personal reality. I had no righteousness of my own, no goodness that could earn God's favor. My religious activities, which I had trusted to save me, now seemed like filthy rags in light of God's holiness.
"This is true repentance," Jesus said. "Not just sorrow for individual sins, but recognition of your sinful condition. Not just regret for bad actions, but acknowledgment of your desperate need for transformation. This humility - this honest self-assessment in light of My holiness - this is the beginning of salvation."
For what seemed like hours, I remained in this state of genuine repentance. I saw my pride, my self-righteousness, my judgmental attitudes toward others. I saw how I had used religion as a mask, appearing devout while my heart remained unchanged. I saw how I had trusted in my religious performance rather than in Christ's finished work.
"Many pray for forgiveness without truly repenting," Jesus explained. "They say the words but don't experience the godly sorrow that leads to genuine change. They want the comfort of forgiveness without the discomfort of honest self-examination."
As I continued in this state of true repentance, I began to experience something new - a lightness, a freedom I had never known before. The proud, self-righteous weight I had carried for so long began to lift as I acknowledged my complete dependence on grace.
"This is the paradox of My kingdom," Jesus said. "Those who humble themselves will be exalted. Those who acknowledge their spiritual poverty receive the riches of My grace. Those who recognize their weakness find My strength."
He helped me to my feet and led me to a different area - a place of indescribable beauty and peace. The contrast with the horrors I had witnessed earlier was overwhelming. Here, everything seemed to exist in perfect harmony. The colors were more vivid, the light more pure, the very air seemed alive with joy.
"This is what awaits those who live in true humility," Jesus explained. "Not those who merely profess faith, but those who allow that faith to transform them from the inside out. Not those who simply perform religious rituals, but those who cultivate genuine relationships with Me."
In this beautiful place, I saw people from every nation, tribe, and tongue. What united them wasn't their theological knowledge or religious performance but their authentic love for God and for each other. They wore no masks, carried no pretense. They existed in perfect unity with God and with one another.
"These understood the true meaning of faith," Jesus said. "They grasped that salvation isn't just about escaping hell or gaining heaven - it's about restoring a relationship with Me. They allowed My Spirit to transform them daily, to root out pride and cultivate humility. They lived not to impress others but to express love."
As I observed these saints, I noticed something remarkable - they seemed utterly unaware of their own goodness. Unlike the proud souls I had seen in hell, who were preoccupied with their religious credentials, these humble souls were focused entirely on Christ. Their good works flowed naturally from their relationship with Him, not from desire for recognition or reward.
"True humility isn't self-deprecation," Jesus explained, noting my observation. "It's self-forgetfulness. It's being so captivated by Me that you cease to be preoccupied with yourself - either positively or negatively. These souls don't think less of themselves; they simply think of themselves less."
I was struck by the freedom these people exhibited - freedom from the exhausting work of maintaining appearances, freedom from the constant comparison with others, freedom from the fear that they weren't doing enough to earn God's favor. They lived in the liberating knowledge that their standing with God depended not on their performance but on Christ's finished work.
"This is the rest I promised," Jesus said. "Not inactivity, but freedom from striving to earn what has already been given. These souls are more active in love and good works than the proud religious performers you saw earlier, but their activity flows from gratitude, not obligation. They serve not to gain My approval but because they already have it."
As I continued to observe this heavenly scene, Jesus brought me to a place where I could see my own potential future - the person I could become if I allowed His Spirit to transform me daily. This version of myself was characterized by genuine humility, authentic love, and deep joy. She wasn't concerned with appearances or reputation. She served others not to be seen but because she genuinely loved them. She studied Scripture not to accumulate knowledge but to know God more intimately.
"This transformation doesn't happen overnight," Jesus explained. "It's a lifelong process of surrendering pride and embracing humility. It requires daily death to self and daily submission to My Spirit. It often involves painful refinement as I root out pride in all its subtle forms."
He showed me how this refinement might look in my life - circumstances that would expose my pride, relationships that would challenge my self-righteousness, situations that would reveal my need for grace. These glimpses weren't threatening but hopeful - evidence that God loved me enough to not leave me in my current state of pride-induced blindness.
"Many pray for blessings but resist refinement," Jesus said. "They want comfort more than character, ease more than transformation. They don't understand that My greatest blessing is conforming them to My image, even when that process involves suffering."
As our time in this heavenly realm came to an end, Jesus brought me back to the edge of the abyss we had visited earlier. The contrast between the two destinations was stark and sobering.
"Every soul faces this choice," He said. "Not just once in a dramatic moment of conversion, but daily in thousands of small decisions. Will you humble yourself, acknowledge your need for grace, and allow My Spirit to transform you? Or will you cling to pride, trust in religious performance, and remain unchanged?"
"What you've seen today is reality, Rebecca. Every hour, Christians are entering eternity - some to discover that their genuine humility and transformed hearts have prepared them for heaven, others to realize with horror that their religious pride led them to hell. This isn't just theological theory; it's the most practical reality you will ever encounter."
I felt the weight of this truth settle on me - not as condemnation but as loving warning. I had been living in the dangerous illusion that my religious activities guaranteed my salvation, while my heart remained proud and unchanged.
"Remember what you've seen," Jesus said. "Not to live in fear, but to live in wisdom. Not to judge others, but to examine yourself. Not to trust in your own righteousness, but to depend entirely on Mine."
As He spoke these final words, the scene began to fade. The heavenly beauty, the hellish horror, and Jesus Himself grew dim as consciousness began to return to my body.
I awakened in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and concerned faces. According to the doctors, I had experienced a severe cardiac event triggered by stress and dehydration. I had been clinically dead for nearly three minutes before they were able to resuscitate me.
From a medical perspective, what I experienced could be explained as the hallucinations of an oxygen-deprived brain. But I know with absolute certainty that what I saw was real - more real than the physical world around me. The doctors kept me for observation overnight, and I was released the next day with instructions to follow up with a cardiologist. But the medical details seem insignificant compared to the spiritual reality I had witnessed. I've shared this experience not to frighten anyone, but because I believe with all my heart that what Jesus showed me is happening right now. Christians who trust in their religious performance rather than allowing genuine heart transformation are entering eternity every hour - and many are discovering too late that they never truly knew Jesus. My life has changed completely since that day. I still attend church, read my Bible, and pray, but these activities are no longer religious performances that I trust to save me. They're expressions of relationship with a God who saved me by grace through faith - a faith that is transforming me from the inside out.
I examine my heart daily, asking God to reveal any pride that might be blinding me to my true condition. I no longer compare myself to others, finding false security in seeming "better" than they are. Instead, I compare myself to Christ, which keeps me constantly aware of my need for grace.
If you're reading this, take time to honestly examine your heart.
Are you trusting in religious activities to save you?
Are you comparing yourself to others rather than measuring yourself against God's holiness?
Are you satisfied with outward performance while your heart remains unchanged?
The most dangerous sin isn't murder or adultery or theft
- it's the pride that convinces you that you're righteous when you're not,
that you're humble when you're not,
that you know Jesus when you don't.
And this sin is sending Christians to hell every hour.
Near Death Experience 2
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a person with the most strict Church of God serving God ending in hell)
My name is Judy, and my life before has been marked by a deep devotion to God ever since I answered His calling.
Not a single day went by without me feeling driven by an unrelenting passion for His kingdom. I worked for the National Council of the Church of God in the United States—an organization that took me everywhere to spread His word. I was constantly on the move, crossing borders and cultures. Every city, every village, every face I encountered felt like an opportunity to plant the seeds of God's message. I preached, I sang, I organized events, and I led councils.
I especially remember my trips to Mexico—wonderful places filled with people who needed to hear the message of salvation. Sometimes the journey was exhausting—flights, transfers, long rides down dusty roads—but my heart remained steadfast. I saw myself as a faithful servant, and every sacrifice was an offering to God.
And yet, deep within, something didn't feel right. I sensed a strange unrest, as if my soul were trying to tell me something. I often asked myself, "Am I truly serving God the way I should be? Am I ready for the day I meet my Creator?" These questions echoed in my mind, but I pushed them aside, reassuring myself that my work was enough.
The Fateful Night
One evening, just like so many others, we were on our way home after a long event. We had preached late into the night, and the journey back had left us completely exhausted. As soon as we arrived, my husband said he was hungry. I told him to find something in the fridge while I, completely drained, dragged myself into the bedroom. I didn't even have the strength to change my clothes. I collapsed onto the bed, still wearing my shoes, and closed my eyes.
But that night would become the fateful night that changed everything about who I was.
The moment I laid my head on the pillow, a presence filled the room. It wasn't a normal feeling. I heard the door slowly creak open. I thought it was my husband, but the footsteps I heard were strange—slow and solemn. My heart started to race. Then a voice called my name: "Judy."
I sat up and found myself face to face with a radiant figure. I couldn't make out the face clearly, but I knew who it was. My soul recognized Him before my mind could even catch up. He invited me to follow. He took my hand, and suddenly, the world around us changed.
I thought He was going to take me to heaven. All the stories I had ever heard spoke of light and choirs of angels. But what happened was different. Instead of rising upward, we began descending. I felt dizzy, as if the ground beneath my feet was vanishing. His hand was steady, but it did not bring comfort.
Darkness surrounded us—thick and suffocating. It was a darkness I had never known before, a living shadow with a soul of its own. Only the light from His face lit our path. With each step, we descended deeper and farther from the world I had once known. The air grew heavy, as if it were filled with pain and despair.
I asked the Lord where He was taking me, but He didn't answer. His silence was immense. In my heart, a thought began to form—a thought I didn't want to accept: Were we going to hell?
Finally, we stopped before a massive door. It was so tall I couldn't see the top. The door was shut, but it seemed to tremble, as if an irresistible power was pressing behind it. Then the door opened, revealing a scene that took my breath away.
The air was filled with horrifying screams—a non-stop chorus of cries and begging. Before me was an endless abyss, a sea of fire and suffering. Twisted souls in the flames of despair tried to escape their torment. The heat was unbearable. It felt as if it could burn through my very soul.
I moved closer to the radiant figure, seeking relief from the coolness that flowed from Him. But whenever I strayed even a little, waves of heat hit me, as if they would melt my very being.
I turned toward Him, searching for answers. I couldn't understand why I was there. Then, with a voice that seemed to pierce through my soul, He said:
"This place belongs to you."
Those words rang through my mind like a hammer. It couldn't be true. How could this be my destiny? I had dedicated my whole life to God, preaching His word for decades. I shook my head, refusing to accept it.
I knelt down, my voice trembling, trying to explain: "Lord, I am Your servant. I have preached Your gospel for 39 years. I have traveled everywhere to bring the message of salvation to thousands. You cannot tell me this place belongs to me."
He looked at me with an expression that seemed to hold both sorrow and justice. Then, with a voice that was firm yet filled with compassion, He said:
"You preached My word, but your heart was far from Me. You lived a life that looked holy in front of others, but in private, you neglected the most important thing—My presence and My will."
Those words cut through me like a sword. I began to remember.
Yes, I had preached—but often with pride in my accomplishments. I had sung in the choir—but sometimes it was to impress others more than to praise God. And then there were my compromises. The clothes I wore were often too revealing. My hair, cut and dyed by worldly trends. My nails done to appear flawless. I had always felt justified, but now those actions revealed their true nature—signs of a heart not fully surrendered.
Jesus looked at me with eyes full of love, yet deep and stern. He continued speaking, His voice echoing through the space:
"Anna, you clothed yourself in appearances, in forms you believed were right, but you didn't realize that your outward appearance reflected what was in your heart. You stood at the pulpit, yet the outfit you chose did not honor what you were preaching. Your appearance was a message, and that message said you accepted compromise—that you didn't truly value My temple, which is your body."
He paused for a moment, allowing me to feel more deeply the weight of His words.
"Do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit?"
His words struck the depth of my heart like lightning. I had lived so many years thinking God only looked at the heart. But now I understood that how we present ourselves—what we choose to wear, to do—has a deep impact on how others perceive our faith. I asked myself: Did the things I do truly reflect the faith I was proclaiming?
We continued walking across the abyss, and the light from Jesus lit our path—a light that illuminated not only the space around us but also my heart. Each step led me into a realm that seemed to belong to no world I had ever known—a place where silence and unspeakable sorrow reigned.
Jesus stopped and pointed toward a figure in the distance—a woman engulfed in flames. Her face was still visible but twisted in pain and suffering. She wasn't screaming. She just stood there, consumed by an indescribable agony.
I stepped closer, a mix of fear and curiosity rising in my chest. When she saw me, her eyes lit up, as if she recognized in me a kindred soul—someone who could understand the pain she was enduring. Those eyes, though filled with despair, held a strange peace, as if she had been waiting for someone who would listen.
Her voice was faint, full of desperation—not like a plea, but a confession, as if she longed to share her torment.
"You've come here to understand, haven't you?" Her voice was broken, as if she were enduring a pain that never ceased. "Listen to me. Speak of what I failed to understand in my lifetime."
"Every time I changed myself—every time I put on makeup or wore revealing clothes—I didn't realize I was living a lie. I thought I was free. But in truth, I had fallen into the enemy's trap."
Her words pierced me like knives, cutting into my soul. Each sentence revealed a truth I had never considered before. I asked her to explain more.
She gave a pained smile and continued:
"Satan uses things that seem beautiful to distract us from true beauty—the beauty of the soul. When we alter what God created perfectly, we are saying to our Creator that we're not satisfied with His masterpiece. I always praised Him, saying, 'I was fearfully and wonderfully made,' and that His works were marvelous. But I chose to follow trends, to appear attractive in the eyes of the world. And now I'm here, in this horrifying hell."
Tears began to stream down my face. I couldn't understand why a soul who once served God had to endure such torment. I asked her if she had ever felt the Holy Spirit's warning.
She gently nodded. "Yes. The Spirit spoke to me, urged me to change—but I ignored it. I kept telling myself that God only looks at the heart. But my heart was blind. Now I know that my rebellion was expressed through my appearance. I became a slave to what the world defines as beauty."
Her words sounded like a warning bell inside me, stirring thoughts I couldn't ignore about the things I had done throughout my life.
I turned to Jesus, my heart full of unease, and asked: "Lord, am I also guilty of these things? Have I also dishonored Your temple?"
Jesus looked at me with an infinite sadness in His eyes. He didn't answer right away but simply looked at me for a long time, as if to let me feel the weight of the truth He was about to reveal.
After a long pause, He spoke, His voice echoing through the vast space:
"It was not the outward actions that condemned you, but what they represented. Your lack of holiness reflected a heart not fully surrendered to Me. My word was clear: 'Do not conform to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.' You preached these words, but you did not live by them."
He paused briefly, then continued:
"You clothed yourself in outward forms, styles you thought were appropriate, but you failed to realize that your outward appearance reflected what was in your heart. You stood at the pulpit, yet the outfit you chose did not honor the message you preached. Your appearance was a message in itself—and that message said you had accepted a compromise, that you did not truly honor My temple, which is your body."
His words shocked me, and I fell to my knees before Him, pleading for His forgiveness.
"Lord, now I understand. I have failed. I allowed the world to influence my service to You. Please, give me one more chance. I will change. I will live fully for You—without compromise."
Jesus remained silent for a long time—a silence that allowed me to fully feel the weight of what I had just said. Then, with a voice that was gentle yet full of authority, He said:
"Your repentance is sincere, but tears are not enough. You must act. I will give you one final chance. You will return to earth and share what you have seen. You will warn My people. You will speak of holiness and the need to be set apart from the world. It will not be easy. They will criticize you. They will reject you. But that does not matter. I have called you to be faithful, not to be popular."
Jesus looked at me one last time, His eyes filled with love and compassion, yet also with strength and firmness. He continued:
"You must live your life as a witness—not to seek praise or fame, but to be a light for other souls, so they may find the right path—the path that leads to Me."
The Price of Compromise
We continued walking through what seemed like an endless space. The ground was made of black, glossy lava, like living mud. Shadows were everywhere—twisted, unclear figures writhing and groaning in pain. Their cries were not only physical; they were full of regret and despair.
Jesus raised His hand, and the landscape changed. Before us appeared a deep pit with walls covered in chains. Each chain held a soul, and each soul emitted a dim, nearly extinguished light. I stepped closer, and the figures began to come into focus.
Jesus said: "These are the ones who were given the honor of My calling but chose to defile it for their own gain."
I looked closer and recognized familiar faces. Some were famous missionaries, evangelists followed by thousands. One had led massive spiritual revivals—her words had once touched many hearts, but now she was chained, her face twisted in despair.
"They used My words as tools for personal profit," He said. "They preached repentance but lived in sin. They called themselves My servants, but they were slaves to money, power, and vanity."
The souls cried out, struggling to break free: "Lord, forgive us!" they pleaded. But the chains seemed to tighten even more.
We continued, and the Lord led me to another part of the abyss. Here, the flames were higher, and the screams even more heart-wrenching. I walked closer and saw figures writhing in fire. I recognized them immediately—they were singers and musicians.
"Lord, these people are artists. Why are they here?" I asked.
"They began with pure hearts, singing for My glory. But then the world corrupted them. They turned praise into performance, My altar into a stage. They no longer saw themselves as My servants but as entertainers. They did not seek to draw souls to Me but to earn the applause of the world."
Jesus said, His voice gentle yet profoundly piercing.
One soul with a broken and painful voice turned to me and wept:
"At first, I sang for the Lord. I saw tears in people's eyes. But then I began to want more. I wanted fame, money—and I made compromises with the enemy to get it. I let the world into my heart. And now I'm here."
Another, once a pop star with chart-topping hits, looked at me with eyes full of regret:
"I thought success was everything. But now I see it was all a lie. With every song, every round of applause, I drifted further from God."
The flames around them seemed even more intense, as if they were being fed by the cries and the unerasable regret. These souls had nothing left but crushing sorrow as they realized the price of their compromise with the world was eternal separation from God.
Jesus stopped and looked at me:
"These souls knew the truth. It is written: 'What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?'"
I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to run, but the Lord stopped me.
"I did not bring you here to frighten you," He said, "but to help you understand. You must go back and tell what you've seen. My people have blended with the world. They must know that there is a price to be paid."
Why Only 13% of Women Will Be Saved
As I stood beside Jesus, the light radiating from Him illuminated everything around me, as if He were cleansing all the darkness that had once covered my soul. That light was magnificent. It brought me peace, but it also forced me to face a painful truth I had never wanted to admit.
The images I had witnessed in hell lingered in my mind, making it impossible to rest. Those tormented souls, paying the price for their wrong choices—would any of them truly be saved? And was I one of them, or would I be left in the darkness too?
Jesus stood beside me, His gaze full of understanding and tenderness. Although He smiled gently, the seriousness in His eyes made it impossible for me to ignore. I felt that He knew every question in my heart—even the ones I hadn't dared to ask.
After a moment of silence, He spoke. His voice was soft but filled with authority:
"You have not fully understood your faith, Anna," He said, His tone both loving and firm. "You've lived a life of passion and sacrifice. But true faith is not only outward action. Real faith is not rituals or habits. It is an honest transformation from within your heart. True faith is humility and unconditional love."
I paused. A new awareness flashed through me like lightning. In that moment, I realized that everything I had done—even the good, the right, the passionate—meant nothing if it wasn't rooted in real inner change.
I still didn't fully grasp it. But Jesus continued to explain:
"Only 13% of women are saved, Anna—but it's not random. It's the result of true transformation in their hearts. The 13% are those who not only practice religious rituals but live in humility, unconditional love, and sincere repentance. They understand that faith cannot be merely external deeds. It must be true inner change."
That statement shocked me. I had spent my life wondering whether I could be saved. And now, this number—13%—cut into my soul like a blade. How could it be that only a small portion of women would be saved—women like me, who had given their all for God, who had sacrificed and served Him?
"How could only a few of us enter heaven?" I couldn't stop asking myself if I was one of the 13%.
I decided to ask Jesus, my voice trembling with anxiety:
"Lord, why only 13%? How can I know for sure if I'm among them? I've done everything I could to serve You, but have I truly understood my faith?"
Jesus looked at me, His eyes filled with both love and unshakable truth. He didn't look at me as just a preacher or a believer. He looked into my soul—into the truth of what I carried within.
"Spiritual pride is the main reason many women do not receive salvation," He answered. His voice wasn't angry but deeply convicting. "They are satisfied with their outward religious acts but do not live in humility, love, and true repentance. Pride prevents them from seeing themselves as sinners in need of salvation. They believe their external works are enough, but if their hearts do not change, they cannot enter My kingdom."
His words struck me like light shining into the darkest part of my soul.
Spiritual pride. This was something I had never considered. How many times had I believed I was right, thinking I had done enough and deserved salvation—but I had never considered that I needed to change inwardly through humility?
Jesus continued:
"Salvation is not easy, Anna. I do not save everyone because not everyone truly wants to change. If you do not understand your sin, do not repent, and do not live by genuine faith, you cannot enter My kingdom."
Those words awakened me. I understood that true faith is not in outward deeds. It is in the transformation of the heart—a life that truly submits to God's will, filled with humility and unconditional love. Only when I truly changed would I be worthy of salvation.
The Path to Heaven
After the words of Jesus, I couldn't stop thinking about the truth He had just spoken. I realized the most important thing I had to confront was my spiritual pride—my self-satisfaction in faith and my reliance on outward actions.
Throughout my life, I always believed that as long as I followed religious rituals and did good things, I was worthy of salvation. But now I understood that it was only the surface—and the reality was that my heart had not truly changed.
Jesus continued to explain:
"Women, you have endured many trials in life, but do not let the world blind you. Do not live to meet the expectations of society. Do not let your outward appearance determine your worth. Only I, Jesus, can give you true salvation. If your heart does not truly change—if you are not willing to surrender your ego and live according to My will—you will not enter My kingdom."
He looked at me with such deep understanding, as if He already knew every hidden corner of my soul—places I had never dared to confront.
"Faith is not a ritual or a habit. True faith is a deep connection with Me. It is a constant journey of transformation in the heart. It is not merely attending events or preaching sermons. It is a real change in how you see yourself and the world around you. Only when you do that—when you live for Me, when you walk in complete humility and love—will you truly enter My kingdom."
Jesus paused, His eyes never leaving mine. He looked at me not only with love but also with firmness, making me feel that His words were not merely teaching but a divine calling.
"My daughter, do not live just to satisfy the world's desires. You cannot seek approval from society or chase after personal glory. Only I can give you true salvation. If your heart does not change—if you are not willing to surrender your ego and live fully by My will—you will not enter heaven."
His words were a powerful reminder of the importance of humility and inner transformation.
Jesus continued:
"You have faced countless challenges in life, but do not let the world blind you. Do not live to meet society's expectations. Do not let others' opinions define your worth. Only I can lead you to the path of true salvation."
His words pierced deep into my soul like a sharp blade, stripping away the outer layers I had long used to protect myself. I realized that for years, I had lived for myself—for the approval of others—forgetting that true faith is not about outward acts. It must begin in the heart—with love, humility, and genuine repentance.
"Do not let the world shape how you live. Do not let material concerns and temporary satisfaction cloud your true purpose."
Jesus continued, His voice gentle like a breeze but sinking deep:
"You must understand that when you live for the world, you lose yourself. I have called you to live by a different standard—a standard of holiness, humility, and unconditional love."
I looked into His eyes, and it felt like I was looking into my own soul. The things I had done in the past—the things I thought were right—now floated before me like fading shadows, leaving me feeling empty and lost.
I wondered: Can I truly change? Can I let go of the habits and lifestyle I've known to live by what the Lord has shown me?
And I understood: This change would not be easy—but it was the only thing that could lead me to heaven.
Jesus looked at me with infinite love:
"You will not change overnight. But you can begin now. Live not for the world, but for Me. Live with humility, with love, and with repentance. Do not let outward actions deceive you. Let your heart be truly transformed."
His words fell like gentle rain on the dry, cracked ground of my soul. I realized I could not live by outward actions alone. I had to change from the depths of my heart—to live according to His teachings.
And when I truly do that, I know I will enter heaven—not because of achievements, not because of recognition, but because I have lived a life aligned with God's will.
And I knew that from this day forward, I had to begin again—begin from within, begin with deep change—not because I feared the final judgment, but because I wanted to live a life worthy of the salvation that God has given me.
Awakening and the Decision to Change
A stream of light rushed toward me the moment the Lord finished speaking, and I was immediately pulled backward, feeling as though I were falling. When I opened my eyes, I had to squint. The light here was no longer gentle. The smell of disinfectant rushed up my nose, and the beeping of machines irritated me. My husband immediately rushed to my side, grabbed my hand, and began thanking God nonstop.
He told me I had suffered a severe drop in calcium and exhaustion. He had called an ambulance in the middle of the night. In that moment, I realized I had returned to reality—and I was in the hospital.
After the encounter with Jesus ended, I felt a deep transformation within me. I began to realize that the actions I once believed were enough—the religious rituals, the good deeds I did—had no true meaning if they didn't come from the heart.
For years, I had lived with the belief that as long as I went to church, did good, and followed moral principles, I would be saved. But now, after hearing the words of the Lord, I understood that real faith is not found in rituals or external actions but in transformation from within the heart.
Faith is surrender. Faith is repentance. Faith is living in love and humility.
That morning, I began to write. Each word was a prayer, a cry of warning to those living in hypocrisy or believing that God accepts compromise. I wrote with all the pain and clarity stirring in my soul, as if the Lord Himself was urging me to do this.
With every sentence I wrote, I felt the weight of responsibility—a powerful calling from within to help those who were confused in their faith, those who were living in compromise, to understand that salvation is not a cheap gift. Salvation requires genuine transformation—the death of the ego and a truly repentant heart before God.
Conclusion
After reading Judy's letter, I was deeply shocked and had to reflect on the path I am taking. Only 13% of women will truly enter heaven. But what about the rest? Passing through that gate is already not an easy task.
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a person with the most strict Church of God serving God ending in hell)
My name is Judy, and my life before has been marked by a deep devotion to God ever since I answered His calling.
Not a single day went by without me feeling driven by an unrelenting passion for His kingdom. I worked for the National Council of the Church of God in the United States—an organization that took me everywhere to spread His word. I was constantly on the move, crossing borders and cultures. Every city, every village, every face I encountered felt like an opportunity to plant the seeds of God's message. I preached, I sang, I organized events, and I led councils.
I especially remember my trips to Mexico—wonderful places filled with people who needed to hear the message of salvation. Sometimes the journey was exhausting—flights, transfers, long rides down dusty roads—but my heart remained steadfast. I saw myself as a faithful servant, and every sacrifice was an offering to God.
And yet, deep within, something didn't feel right. I sensed a strange unrest, as if my soul were trying to tell me something. I often asked myself, "Am I truly serving God the way I should be? Am I ready for the day I meet my Creator?" These questions echoed in my mind, but I pushed them aside, reassuring myself that my work was enough.
The Fateful Night
One evening, just like so many others, we were on our way home after a long event. We had preached late into the night, and the journey back had left us completely exhausted. As soon as we arrived, my husband said he was hungry. I told him to find something in the fridge while I, completely drained, dragged myself into the bedroom. I didn't even have the strength to change my clothes. I collapsed onto the bed, still wearing my shoes, and closed my eyes.
But that night would become the fateful night that changed everything about who I was.
The moment I laid my head on the pillow, a presence filled the room. It wasn't a normal feeling. I heard the door slowly creak open. I thought it was my husband, but the footsteps I heard were strange—slow and solemn. My heart started to race. Then a voice called my name: "Judy."
I sat up and found myself face to face with a radiant figure. I couldn't make out the face clearly, but I knew who it was. My soul recognized Him before my mind could even catch up. He invited me to follow. He took my hand, and suddenly, the world around us changed.
I thought He was going to take me to heaven. All the stories I had ever heard spoke of light and choirs of angels. But what happened was different. Instead of rising upward, we began descending. I felt dizzy, as if the ground beneath my feet was vanishing. His hand was steady, but it did not bring comfort.
Darkness surrounded us—thick and suffocating. It was a darkness I had never known before, a living shadow with a soul of its own. Only the light from His face lit our path. With each step, we descended deeper and farther from the world I had once known. The air grew heavy, as if it were filled with pain and despair.
I asked the Lord where He was taking me, but He didn't answer. His silence was immense. In my heart, a thought began to form—a thought I didn't want to accept: Were we going to hell?
Finally, we stopped before a massive door. It was so tall I couldn't see the top. The door was shut, but it seemed to tremble, as if an irresistible power was pressing behind it. Then the door opened, revealing a scene that took my breath away.
The air was filled with horrifying screams—a non-stop chorus of cries and begging. Before me was an endless abyss, a sea of fire and suffering. Twisted souls in the flames of despair tried to escape their torment. The heat was unbearable. It felt as if it could burn through my very soul.
I moved closer to the radiant figure, seeking relief from the coolness that flowed from Him. But whenever I strayed even a little, waves of heat hit me, as if they would melt my very being.
I turned toward Him, searching for answers. I couldn't understand why I was there. Then, with a voice that seemed to pierce through my soul, He said:
"This place belongs to you."
Those words rang through my mind like a hammer. It couldn't be true. How could this be my destiny? I had dedicated my whole life to God, preaching His word for decades. I shook my head, refusing to accept it.
I knelt down, my voice trembling, trying to explain: "Lord, I am Your servant. I have preached Your gospel for 39 years. I have traveled everywhere to bring the message of salvation to thousands. You cannot tell me this place belongs to me."
He looked at me with an expression that seemed to hold both sorrow and justice. Then, with a voice that was firm yet filled with compassion, He said:
"You preached My word, but your heart was far from Me. You lived a life that looked holy in front of others, but in private, you neglected the most important thing—My presence and My will."
Those words cut through me like a sword. I began to remember.
Yes, I had preached—but often with pride in my accomplishments. I had sung in the choir—but sometimes it was to impress others more than to praise God. And then there were my compromises. The clothes I wore were often too revealing. My hair, cut and dyed by worldly trends. My nails done to appear flawless. I had always felt justified, but now those actions revealed their true nature—signs of a heart not fully surrendered.
Jesus looked at me with eyes full of love, yet deep and stern. He continued speaking, His voice echoing through the space:
"Anna, you clothed yourself in appearances, in forms you believed were right, but you didn't realize that your outward appearance reflected what was in your heart. You stood at the pulpit, yet the outfit you chose did not honor what you were preaching. Your appearance was a message, and that message said you accepted compromise—that you didn't truly value My temple, which is your body."
He paused for a moment, allowing me to feel more deeply the weight of His words.
"Do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit?"
His words struck the depth of my heart like lightning. I had lived so many years thinking God only looked at the heart. But now I understood that how we present ourselves—what we choose to wear, to do—has a deep impact on how others perceive our faith. I asked myself: Did the things I do truly reflect the faith I was proclaiming?
We continued walking across the abyss, and the light from Jesus lit our path—a light that illuminated not only the space around us but also my heart. Each step led me into a realm that seemed to belong to no world I had ever known—a place where silence and unspeakable sorrow reigned.
Jesus stopped and pointed toward a figure in the distance—a woman engulfed in flames. Her face was still visible but twisted in pain and suffering. She wasn't screaming. She just stood there, consumed by an indescribable agony.
I stepped closer, a mix of fear and curiosity rising in my chest. When she saw me, her eyes lit up, as if she recognized in me a kindred soul—someone who could understand the pain she was enduring. Those eyes, though filled with despair, held a strange peace, as if she had been waiting for someone who would listen.
Her voice was faint, full of desperation—not like a plea, but a confession, as if she longed to share her torment.
"You've come here to understand, haven't you?" Her voice was broken, as if she were enduring a pain that never ceased. "Listen to me. Speak of what I failed to understand in my lifetime."
"Every time I changed myself—every time I put on makeup or wore revealing clothes—I didn't realize I was living a lie. I thought I was free. But in truth, I had fallen into the enemy's trap."
Her words pierced me like knives, cutting into my soul. Each sentence revealed a truth I had never considered before. I asked her to explain more.
She gave a pained smile and continued:
"Satan uses things that seem beautiful to distract us from true beauty—the beauty of the soul. When we alter what God created perfectly, we are saying to our Creator that we're not satisfied with His masterpiece. I always praised Him, saying, 'I was fearfully and wonderfully made,' and that His works were marvelous. But I chose to follow trends, to appear attractive in the eyes of the world. And now I'm here, in this horrifying hell."
Tears began to stream down my face. I couldn't understand why a soul who once served God had to endure such torment. I asked her if she had ever felt the Holy Spirit's warning.
She gently nodded. "Yes. The Spirit spoke to me, urged me to change—but I ignored it. I kept telling myself that God only looks at the heart. But my heart was blind. Now I know that my rebellion was expressed through my appearance. I became a slave to what the world defines as beauty."
Her words sounded like a warning bell inside me, stirring thoughts I couldn't ignore about the things I had done throughout my life.
I turned to Jesus, my heart full of unease, and asked: "Lord, am I also guilty of these things? Have I also dishonored Your temple?"
Jesus looked at me with an infinite sadness in His eyes. He didn't answer right away but simply looked at me for a long time, as if to let me feel the weight of the truth He was about to reveal.
After a long pause, He spoke, His voice echoing through the vast space:
"It was not the outward actions that condemned you, but what they represented. Your lack of holiness reflected a heart not fully surrendered to Me. My word was clear: 'Do not conform to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.' You preached these words, but you did not live by them."
He paused briefly, then continued:
"You clothed yourself in outward forms, styles you thought were appropriate, but you failed to realize that your outward appearance reflected what was in your heart. You stood at the pulpit, yet the outfit you chose did not honor the message you preached. Your appearance was a message in itself—and that message said you had accepted a compromise, that you did not truly honor My temple, which is your body."
His words shocked me, and I fell to my knees before Him, pleading for His forgiveness.
"Lord, now I understand. I have failed. I allowed the world to influence my service to You. Please, give me one more chance. I will change. I will live fully for You—without compromise."
Jesus remained silent for a long time—a silence that allowed me to fully feel the weight of what I had just said. Then, with a voice that was gentle yet full of authority, He said:
"Your repentance is sincere, but tears are not enough. You must act. I will give you one final chance. You will return to earth and share what you have seen. You will warn My people. You will speak of holiness and the need to be set apart from the world. It will not be easy. They will criticize you. They will reject you. But that does not matter. I have called you to be faithful, not to be popular."
Jesus looked at me one last time, His eyes filled with love and compassion, yet also with strength and firmness. He continued:
"You must live your life as a witness—not to seek praise or fame, but to be a light for other souls, so they may find the right path—the path that leads to Me."
The Price of Compromise
We continued walking through what seemed like an endless space. The ground was made of black, glossy lava, like living mud. Shadows were everywhere—twisted, unclear figures writhing and groaning in pain. Their cries were not only physical; they were full of regret and despair.
Jesus raised His hand, and the landscape changed. Before us appeared a deep pit with walls covered in chains. Each chain held a soul, and each soul emitted a dim, nearly extinguished light. I stepped closer, and the figures began to come into focus.
Jesus said: "These are the ones who were given the honor of My calling but chose to defile it for their own gain."
I looked closer and recognized familiar faces. Some were famous missionaries, evangelists followed by thousands. One had led massive spiritual revivals—her words had once touched many hearts, but now she was chained, her face twisted in despair.
"They used My words as tools for personal profit," He said. "They preached repentance but lived in sin. They called themselves My servants, but they were slaves to money, power, and vanity."
The souls cried out, struggling to break free: "Lord, forgive us!" they pleaded. But the chains seemed to tighten even more.
We continued, and the Lord led me to another part of the abyss. Here, the flames were higher, and the screams even more heart-wrenching. I walked closer and saw figures writhing in fire. I recognized them immediately—they were singers and musicians.
"Lord, these people are artists. Why are they here?" I asked.
"They began with pure hearts, singing for My glory. But then the world corrupted them. They turned praise into performance, My altar into a stage. They no longer saw themselves as My servants but as entertainers. They did not seek to draw souls to Me but to earn the applause of the world."
Jesus said, His voice gentle yet profoundly piercing.
One soul with a broken and painful voice turned to me and wept:
"At first, I sang for the Lord. I saw tears in people's eyes. But then I began to want more. I wanted fame, money—and I made compromises with the enemy to get it. I let the world into my heart. And now I'm here."
Another, once a pop star with chart-topping hits, looked at me with eyes full of regret:
"I thought success was everything. But now I see it was all a lie. With every song, every round of applause, I drifted further from God."
The flames around them seemed even more intense, as if they were being fed by the cries and the unerasable regret. These souls had nothing left but crushing sorrow as they realized the price of their compromise with the world was eternal separation from God.
Jesus stopped and looked at me:
"These souls knew the truth. It is written: 'What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?'"
I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to run, but the Lord stopped me.
"I did not bring you here to frighten you," He said, "but to help you understand. You must go back and tell what you've seen. My people have blended with the world. They must know that there is a price to be paid."
Why Only 13% of Women Will Be Saved
As I stood beside Jesus, the light radiating from Him illuminated everything around me, as if He were cleansing all the darkness that had once covered my soul. That light was magnificent. It brought me peace, but it also forced me to face a painful truth I had never wanted to admit.
The images I had witnessed in hell lingered in my mind, making it impossible to rest. Those tormented souls, paying the price for their wrong choices—would any of them truly be saved? And was I one of them, or would I be left in the darkness too?
Jesus stood beside me, His gaze full of understanding and tenderness. Although He smiled gently, the seriousness in His eyes made it impossible for me to ignore. I felt that He knew every question in my heart—even the ones I hadn't dared to ask.
After a moment of silence, He spoke. His voice was soft but filled with authority:
"You have not fully understood your faith, Anna," He said, His tone both loving and firm. "You've lived a life of passion and sacrifice. But true faith is not only outward action. Real faith is not rituals or habits. It is an honest transformation from within your heart. True faith is humility and unconditional love."
I paused. A new awareness flashed through me like lightning. In that moment, I realized that everything I had done—even the good, the right, the passionate—meant nothing if it wasn't rooted in real inner change.
I still didn't fully grasp it. But Jesus continued to explain:
"Only 13% of women are saved, Anna—but it's not random. It's the result of true transformation in their hearts. The 13% are those who not only practice religious rituals but live in humility, unconditional love, and sincere repentance. They understand that faith cannot be merely external deeds. It must be true inner change."
That statement shocked me. I had spent my life wondering whether I could be saved. And now, this number—13%—cut into my soul like a blade. How could it be that only a small portion of women would be saved—women like me, who had given their all for God, who had sacrificed and served Him?
"How could only a few of us enter heaven?" I couldn't stop asking myself if I was one of the 13%.
I decided to ask Jesus, my voice trembling with anxiety:
"Lord, why only 13%? How can I know for sure if I'm among them? I've done everything I could to serve You, but have I truly understood my faith?"
Jesus looked at me, His eyes filled with both love and unshakable truth. He didn't look at me as just a preacher or a believer. He looked into my soul—into the truth of what I carried within.
"Spiritual pride is the main reason many women do not receive salvation," He answered. His voice wasn't angry but deeply convicting. "They are satisfied with their outward religious acts but do not live in humility, love, and true repentance. Pride prevents them from seeing themselves as sinners in need of salvation. They believe their external works are enough, but if their hearts do not change, they cannot enter My kingdom."
His words struck me like light shining into the darkest part of my soul.
Spiritual pride. This was something I had never considered. How many times had I believed I was right, thinking I had done enough and deserved salvation—but I had never considered that I needed to change inwardly through humility?
Jesus continued:
"Salvation is not easy, Anna. I do not save everyone because not everyone truly wants to change. If you do not understand your sin, do not repent, and do not live by genuine faith, you cannot enter My kingdom."
Those words awakened me. I understood that true faith is not in outward deeds. It is in the transformation of the heart—a life that truly submits to God's will, filled with humility and unconditional love. Only when I truly changed would I be worthy of salvation.
The Path to Heaven
After the words of Jesus, I couldn't stop thinking about the truth He had just spoken. I realized the most important thing I had to confront was my spiritual pride—my self-satisfaction in faith and my reliance on outward actions.
Throughout my life, I always believed that as long as I followed religious rituals and did good things, I was worthy of salvation. But now I understood that it was only the surface—and the reality was that my heart had not truly changed.
Jesus continued to explain:
"Women, you have endured many trials in life, but do not let the world blind you. Do not live to meet the expectations of society. Do not let your outward appearance determine your worth. Only I, Jesus, can give you true salvation. If your heart does not truly change—if you are not willing to surrender your ego and live according to My will—you will not enter My kingdom."
He looked at me with such deep understanding, as if He already knew every hidden corner of my soul—places I had never dared to confront.
"Faith is not a ritual or a habit. True faith is a deep connection with Me. It is a constant journey of transformation in the heart. It is not merely attending events or preaching sermons. It is a real change in how you see yourself and the world around you. Only when you do that—when you live for Me, when you walk in complete humility and love—will you truly enter My kingdom."
Jesus paused, His eyes never leaving mine. He looked at me not only with love but also with firmness, making me feel that His words were not merely teaching but a divine calling.
"My daughter, do not live just to satisfy the world's desires. You cannot seek approval from society or chase after personal glory. Only I can give you true salvation. If your heart does not change—if you are not willing to surrender your ego and live fully by My will—you will not enter heaven."
His words were a powerful reminder of the importance of humility and inner transformation.
Jesus continued:
"You have faced countless challenges in life, but do not let the world blind you. Do not live to meet society's expectations. Do not let others' opinions define your worth. Only I can lead you to the path of true salvation."
His words pierced deep into my soul like a sharp blade, stripping away the outer layers I had long used to protect myself. I realized that for years, I had lived for myself—for the approval of others—forgetting that true faith is not about outward acts. It must begin in the heart—with love, humility, and genuine repentance.
"Do not let the world shape how you live. Do not let material concerns and temporary satisfaction cloud your true purpose."
Jesus continued, His voice gentle like a breeze but sinking deep:
"You must understand that when you live for the world, you lose yourself. I have called you to live by a different standard—a standard of holiness, humility, and unconditional love."
I looked into His eyes, and it felt like I was looking into my own soul. The things I had done in the past—the things I thought were right—now floated before me like fading shadows, leaving me feeling empty and lost.
I wondered: Can I truly change? Can I let go of the habits and lifestyle I've known to live by what the Lord has shown me?
And I understood: This change would not be easy—but it was the only thing that could lead me to heaven.
Jesus looked at me with infinite love:
"You will not change overnight. But you can begin now. Live not for the world, but for Me. Live with humility, with love, and with repentance. Do not let outward actions deceive you. Let your heart be truly transformed."
His words fell like gentle rain on the dry, cracked ground of my soul. I realized I could not live by outward actions alone. I had to change from the depths of my heart—to live according to His teachings.
And when I truly do that, I know I will enter heaven—not because of achievements, not because of recognition, but because I have lived a life aligned with God's will.
And I knew that from this day forward, I had to begin again—begin from within, begin with deep change—not because I feared the final judgment, but because I wanted to live a life worthy of the salvation that God has given me.
Awakening and the Decision to Change
A stream of light rushed toward me the moment the Lord finished speaking, and I was immediately pulled backward, feeling as though I were falling. When I opened my eyes, I had to squint. The light here was no longer gentle. The smell of disinfectant rushed up my nose, and the beeping of machines irritated me. My husband immediately rushed to my side, grabbed my hand, and began thanking God nonstop.
He told me I had suffered a severe drop in calcium and exhaustion. He had called an ambulance in the middle of the night. In that moment, I realized I had returned to reality—and I was in the hospital.
After the encounter with Jesus ended, I felt a deep transformation within me. I began to realize that the actions I once believed were enough—the religious rituals, the good deeds I did—had no true meaning if they didn't come from the heart.
For years, I had lived with the belief that as long as I went to church, did good, and followed moral principles, I would be saved. But now, after hearing the words of the Lord, I understood that real faith is not found in rituals or external actions but in transformation from within the heart.
Faith is surrender. Faith is repentance. Faith is living in love and humility.
That morning, I began to write. Each word was a prayer, a cry of warning to those living in hypocrisy or believing that God accepts compromise. I wrote with all the pain and clarity stirring in my soul, as if the Lord Himself was urging me to do this.
With every sentence I wrote, I felt the weight of responsibility—a powerful calling from within to help those who were confused in their faith, those who were living in compromise, to understand that salvation is not a cheap gift. Salvation requires genuine transformation—the death of the ego and a truly repentant heart before God.
Conclusion
After reading Judy's letter, I was deeply shocked and had to reflect on the path I am taking. Only 13% of women will truly enter heaven. But what about the rest? Passing through that gate is already not an easy task.
Near Death Experience 3
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a person serving in ministry)
My name is Emily Harris, and I'm 42 now, but looking back, it feels like a lifetime ago that I was just a young girl trying to make sense of a world that always felt too big and too harsh. My parents divorced when I was just eight, and my life was a whirlwind of moving from one foster home to another. I was a lonely child, struggling with the absence of stability. But somewhere in the midst of it all, I found a way to cope—faith. Or, more specifically, I found Billy Graham. I first saw Billy Graham on TV when I was about 14. I remember the day so clearly. My foster mother was sitting in her favorite armchair, watching a program about his crusades, and I happened to be sitting on the floor doing my homework. She told me to come sit next to her and listen to this man.
I remember the way he spoke—his voice was calm but powerful, and his words had this incredible weight. I didn’t understand much about God or faith back then, but there was something in his words that made me want to listen—something that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as alone as I thought. Billy Graham’s messages of salvation spoke directly to my broken heart. He talked about God’s love and grace like it was the one thing that could heal all wounds. The way he spoke about Jesus—how His sacrifice was for everyone, no matter where they came from or what they had done—was revolutionary for me. I grew up feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere, like I wasn’t good enough. But here was this man, this preacher, telling me that I was worthy of God’s love. I clung to that. His sermons became my refuge. I didn’t know much about theology or doctrine, but I knew that when Billy Graham spoke, I felt like I mattered. As I grew older, Billy Graham’s influence didn’t fade—it only grew stronger. When I went off to college, I found myself in a strange new world, full of temptations and distractions. But I remembered his words—how he urged us to live with integrity and to seek God first.
I faced plenty of challenges—loneliness, stress, and even doubts about my own purpose. But it was Billy’s messages that kept me grounded. Whenever I felt myself slipping, I’d turn on one of his old sermons or read one of his books. His words were a lifeline, a constant reminder of God’s promises. There were times—especially when life seemed to be crumbling around me—when I’d feel a deep sense of despair. But then I’d think of Billy’s words about hope, about how Jesus offered peace and healing to anyone who would receive it. I wasn’t perfect—not by any stretch. But I tried to live my life in accordance with what Billy had preached. I wasn’t sure what my purpose was, but I knew I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives the way Billy had made a difference in mine. After I graduated from college, I moved back to New York, where I worked as a schoolteacher. My life was far from glamorous, but I was content. I volunteered at my church, tried to be kind to those around me, and gave what I could to causes that mattered. I didn’t have much, but I believed in the power of small acts of kindness. Billy had taught me that it wasn’t about grand gestures or grand accomplishments—it was about loving people and loving God in my own way. I tried to live that out, even in the face of the everyday struggles that came my way. But life wasn’t always easy. I struggled with relationships, with finances, with finding my own sense of peace. There were times when I felt like I had lost my way—I’d question my purpose, wonder if I was truly living the life God intended for me. I often thought about Billy Graham and how, despite all of his success, he remained so humble and steadfast in his faith. I longed to be like that—to have a deep, unwavering faith that could withstand any storm. Through all my doubts and struggles, though, one thing remained constant: my admiration for Billy Graham. His example of faith was something I held on to. He wasn’t perfect, but his dedication to God, his ability to speak truth into people’s lives—was something that inspired me every day. In my heart, I always believed that if I could live with even a fraction of the faith and purpose that Billy had, I would be doing something right. So even in the darkest of times—when I felt like I was drifting away from God—I’d remember his words. And in those moments of remembering, I would find my way back to Him.
I knew that Jesus was the answer to all of life’s struggles, even if I didn’t always understand how or why. Billy Graham’s message had instilled that truth deep in my heart. And though I didn’t know it then, that truth would soon be put to the ultimate test—in a way I never could have imagined. It had been a long, difficult few years for me. The weight of life’s disappointments was beginning to wear on me. My job at the school had become increasingly stressful, my finances were in disarray, and the wounds from my divorce were still raw. The death of my mother just a year ago had been the final blow. I had always looked to her for comfort and guidance, but now she was gone, leaving me feeling more alone than ever. The grief I carried had become suffocating, and each day seemed to pass in a blur of exhaustion and heartache. I had reached a point where I felt like I couldn’t go on. The pain was too much, the weight too heavy.
One cold winter afternoon, I came home after a particularly grueling day at work. My head throbbed, and my heart ached with a deep sadness that I couldn’t shake. I had tried praying that morning, asking God for some sense of peace, but my words felt hollow—as though they bounced off the ceiling without ever reaching His ears. I could barely hold it together anymore, and I felt the tears threatening to spill as I collapsed onto my couch. As I lay there, feeling utterly defeated, the room seemed to grow darker. The air thickened around me, and I suddenly felt a sensation that I can only describe as being pulled away from everything that was familiar. My vision blurred, and the familiar warmth of my home was replaced by a coldness that seemed to seep into my very soul. I tried to stand up, but my body wouldn’t respond. A sense of vertigo overtook me, and then—I lost consciousness. What happened next, I can only describe as a terrifying out-of-body experience.
I found myself in a place that was utterly foreign and disturbing. The air was heavy, thick with a sense of dread. The ground beneath me was cracked and barren, and an eerie silence filled the space. I couldn’t see anything clearly, but I could feel the presence of something—some force that was dark, oppressive. It was like being trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up. I felt a deep sense of hopelessness wash over me, as though I had been cast into a place of despair with no way out. Before I could gather my thoughts, two shadowy figures approached me. They seemed to glide through the air, their features obscured, but their presence was unmistakably malevolent. They spoke not a word, but their hands reached out to me, pulling me along as they led me through this desolate wasteland. My feet dragged against the ground, and with every step, the weight of the place pressed harder against me—as though it was trying to crush the very life out of me. The figures led me deeper into the darkness, further from any semblance of hope. I had no control over where I was going, and the more I walked, the heavier my heart felt. The air became stifling, each breath harder to take. I could feel an intense heat now—as though the ground was burning beneath me—but I couldn’t escape. It wasn’t a fire that I could see, but it was everywhere, radiating an invisible torment. After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at a large, ominous structure—a fortress of sorts. The towering walls loomed above me, casting long, dark shadows. The figures pulled me toward the entrance, where a door made of rusted iron creaked open.
The moment we stepped inside, the heat intensified. The atmosphere was suffocating, thick with the stench of smoke and decay. I could hear faint cries—wails of agony—but they seemed distant, as though they came from somewhere far beyond this place.
And then—I saw him. Billy Graham. The man whose words had brought me so much hope—now bound in chains, his body writhing in agony. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was Billy Graham—the man who had led millions to Christ, the man who had given me so much strength in my darkest hours. Yet here he was, in this terrifying place, suffering in ways I couldn’t comprehend. His face—once radiant with the peace of God—was now contorted in pain. His clothes were tattered, and his once-confident demeanor was now shattered, replaced by a despair that seemed to echo through the walls of this prison. My heart shattered as I took in the sight. How could this be? How could the man I had admired—the man whose words had always brought me closer to God—be here? It didn’t make sense. I couldn’t understand it. It was like my whole world had come crashing down around me. The figures that had led me here pushed me forward, and I found myself standing just a few feet away from him. Billy Graham looked up, his eyes locking with mine. For a moment, I thought he didn’t recognize me. But then, through the pain, he spoke—his voice was strained, heavy with sorrow, but still unmistakable.
"Emily," he said, his voice trembling. "You’re here because God wanted you to see this. You’re here to understand the truth."
I wanted to scream—to ask him what was going on—but no words came. The shock of seeing him here, in this place, was too much. He continued, his words carrying a weight I could never have anticipated. "I was wrong," he whispered. "I let my pride and my fame overshadow the message of grace. I did not live in the humility that God calls us to. And now—here I am."
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. How could this be true? How could a man who had dedicated his life to preaching the Gospel, leading so many to salvation, end up here? What had gone wrong? I stood there, my mind reeling, trying to make sense of it all—but nothing seemed to add up. The heat, the despair, the cries in the distance—it all felt like a dream, like I was floating in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Yet the reality of it was undeniable. Billy Graham was in hell. And I was here too—witnessing this unimaginable scene. I stood in stunned silence, my heart breaking for the man who had been such an anchor in my life. And as I stood there, I realized with a deep, unsettling truth that something was horribly wrong—not just with Billy, but with me. This place, this experience, was not just about Billy’s mistakes—it was about mine too.
The darkness around me was as much my own fault as it was anyone else’s. I was beginning to understand that this wasn’t just a punishment—it was a lesson. One that I would never forget. The air around me was thick, the heat oppressive, and the weight of the situation pressed down on my chest. I stood frozen, staring at the man who had once been the beacon of hope in my life—Billy Graham. The man whose words had led so many to salvation, now bound in chains, suffering in a place of torment. My mind couldn’t grasp the enormity of what I was seeing. I had always believed that faithfulness to God would protect me—that living in His love and grace would guide me through every storm. But here, in this place—this hellish, suffocating realm—everything I had once known felt like a lie. Billy Graham’s face was contorted with pain, but there was also a deep sorrow in his eyes as they met mine. His lips trembled as he spoke again, his voice a mix of regret and shame. "Emily," he said, the words coming out softly, almost as though he was struggling to speak. "I never wanted you to see this. But God wanted you to understand." I couldn’t speak. The words seemed to be trapped in my throat. How could this be happening? How could someone like Billy Graham—a man who had brought so many people to Christ—end up here, in this unimaginable place? It didn’t make sense.
The more I looked at him, the more my heart shattered. I wanted to run away, to escape the nightmare, but I couldn’t move. I felt frozen in place, unable to comprehend what was unfolding before me.
Billy took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with difficulty despite the chains that bound him. His eyes shone with a quiet intensity, as if he knew something deeper, something beyond this moment, that he needed to share. Slowly, he began to speak again, and his words carried a weight that I couldn’t ignore.
"I was wrong," Billy said, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought I was doing God’s will, but I didn’t understand it completely. I let the fame, the crowds, the adoration blind me to the truth. I let my pride take over, and I turned my ministry into something about me—not about God."
I was still processing his words, but something about his tone, something in the way he spoke, made me believe him. There was no arrogance, no self-justification in his voice—just a deep, aching regret. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his body sagged with the weight of his mistakes.
"I preached the Gospel," he continued, "and many people were saved through the message. But I allowed my own ambition to cloud my purpose. I thought I was serving God, but in truth, I was serving my own ego. I used His name, His grace, to build an empire—a legacy—when all He ever asked of me was to live humbly and to serve with a pure heart."
His words hit me like a wave crashing over me, leaving me breathless. I had spent years of my life listening to his sermons, taking them to heart, believing in the goodness of his message. How could he have been so wrong? How could someone who had preached the message of Christ to millions—someone who had devoted his life to ministry—end up here, in the very pit of Hell?
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout that this couldn’t be true, that he didn’t deserve this. But as I stood there, looking into Billy Graham’s eyes, I realized that it wasn’t just him who had failed. It wasn’t just his pride and mistakes that had brought him here—it was the failure of all of us to fully understand the depths of God’s grace, His mercy, and the call to live humbly before Him.
Billy seemed to sense my confusion and pain. He looked at me with deep sympathy, as though he could see the turmoil inside me.
"Emily," he said softly, "I never wanted anyone to follow me. I wanted them to follow Christ. But I failed to point them to Him in the way I lived. I allowed the trappings of fame, of success, to take precedence over the true message of the Gospel. And now… I’m paying the price for that."
I could feel my heart breaking as I listened to him speak. His words were not just a confession of his own failings—they were a mirror of my own. How many times had I sought comfort in the wrong places? How often had I let my own pride, my own desires, guide me instead of seeking God’s will?
I had admired Billy Graham for his faithfulness, but now, standing in this place with him, I saw the truth. His faith, his message, had been compromised by his own human weaknesses.
I wanted to ask him more questions—to know how it had happened, how he had fallen so far despite his knowledge of the Gospel. But before I could speak, Billy raised a hand, his eyes filled with both sorrow and hope.
"Don’t judge me too harshly," he said. "I was a man like anyone else. I made mistakes, just as we all do. But this is the point I want you to understand—it’s not about the crowds, the fame, or the legacy we leave behind. It’s about living each day in humility, in surrender to God’s will. It’s about understanding that we are nothing without His grace."
I stood there, taking in every word. For the first time, I saw Billy Graham not as a larger-than-life figure, but as a man—flawed, broken, yet still carrying the weight of his mistakes. And in that moment, I understood something deeply important.
This place—this Hell—wasn’t just a punishment for sin. It was a reminder of how easily we can lose our way if we don’t keep our focus on the right things. It wasn’t enough to just speak the words of the Gospel—we had to live them, to embody them with every choice we made.
Billy’s face softened, and he gave me a faint smile—though it was filled with sadness.
"Remember this, Emily," he said. "The greatest thing we can do is to live humbly before God—not for recognition, but for His glory. Seek Him first, and He will guide you."
His words lingered in the air as the darkness around us seemed to press in closer. And even as I stood in this dreadful place, with Billy Graham still bound in chains before me, I felt a flicker of hope—a small, quiet assurance that despite our failures, God’s grace was still available if we were willing to humble ourselves and seek Him.
There was always a way back.
Billy Graham’s voice was soft, but there was an intensity behind his words that seemed to penetrate deep into my soul as he spoke. He continued to reflect on his life and the many ways his personal desires had influenced his ministry. His eyes, though filled with sorrow, held a depth of understanding. It was as though he now saw clearly the mistakes that had led him to this very moment—standing in Hell, bound in chains.
Each word he spoke felt like a lesson, a warning for me and for anyone who would listen.
"I never set out to be famous," Billy began, his voice slightly trembling. "I didn’t seek the spotlight, but the crowds came. The message of salvation drew people in, and I was given a platform to share the good news. But with that platform came a pressure I wasn’t fully prepared for. The larger the ministry became, the more I focused on how to maintain it. I began to believe that the success of my ministry was a reflection of my own faithfulness. But in truth, it was more about my ego than my obedience."
I could feel a pang of guilt wash over me as I listened to him. Billy Graham—the man I had admired for so long—was admitting to the very things I feared within myself. I had seen how easy it was to get caught up in external measures of success—how many people attended a church service, how much money was raised for a cause, how widely recognized your name became. But I had never considered that these things could lead someone astray.
I had always thought that fame and success were signs of divine favor. But Billy’s words began to challenge that belief.
"I thought that by speaking to thousands of people, by filling stadiums, I was doing God’s will," he continued. "But what I didn’t realize is that I started to think more about the impact I was having than the true message of the Gospel. I let the applause, the recognition, and the praise cloud my focus. I began to think that my success was proof that I was on the right path. But all the while, I was losing sight of the humility and surrender that God truly desires from us."
His confession was striking—so raw, so personal. I could feel the weight of it, and I understood the deep regret behind his words. He wasn’t just telling me about his failures—he was warning me, showing me how easy it was to get caught up in the trappings of success and forget the very essence of the Gospel: humility, selflessness, and surrender to God’s will.
"I let my fame become an idol," Billy said, his eyes filling with a sadness that was almost palpable. "I thought that as long as I was bringing people to Christ, the means didn’t matter. But I didn’t always focus on the message. I didn’t always speak with the humility that I should have. I was so concerned about maintaining the image of a perfect servant of God that I lost sight of the fact that I was a man just like anyone else—in need of grace."
I wanted to ask him more—to know exactly how he had let his ego distort his ministry. But as I stood there in the darkness, I realized that it wasn’t just Billy who had failed in this way. It was a lesson for all of us—a warning about the dangers of elevating ourselves above God’s purpose.
How often do we allow our pride and ambition to take precedence over what truly matters? How many times do we justify our actions in the name of success or recognition, only to find ourselves empty inside?
Billy’s voice softened, and he looked at me with compassion in his eyes.
"Emily, you must understand—God is not interested in your public image or how many people know your name. He’s interested in your heart. He’s interested in how you live when no one is watching—how you serve when it’s not convenient, how you surrender when the world is telling you to fight for your own glory. That’s what He cares about."
His words hit me with a force I wasn’t prepared for. I had spent so many years trying to prove my worth, trying to live up to expectations—both my own and those of others. I had allowed my worth to be defined by what I did, by how much I achieved, by how others saw me. But Billy’s words pierced through the façade I had built.
It wasn’t about me. It was never about me.
I looked at him again, his face etched with regret and remorse, and I felt a deep sense of sadness. Here was a man who had done so much good in the world, who had preached the Gospel to millions—and yet, he was admitting that he had allowed his pride and his ego to cloud his ministry. It was a sobering realization.
"True ministry isn’t about recognition," Billy said quietly. "It’s about pointing others to Jesus—not to yourself. It’s about serving humbly, without seeking glory, without worrying about how you’re perceived. It’s about the quiet acts of love, the unseen prayers, the small sacrifices that no one will ever know about. That is where true faith lies."
I stood there in silence, absorbing his words, letting them sink deep into my heart. The flames that surrounded him seemed to flicker and dance, but they no longer frightened me. What terrified me was the realization that I, too, had been living my life in search of the wrong things.
I had been seeking approval, validation, and recognition—all while thinking that I was serving God. But in truth, I had been serving my own desires. And now, standing in this place, I saw that the pursuit of fame and success could easily become a distraction from the true purpose of faith: to live humbly, to serve others, and to glorify God.
Billy’s face softened, and for the first time, I saw a glimmer of peace in his eyes. He seemed to accept his fate with a quiet understanding, knowing that his time in this place was a result of his own choices, his own missteps. But his words—his warnings—would stay with me forever.
"Emily," he said, his voice barely a whisper now, "don’t make the same mistakes I did. Keep your heart humble. Serve God with everything you have—but don’t seek recognition. Don’t seek glory. Only seek Him."
As his words echoed in my ears, the darkness around us seemed to fade, and the heat of Hell began to recede. The lesson he had shared with me was clear: the greatest calling in life was not to be seen, but to serve in quiet obedience—to live humbly before God and to point others to Him.
Billy Graham’s words continued to echo in my heart as he began to reflect even more deeply on his life, his ministry, and the legacy he had built. The flames flickered around us, but they no longer felt as threatening. Instead, they seemed to provide the backdrop for this profound conversation.
As I stood there listening, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his reflections. And I understood—perhaps for the first time—the true nature of faith.
"There’s something I never fully grasped until now, Emily," Billy said, his voice soft but steady. "The greatest moments in my life weren’t the massive stadium revivals or the thousands of people who came forward to accept Christ. It wasn’t in the praise, the accolades, or even the book deals. No—the greatest moments of my ministry were the quiet moments—the unseen prayers, the private conversations, the small acts of faith. That’s where the real ministry took place."
I watched him carefully as he spoke, his face illuminated by the flickering light of the flames around us. There was a humility in his tone—something that contradicted the man I had seen on television for years. The Billy Graham I had admired was always so polished, so confident in his preaching. And now, in this dark place, I saw the man behind the public figure—vulnerable, reflective, and deeply repentant.
His understanding of the Gospel was far deeper than I had ever realized.
"People remember the big moments," he continued, "but they don’t often realize that it’s the quiet moments that matter the most. When you take the time to listen to someone, to show them love when no one else will, to serve without expecting anything in return—that’s where the heart of ministry is."
I thought back to my own life. How often had I sought out recognition for my good deeds? How many times had I tried to prove my worth by doing something spectacular, hoping to be noticed, to be appreciated?
I had lived much of my life looking for validation from others, thinking that the more I achieved or the more I was seen, the more valuable I became. But now, standing in Hell, hearing Billy Graham speak, I understood that the true measure of a life well-lived in faith was not in how many people knew your name or how big your accomplishments were.
It was in the unseen—the quiet obedience, the moments when no one was looking, when you simply did what was right because God called you to do it.
Billy’s gaze softened as he continued.
"It’s easy to get caught up in the numbers, in the crowds. We live in a world that values success by the standards of this world—how much money you have, how many people follow you, how many books you sell. But none of that matters when it comes to God. He doesn’t care about the size of your ministry or how many people know your name. What matters is whether you are faithful in the small things. Can you serve without needing to be seen? Can you love without expecting anything in return?"
His words cut deep, and for a moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. I had spent so much of my life chasing after things that didn’t matter. I had tried to fill the emptiness inside of me with recognition, with the approval of others, with the illusion of success.
But now, as Billy Graham spoke, I saw the futility of it all.
True ministry wasn’t about how much you could accomplish. It was about being faithful to God’s call—even when no one was watching.
"We are not called to be famous, Emily," Billy said, his voice filled with gentle conviction. "We are called to be faithful—to serve others, to love them, and to point them to Christ. And sometimes, the most powerful ministry happens in the places no one sees. It’s in the quiet moments—when you choose to love your neighbor, to forgive the person who wronged you, to help the person in need even when no one else will. That is what God cares about."
I felt my heart begin to shift, as if a weight I had been carrying for so long was being lifted. The search for recognition, the desire to be seen and praised, seemed so trivial now.
In that moment, I realized that the true legacy we leave is not built on the applause of the world, but on the quiet, humble acts of faith that we offer up to God. Those were the moments that truly mattered.
Billy’s voice softened, and for a brief moment, he was silent. I could feel the depth of his understanding, and I knew that he had found a peace that I had yet to discover.
"I’ve spent my life preaching the Gospel, Emily," he said quietly. "But I wish I had spent more time just loving people—without any expectation. I wish I’d been more like Christ—humble, servant-hearted, loving without asking for anything in return. I hope that’s the legacy I leave behind—not in the books or the stadiums, but in the hearts of those I’ve touched."
I stood there, absorbing his words, knowing that they were meant for me as much as they were for him. I’d spent so much of my life focused on outward success—on seeking recognition, on proving myself. But Billy’s words had opened my eyes to a greater truth—the truth that true success in God’s eyes was not about how much you could achieve, but about how faithfully you served Him and others—even in the smallest of ways.
As Billy’s reflection came to an end, I felt a deep sense of peace wash over me. The flames around us seemed to fade, and I was filled with a quiet assurance that I had learned something invaluable.
It wasn’t about the grand gestures or the public accolades. It was about living humbly, serving faithfully, and loving without expecting anything in return. That was the kind of legacy I wanted to leave behind—one that pointed others to Christ, not to myself.
And in that moment, I knew that I was beginning to understand the true essence of faith.
As Billy Graham finished sharing his reflections, the heavy atmosphere surrounding us began to shift. The once oppressive heat and darkness of the place seemed to retreat, replaced by a peace that I had not known before. It was as though the flames themselves were flickering less violently, responding to the transformation taking place in my own heart.
I stood there, my mind racing with the truths he had revealed. But something deeper was stirring within me. It was as if my very soul was being recalibrated, my priorities realigned.
I had come into this place lost, confused, and overwhelmed by my struggles. But now, there was a sense of clarity—an awakening that I could not deny.
Billy looked at me with compassionate eyes.
"Emily," he said softly, "it’s never too late to turn to God. Even now, you have the chance to surrender everything to Him. The key to peace, to joy, to purpose, is not in the applause of the world—but in the quiet surrender to God’s will."
His voice was filled with the wisdom of someone who had walked a long and difficult road—someone who had come to understand that the answer to all the turmoil of life was found in the love and grace of God.
For the first time in my life, I understood what he meant.
I’d always been searching—searching for validation, for success, for answers. I’d sought meaning in so many places, thinking that if I could just achieve more or be more, I would finally feel whole.
But now, I realized that the true peace I had longed for could never be found in external achievements. It was only found in submitting myself fully to God—in recognizing that His love and grace were sufficient, no matter what my circumstances were.
Billy’s words began to echo in my mind as I thought about my life—the struggles I had faced, the mistakes I had made, the brokenness I had carried. It all seemed to fade into the background as I stood there, bathed in the light of truth.
I had been living for so long with the false belief that I had to earn my worth—that I had to be seen and validated by others. But now, I understood that I had always been valued by God—not for what I could do, but simply because I was His.
A deep, overwhelming peace washed over me, and I felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. For the first time, I truly grasped the concept of grace—how, despite my flaws, despite my failures, God loved me just as I was.
I didn’t need to prove myself. I didn’t need to chase after the world’s approval. All I needed was to trust in God’s plan for me and surrender to His will.
Billy’s face softened as he saw the change in me.
"You’ve heard the truth now, Emily," he said. "Don’t let it slip away. Take what you’ve learned, live it out, and let it guide you. Remember—true faith is not about what we achieve. It’s about who we are in Christ. Humble yourself, serve others, and walk in His grace."
As his words faded, I felt myself drawn back to reality—to the world I had left behind. The place around me—the darkness, the fire, the hopelessness—began to fade as well. It was as if the very essence of my being was being pulled back, away from the depths of despair and toward the light of God’s truth.
Suddenly, everything went dark.
I gasped, the weight of the experience crashing down on me all at once. The soft hum of machines and the beeping of a heart monitor filled the room.
I was no longer in Hell.
I was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by sterile white walls and the gentle hum of the machines that had brought me back to life.
My heart was racing, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if what I had experienced was real or just some vivid dream. But the peace I felt, the transformation I had undergone, was undeniable.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized that I had been given a second chance—a chance to live differently.
I had been shown the truth—the truth about what mattered in life, what it meant to truly follow Christ, and how to live with humility, love, and faith.
And I knew, deep in my heart, that I would never be the same again.
I looked up at the ceiling, my heart filled with gratitude.
"Thank you, God," I whispered. "Thank you for showing me the way."
In that moment, I knew that I had been spiritually transformed. No longer would I search for validation in the wrong places. No longer would I chase after the empty promises of the world.
I had found my true purpose—living humbly before God, serving others, and trusting in His grace.
I had witnessed the reality of what could happen when we allow our pride to lead us astray. And I had learned the value of submitting myself fully to God’s will.
The journey ahead would not be easy—I knew that. But I also knew that I was no longer alone. I had the strength of God’s love to carry me through.
And I was ready to walk in faith—with humility and grace—for the rest of my days.
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a person serving in ministry)
My name is Emily Harris, and I'm 42 now, but looking back, it feels like a lifetime ago that I was just a young girl trying to make sense of a world that always felt too big and too harsh. My parents divorced when I was just eight, and my life was a whirlwind of moving from one foster home to another. I was a lonely child, struggling with the absence of stability. But somewhere in the midst of it all, I found a way to cope—faith. Or, more specifically, I found Billy Graham. I first saw Billy Graham on TV when I was about 14. I remember the day so clearly. My foster mother was sitting in her favorite armchair, watching a program about his crusades, and I happened to be sitting on the floor doing my homework. She told me to come sit next to her and listen to this man.
I remember the way he spoke—his voice was calm but powerful, and his words had this incredible weight. I didn’t understand much about God or faith back then, but there was something in his words that made me want to listen—something that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as alone as I thought. Billy Graham’s messages of salvation spoke directly to my broken heart. He talked about God’s love and grace like it was the one thing that could heal all wounds. The way he spoke about Jesus—how His sacrifice was for everyone, no matter where they came from or what they had done—was revolutionary for me. I grew up feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere, like I wasn’t good enough. But here was this man, this preacher, telling me that I was worthy of God’s love. I clung to that. His sermons became my refuge. I didn’t know much about theology or doctrine, but I knew that when Billy Graham spoke, I felt like I mattered. As I grew older, Billy Graham’s influence didn’t fade—it only grew stronger. When I went off to college, I found myself in a strange new world, full of temptations and distractions. But I remembered his words—how he urged us to live with integrity and to seek God first.
I faced plenty of challenges—loneliness, stress, and even doubts about my own purpose. But it was Billy’s messages that kept me grounded. Whenever I felt myself slipping, I’d turn on one of his old sermons or read one of his books. His words were a lifeline, a constant reminder of God’s promises. There were times—especially when life seemed to be crumbling around me—when I’d feel a deep sense of despair. But then I’d think of Billy’s words about hope, about how Jesus offered peace and healing to anyone who would receive it. I wasn’t perfect—not by any stretch. But I tried to live my life in accordance with what Billy had preached. I wasn’t sure what my purpose was, but I knew I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives the way Billy had made a difference in mine. After I graduated from college, I moved back to New York, where I worked as a schoolteacher. My life was far from glamorous, but I was content. I volunteered at my church, tried to be kind to those around me, and gave what I could to causes that mattered. I didn’t have much, but I believed in the power of small acts of kindness. Billy had taught me that it wasn’t about grand gestures or grand accomplishments—it was about loving people and loving God in my own way. I tried to live that out, even in the face of the everyday struggles that came my way. But life wasn’t always easy. I struggled with relationships, with finances, with finding my own sense of peace. There were times when I felt like I had lost my way—I’d question my purpose, wonder if I was truly living the life God intended for me. I often thought about Billy Graham and how, despite all of his success, he remained so humble and steadfast in his faith. I longed to be like that—to have a deep, unwavering faith that could withstand any storm. Through all my doubts and struggles, though, one thing remained constant: my admiration for Billy Graham. His example of faith was something I held on to. He wasn’t perfect, but his dedication to God, his ability to speak truth into people’s lives—was something that inspired me every day. In my heart, I always believed that if I could live with even a fraction of the faith and purpose that Billy had, I would be doing something right. So even in the darkest of times—when I felt like I was drifting away from God—I’d remember his words. And in those moments of remembering, I would find my way back to Him.
I knew that Jesus was the answer to all of life’s struggles, even if I didn’t always understand how or why. Billy Graham’s message had instilled that truth deep in my heart. And though I didn’t know it then, that truth would soon be put to the ultimate test—in a way I never could have imagined. It had been a long, difficult few years for me. The weight of life’s disappointments was beginning to wear on me. My job at the school had become increasingly stressful, my finances were in disarray, and the wounds from my divorce were still raw. The death of my mother just a year ago had been the final blow. I had always looked to her for comfort and guidance, but now she was gone, leaving me feeling more alone than ever. The grief I carried had become suffocating, and each day seemed to pass in a blur of exhaustion and heartache. I had reached a point where I felt like I couldn’t go on. The pain was too much, the weight too heavy.
One cold winter afternoon, I came home after a particularly grueling day at work. My head throbbed, and my heart ached with a deep sadness that I couldn’t shake. I had tried praying that morning, asking God for some sense of peace, but my words felt hollow—as though they bounced off the ceiling without ever reaching His ears. I could barely hold it together anymore, and I felt the tears threatening to spill as I collapsed onto my couch. As I lay there, feeling utterly defeated, the room seemed to grow darker. The air thickened around me, and I suddenly felt a sensation that I can only describe as being pulled away from everything that was familiar. My vision blurred, and the familiar warmth of my home was replaced by a coldness that seemed to seep into my very soul. I tried to stand up, but my body wouldn’t respond. A sense of vertigo overtook me, and then—I lost consciousness. What happened next, I can only describe as a terrifying out-of-body experience.
I found myself in a place that was utterly foreign and disturbing. The air was heavy, thick with a sense of dread. The ground beneath me was cracked and barren, and an eerie silence filled the space. I couldn’t see anything clearly, but I could feel the presence of something—some force that was dark, oppressive. It was like being trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up. I felt a deep sense of hopelessness wash over me, as though I had been cast into a place of despair with no way out. Before I could gather my thoughts, two shadowy figures approached me. They seemed to glide through the air, their features obscured, but their presence was unmistakably malevolent. They spoke not a word, but their hands reached out to me, pulling me along as they led me through this desolate wasteland. My feet dragged against the ground, and with every step, the weight of the place pressed harder against me—as though it was trying to crush the very life out of me. The figures led me deeper into the darkness, further from any semblance of hope. I had no control over where I was going, and the more I walked, the heavier my heart felt. The air became stifling, each breath harder to take. I could feel an intense heat now—as though the ground was burning beneath me—but I couldn’t escape. It wasn’t a fire that I could see, but it was everywhere, radiating an invisible torment. After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at a large, ominous structure—a fortress of sorts. The towering walls loomed above me, casting long, dark shadows. The figures pulled me toward the entrance, where a door made of rusted iron creaked open.
The moment we stepped inside, the heat intensified. The atmosphere was suffocating, thick with the stench of smoke and decay. I could hear faint cries—wails of agony—but they seemed distant, as though they came from somewhere far beyond this place.
And then—I saw him. Billy Graham. The man whose words had brought me so much hope—now bound in chains, his body writhing in agony. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was Billy Graham—the man who had led millions to Christ, the man who had given me so much strength in my darkest hours. Yet here he was, in this terrifying place, suffering in ways I couldn’t comprehend. His face—once radiant with the peace of God—was now contorted in pain. His clothes were tattered, and his once-confident demeanor was now shattered, replaced by a despair that seemed to echo through the walls of this prison. My heart shattered as I took in the sight. How could this be? How could the man I had admired—the man whose words had always brought me closer to God—be here? It didn’t make sense. I couldn’t understand it. It was like my whole world had come crashing down around me. The figures that had led me here pushed me forward, and I found myself standing just a few feet away from him. Billy Graham looked up, his eyes locking with mine. For a moment, I thought he didn’t recognize me. But then, through the pain, he spoke—his voice was strained, heavy with sorrow, but still unmistakable.
"Emily," he said, his voice trembling. "You’re here because God wanted you to see this. You’re here to understand the truth."
I wanted to scream—to ask him what was going on—but no words came. The shock of seeing him here, in this place, was too much. He continued, his words carrying a weight I could never have anticipated. "I was wrong," he whispered. "I let my pride and my fame overshadow the message of grace. I did not live in the humility that God calls us to. And now—here I am."
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. How could this be true? How could a man who had dedicated his life to preaching the Gospel, leading so many to salvation, end up here? What had gone wrong? I stood there, my mind reeling, trying to make sense of it all—but nothing seemed to add up. The heat, the despair, the cries in the distance—it all felt like a dream, like I was floating in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Yet the reality of it was undeniable. Billy Graham was in hell. And I was here too—witnessing this unimaginable scene. I stood in stunned silence, my heart breaking for the man who had been such an anchor in my life. And as I stood there, I realized with a deep, unsettling truth that something was horribly wrong—not just with Billy, but with me. This place, this experience, was not just about Billy’s mistakes—it was about mine too.
The darkness around me was as much my own fault as it was anyone else’s. I was beginning to understand that this wasn’t just a punishment—it was a lesson. One that I would never forget. The air around me was thick, the heat oppressive, and the weight of the situation pressed down on my chest. I stood frozen, staring at the man who had once been the beacon of hope in my life—Billy Graham. The man whose words had led so many to salvation, now bound in chains, suffering in a place of torment. My mind couldn’t grasp the enormity of what I was seeing. I had always believed that faithfulness to God would protect me—that living in His love and grace would guide me through every storm. But here, in this place—this hellish, suffocating realm—everything I had once known felt like a lie. Billy Graham’s face was contorted with pain, but there was also a deep sorrow in his eyes as they met mine. His lips trembled as he spoke again, his voice a mix of regret and shame. "Emily," he said, the words coming out softly, almost as though he was struggling to speak. "I never wanted you to see this. But God wanted you to understand." I couldn’t speak. The words seemed to be trapped in my throat. How could this be happening? How could someone like Billy Graham—a man who had brought so many people to Christ—end up here, in this unimaginable place? It didn’t make sense.
The more I looked at him, the more my heart shattered. I wanted to run away, to escape the nightmare, but I couldn’t move. I felt frozen in place, unable to comprehend what was unfolding before me.
Billy took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with difficulty despite the chains that bound him. His eyes shone with a quiet intensity, as if he knew something deeper, something beyond this moment, that he needed to share. Slowly, he began to speak again, and his words carried a weight that I couldn’t ignore.
"I was wrong," Billy said, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought I was doing God’s will, but I didn’t understand it completely. I let the fame, the crowds, the adoration blind me to the truth. I let my pride take over, and I turned my ministry into something about me—not about God."
I was still processing his words, but something about his tone, something in the way he spoke, made me believe him. There was no arrogance, no self-justification in his voice—just a deep, aching regret. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his body sagged with the weight of his mistakes.
"I preached the Gospel," he continued, "and many people were saved through the message. But I allowed my own ambition to cloud my purpose. I thought I was serving God, but in truth, I was serving my own ego. I used His name, His grace, to build an empire—a legacy—when all He ever asked of me was to live humbly and to serve with a pure heart."
His words hit me like a wave crashing over me, leaving me breathless. I had spent years of my life listening to his sermons, taking them to heart, believing in the goodness of his message. How could he have been so wrong? How could someone who had preached the message of Christ to millions—someone who had devoted his life to ministry—end up here, in the very pit of Hell?
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout that this couldn’t be true, that he didn’t deserve this. But as I stood there, looking into Billy Graham’s eyes, I realized that it wasn’t just him who had failed. It wasn’t just his pride and mistakes that had brought him here—it was the failure of all of us to fully understand the depths of God’s grace, His mercy, and the call to live humbly before Him.
Billy seemed to sense my confusion and pain. He looked at me with deep sympathy, as though he could see the turmoil inside me.
"Emily," he said softly, "I never wanted anyone to follow me. I wanted them to follow Christ. But I failed to point them to Him in the way I lived. I allowed the trappings of fame, of success, to take precedence over the true message of the Gospel. And now… I’m paying the price for that."
I could feel my heart breaking as I listened to him speak. His words were not just a confession of his own failings—they were a mirror of my own. How many times had I sought comfort in the wrong places? How often had I let my own pride, my own desires, guide me instead of seeking God’s will?
I had admired Billy Graham for his faithfulness, but now, standing in this place with him, I saw the truth. His faith, his message, had been compromised by his own human weaknesses.
I wanted to ask him more questions—to know how it had happened, how he had fallen so far despite his knowledge of the Gospel. But before I could speak, Billy raised a hand, his eyes filled with both sorrow and hope.
"Don’t judge me too harshly," he said. "I was a man like anyone else. I made mistakes, just as we all do. But this is the point I want you to understand—it’s not about the crowds, the fame, or the legacy we leave behind. It’s about living each day in humility, in surrender to God’s will. It’s about understanding that we are nothing without His grace."
I stood there, taking in every word. For the first time, I saw Billy Graham not as a larger-than-life figure, but as a man—flawed, broken, yet still carrying the weight of his mistakes. And in that moment, I understood something deeply important.
This place—this Hell—wasn’t just a punishment for sin. It was a reminder of how easily we can lose our way if we don’t keep our focus on the right things. It wasn’t enough to just speak the words of the Gospel—we had to live them, to embody them with every choice we made.
Billy’s face softened, and he gave me a faint smile—though it was filled with sadness.
"Remember this, Emily," he said. "The greatest thing we can do is to live humbly before God—not for recognition, but for His glory. Seek Him first, and He will guide you."
His words lingered in the air as the darkness around us seemed to press in closer. And even as I stood in this dreadful place, with Billy Graham still bound in chains before me, I felt a flicker of hope—a small, quiet assurance that despite our failures, God’s grace was still available if we were willing to humble ourselves and seek Him.
There was always a way back.
Billy Graham’s voice was soft, but there was an intensity behind his words that seemed to penetrate deep into my soul as he spoke. He continued to reflect on his life and the many ways his personal desires had influenced his ministry. His eyes, though filled with sorrow, held a depth of understanding. It was as though he now saw clearly the mistakes that had led him to this very moment—standing in Hell, bound in chains.
Each word he spoke felt like a lesson, a warning for me and for anyone who would listen.
"I never set out to be famous," Billy began, his voice slightly trembling. "I didn’t seek the spotlight, but the crowds came. The message of salvation drew people in, and I was given a platform to share the good news. But with that platform came a pressure I wasn’t fully prepared for. The larger the ministry became, the more I focused on how to maintain it. I began to believe that the success of my ministry was a reflection of my own faithfulness. But in truth, it was more about my ego than my obedience."
I could feel a pang of guilt wash over me as I listened to him. Billy Graham—the man I had admired for so long—was admitting to the very things I feared within myself. I had seen how easy it was to get caught up in external measures of success—how many people attended a church service, how much money was raised for a cause, how widely recognized your name became. But I had never considered that these things could lead someone astray.
I had always thought that fame and success were signs of divine favor. But Billy’s words began to challenge that belief.
"I thought that by speaking to thousands of people, by filling stadiums, I was doing God’s will," he continued. "But what I didn’t realize is that I started to think more about the impact I was having than the true message of the Gospel. I let the applause, the recognition, and the praise cloud my focus. I began to think that my success was proof that I was on the right path. But all the while, I was losing sight of the humility and surrender that God truly desires from us."
His confession was striking—so raw, so personal. I could feel the weight of it, and I understood the deep regret behind his words. He wasn’t just telling me about his failures—he was warning me, showing me how easy it was to get caught up in the trappings of success and forget the very essence of the Gospel: humility, selflessness, and surrender to God’s will.
"I let my fame become an idol," Billy said, his eyes filling with a sadness that was almost palpable. "I thought that as long as I was bringing people to Christ, the means didn’t matter. But I didn’t always focus on the message. I didn’t always speak with the humility that I should have. I was so concerned about maintaining the image of a perfect servant of God that I lost sight of the fact that I was a man just like anyone else—in need of grace."
I wanted to ask him more—to know exactly how he had let his ego distort his ministry. But as I stood there in the darkness, I realized that it wasn’t just Billy who had failed in this way. It was a lesson for all of us—a warning about the dangers of elevating ourselves above God’s purpose.
How often do we allow our pride and ambition to take precedence over what truly matters? How many times do we justify our actions in the name of success or recognition, only to find ourselves empty inside?
Billy’s voice softened, and he looked at me with compassion in his eyes.
"Emily, you must understand—God is not interested in your public image or how many people know your name. He’s interested in your heart. He’s interested in how you live when no one is watching—how you serve when it’s not convenient, how you surrender when the world is telling you to fight for your own glory. That’s what He cares about."
His words hit me with a force I wasn’t prepared for. I had spent so many years trying to prove my worth, trying to live up to expectations—both my own and those of others. I had allowed my worth to be defined by what I did, by how much I achieved, by how others saw me. But Billy’s words pierced through the façade I had built.
It wasn’t about me. It was never about me.
I looked at him again, his face etched with regret and remorse, and I felt a deep sense of sadness. Here was a man who had done so much good in the world, who had preached the Gospel to millions—and yet, he was admitting that he had allowed his pride and his ego to cloud his ministry. It was a sobering realization.
"True ministry isn’t about recognition," Billy said quietly. "It’s about pointing others to Jesus—not to yourself. It’s about serving humbly, without seeking glory, without worrying about how you’re perceived. It’s about the quiet acts of love, the unseen prayers, the small sacrifices that no one will ever know about. That is where true faith lies."
I stood there in silence, absorbing his words, letting them sink deep into my heart. The flames that surrounded him seemed to flicker and dance, but they no longer frightened me. What terrified me was the realization that I, too, had been living my life in search of the wrong things.
I had been seeking approval, validation, and recognition—all while thinking that I was serving God. But in truth, I had been serving my own desires. And now, standing in this place, I saw that the pursuit of fame and success could easily become a distraction from the true purpose of faith: to live humbly, to serve others, and to glorify God.
Billy’s face softened, and for the first time, I saw a glimmer of peace in his eyes. He seemed to accept his fate with a quiet understanding, knowing that his time in this place was a result of his own choices, his own missteps. But his words—his warnings—would stay with me forever.
"Emily," he said, his voice barely a whisper now, "don’t make the same mistakes I did. Keep your heart humble. Serve God with everything you have—but don’t seek recognition. Don’t seek glory. Only seek Him."
As his words echoed in my ears, the darkness around us seemed to fade, and the heat of Hell began to recede. The lesson he had shared with me was clear: the greatest calling in life was not to be seen, but to serve in quiet obedience—to live humbly before God and to point others to Him.
Billy Graham’s words continued to echo in my heart as he began to reflect even more deeply on his life, his ministry, and the legacy he had built. The flames flickered around us, but they no longer felt as threatening. Instead, they seemed to provide the backdrop for this profound conversation.
As I stood there listening, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his reflections. And I understood—perhaps for the first time—the true nature of faith.
"There’s something I never fully grasped until now, Emily," Billy said, his voice soft but steady. "The greatest moments in my life weren’t the massive stadium revivals or the thousands of people who came forward to accept Christ. It wasn’t in the praise, the accolades, or even the book deals. No—the greatest moments of my ministry were the quiet moments—the unseen prayers, the private conversations, the small acts of faith. That’s where the real ministry took place."
I watched him carefully as he spoke, his face illuminated by the flickering light of the flames around us. There was a humility in his tone—something that contradicted the man I had seen on television for years. The Billy Graham I had admired was always so polished, so confident in his preaching. And now, in this dark place, I saw the man behind the public figure—vulnerable, reflective, and deeply repentant.
His understanding of the Gospel was far deeper than I had ever realized.
"People remember the big moments," he continued, "but they don’t often realize that it’s the quiet moments that matter the most. When you take the time to listen to someone, to show them love when no one else will, to serve without expecting anything in return—that’s where the heart of ministry is."
I thought back to my own life. How often had I sought out recognition for my good deeds? How many times had I tried to prove my worth by doing something spectacular, hoping to be noticed, to be appreciated?
I had lived much of my life looking for validation from others, thinking that the more I achieved or the more I was seen, the more valuable I became. But now, standing in Hell, hearing Billy Graham speak, I understood that the true measure of a life well-lived in faith was not in how many people knew your name or how big your accomplishments were.
It was in the unseen—the quiet obedience, the moments when no one was looking, when you simply did what was right because God called you to do it.
Billy’s gaze softened as he continued.
"It’s easy to get caught up in the numbers, in the crowds. We live in a world that values success by the standards of this world—how much money you have, how many people follow you, how many books you sell. But none of that matters when it comes to God. He doesn’t care about the size of your ministry or how many people know your name. What matters is whether you are faithful in the small things. Can you serve without needing to be seen? Can you love without expecting anything in return?"
His words cut deep, and for a moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. I had spent so much of my life chasing after things that didn’t matter. I had tried to fill the emptiness inside of me with recognition, with the approval of others, with the illusion of success.
But now, as Billy Graham spoke, I saw the futility of it all.
True ministry wasn’t about how much you could accomplish. It was about being faithful to God’s call—even when no one was watching.
"We are not called to be famous, Emily," Billy said, his voice filled with gentle conviction. "We are called to be faithful—to serve others, to love them, and to point them to Christ. And sometimes, the most powerful ministry happens in the places no one sees. It’s in the quiet moments—when you choose to love your neighbor, to forgive the person who wronged you, to help the person in need even when no one else will. That is what God cares about."
I felt my heart begin to shift, as if a weight I had been carrying for so long was being lifted. The search for recognition, the desire to be seen and praised, seemed so trivial now.
In that moment, I realized that the true legacy we leave is not built on the applause of the world, but on the quiet, humble acts of faith that we offer up to God. Those were the moments that truly mattered.
Billy’s voice softened, and for a brief moment, he was silent. I could feel the depth of his understanding, and I knew that he had found a peace that I had yet to discover.
"I’ve spent my life preaching the Gospel, Emily," he said quietly. "But I wish I had spent more time just loving people—without any expectation. I wish I’d been more like Christ—humble, servant-hearted, loving without asking for anything in return. I hope that’s the legacy I leave behind—not in the books or the stadiums, but in the hearts of those I’ve touched."
I stood there, absorbing his words, knowing that they were meant for me as much as they were for him. I’d spent so much of my life focused on outward success—on seeking recognition, on proving myself. But Billy’s words had opened my eyes to a greater truth—the truth that true success in God’s eyes was not about how much you could achieve, but about how faithfully you served Him and others—even in the smallest of ways.
As Billy’s reflection came to an end, I felt a deep sense of peace wash over me. The flames around us seemed to fade, and I was filled with a quiet assurance that I had learned something invaluable.
It wasn’t about the grand gestures or the public accolades. It was about living humbly, serving faithfully, and loving without expecting anything in return. That was the kind of legacy I wanted to leave behind—one that pointed others to Christ, not to myself.
And in that moment, I knew that I was beginning to understand the true essence of faith.
As Billy Graham finished sharing his reflections, the heavy atmosphere surrounding us began to shift. The once oppressive heat and darkness of the place seemed to retreat, replaced by a peace that I had not known before. It was as though the flames themselves were flickering less violently, responding to the transformation taking place in my own heart.
I stood there, my mind racing with the truths he had revealed. But something deeper was stirring within me. It was as if my very soul was being recalibrated, my priorities realigned.
I had come into this place lost, confused, and overwhelmed by my struggles. But now, there was a sense of clarity—an awakening that I could not deny.
Billy looked at me with compassionate eyes.
"Emily," he said softly, "it’s never too late to turn to God. Even now, you have the chance to surrender everything to Him. The key to peace, to joy, to purpose, is not in the applause of the world—but in the quiet surrender to God’s will."
His voice was filled with the wisdom of someone who had walked a long and difficult road—someone who had come to understand that the answer to all the turmoil of life was found in the love and grace of God.
For the first time in my life, I understood what he meant.
I’d always been searching—searching for validation, for success, for answers. I’d sought meaning in so many places, thinking that if I could just achieve more or be more, I would finally feel whole.
But now, I realized that the true peace I had longed for could never be found in external achievements. It was only found in submitting myself fully to God—in recognizing that His love and grace were sufficient, no matter what my circumstances were.
Billy’s words began to echo in my mind as I thought about my life—the struggles I had faced, the mistakes I had made, the brokenness I had carried. It all seemed to fade into the background as I stood there, bathed in the light of truth.
I had been living for so long with the false belief that I had to earn my worth—that I had to be seen and validated by others. But now, I understood that I had always been valued by God—not for what I could do, but simply because I was His.
A deep, overwhelming peace washed over me, and I felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. For the first time, I truly grasped the concept of grace—how, despite my flaws, despite my failures, God loved me just as I was.
I didn’t need to prove myself. I didn’t need to chase after the world’s approval. All I needed was to trust in God’s plan for me and surrender to His will.
Billy’s face softened as he saw the change in me.
"You’ve heard the truth now, Emily," he said. "Don’t let it slip away. Take what you’ve learned, live it out, and let it guide you. Remember—true faith is not about what we achieve. It’s about who we are in Christ. Humble yourself, serve others, and walk in His grace."
As his words faded, I felt myself drawn back to reality—to the world I had left behind. The place around me—the darkness, the fire, the hopelessness—began to fade as well. It was as if the very essence of my being was being pulled back, away from the depths of despair and toward the light of God’s truth.
Suddenly, everything went dark.
I gasped, the weight of the experience crashing down on me all at once. The soft hum of machines and the beeping of a heart monitor filled the room.
I was no longer in Hell.
I was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by sterile white walls and the gentle hum of the machines that had brought me back to life.
My heart was racing, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if what I had experienced was real or just some vivid dream. But the peace I felt, the transformation I had undergone, was undeniable.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized that I had been given a second chance—a chance to live differently.
I had been shown the truth—the truth about what mattered in life, what it meant to truly follow Christ, and how to live with humility, love, and faith.
And I knew, deep in my heart, that I would never be the same again.
I looked up at the ceiling, my heart filled with gratitude.
"Thank you, God," I whispered. "Thank you for showing me the way."
In that moment, I knew that I had been spiritually transformed. No longer would I search for validation in the wrong places. No longer would I chase after the empty promises of the world.
I had found my true purpose—living humbly before God, serving others, and trusting in His grace.
I had witnessed the reality of what could happen when we allow our pride to lead us astray. And I had learned the value of submitting myself fully to God’s will.
The journey ahead would not be easy—I knew that. But I also knew that I was no longer alone. I had the strength of God’s love to carry me through.
And I was ready to walk in faith—with humility and grace—for the rest of my days.
Near Death Experience 4
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a Model Christian in hell)
My name is Ezra Whitmore. I am 55 years old, and I was born in the heart of the American South, in Charleston, South Carolina—a city marked by its traditions, its history, and above all, by faith.
I grew up in a deeply Christian family where prayer was as natural as breathing. My mother, a woman of unshakable faith, was the first to teach me to bend my knees. From a very young age, my routine began and ended with a conversation with God. When I woke up, I would give thanks for life; at night, I would ask for protection for myself and my loved ones. And so I continued for decades, repeating this ritual like brushing my teeth or drinking coffee—without questioning it, without overthinking it.
Throughout my youth and most of my adult life, this faith was the backbone of my existence. I attended church every Sunday, helped out at community events, read the Bible regularly, and tried to live by its teachings. I honestly thought that was enough. I was doing everything right. I was a model Christian—or so I liked to think.
I worked as an accountant for over 30 years. I married Abigail, my high school sweetheart, and together we built a stable and peaceful life. We had two wonderful children, bought a charming home on the outskirts of town, and became active in our local church. In the eyes of others, we were an example of a Christian family. And I was proud of that. I was proud of the reputation we had, the life we led—as if all of this were proof that we were on the right path to heaven.
But the truth is that deep down, there was a quiet arrogance inside me—a kind of pride disguised as devotion. Without realizing it, I began to judge those who did not follow in my footsteps. Those who did not go to church, who lived differently, were unconsciously "less" to me—less committed to God, less worthy of salvation. I didn’t say it out loud, of course. Maybe I didn’t even admit it to myself. But that’s what I felt—as if I were somehow on a higher spiritual level.
This, I realized today, was one of the most insidious sins: spiritual pride.
I’ve never been one to believe in a literal hell of fire and brimstone. To me, those images always seemed more like metaphors than realities—something used to teach lessons, not to describe destinies. I saw myself as far removed from all that. After all, I followed the rules, didn’t I? I prayed, I read the Bible, I loved my family. In my mind, that was enough.
But life—or perhaps God—has a curious way of putting us in our place.
And it was on a day that should have been one of joy and celebration that everything changed.
It was a summer Saturday—one of those days that seems tailor-made for a fairy tale. The sky was so blue it was dazzling, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of newly bloomed flowers. I woke up excited. That day would be special—the wedding of Mark, my childhood friend. We grew up together, attended the same services, and laughed together at church retreats. Now, he was about to marry the woman he loved.
I arrived early for the ceremony, which was to be held outdoors in a lovely garden on the outskirts of the city. I helped with the final preparations—I arranged some chairs and lined up the petals on the path where the bride and groom would walk. Everything looked perfect: the green lawn, the impeccably lined-up white chairs, the flower arch that served as an altar. Even the breeze seemed to have been sent directly from heaven.
During the ceremony, when Mark and his bride exchanged vows, I felt my heart fill with gratitude. I thought about my wife, my children, and the life I had built with so much effort and faith. I silently thanked God for everything He had given me. It was one of those moments when everything seemed to fall into place.
After the "I do," everyone went to the reception. The atmosphere was cheerful—full of light, music, laughter, hugs, and reunions. I walked among the guests, talking to friends I hadn’t seen in years, exchanging stories, remembering old times. It was impossible not to feel happy.
It was then that I approached the cake table.
The cake looked like a hand-sculpted work of art—four tall layers of flawless white frosting, decorated with sugar flowers so delicate they looked freshly plucked from a heavenly garden. It seemed almost sacrilegious to cut it.
When the waiter began to serve the slices, I—without hesitation—approached the table and accepted a piece. It was a moment of celebration, of communion. And I confess that not for a second did I think about asking about the ingredients.
I have always taken my peanut allergy very seriously. Since childhood, I was taught to read labels as carefully as one reads the Bible. In restaurants, I would often find myself asking waiters and chefs what was in each dish. But there, in that atmosphere of joy and trust, surrounded by fellow believers, I let my guard down. After all, we were at a Christian wedding. Why would there be anything there that could harm me?
I took the first bite.
It was immediate.
At first, I thought it was just the emotion of the moment—a slight tingling in my throat, perhaps from smiling so much, from talking so much. But within a few seconds, that familiar and dreaded feeling began to intensify. An uncomfortable itch. My throat starting to close up, as if an invisible fist was squeezing inside. My heart raced.
I tried to stay calm. I thought, It can’t be. Not here. Not today.
But it was.
I looked around, and suddenly everything seemed to be spinning slowly. The laughter and music became distant echoes, as if I were underwater. I started to look for Abigail, my wife. I wanted to scream her name, but my voice was failing. A barely formed "Help" escaped my lips—barely audible.
I felt my legs go weak. And before I could understand what was happening, everything around me began to darken.
The last image I have is of Abigail’s face leaning over me—her eyes wide, frightened, and tears falling silently down my face. She was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her anymore. My world was plunged into silence.
At that moment, the only thing I could do was pray.
God, please forgive me.
I didn’t know exactly what sin I was asking forgiveness for. Maybe for everything. Maybe because I lived an automatic faith, because I felt superior, because I judged, because I forgot about grace. It was a desperate, naked, true plea—the most sincere I’ve ever made in my life.
And then—it was all gone.
It wasn’t like sleeping. It wasn’t like being awake, either. It was something else—an existence without form, without weight, without time. There was no ground beneath my feet. In fact, I didn’t even know if I still had feet. It was as if my body had disappeared, and all that was left was my consciousness, floating in an immense void.
At first, the panic was absolute. I tried to scream, but there was no sound. I tried to move, but there were no muscles to command. It was like being trapped in a dream with no body, no direction, no control.
Is this it? I thought. Is this where it all ends?
The weather—I don’t know—that did not obey the time as we know it. It could have been seconds, hours, or years. There, time did not exist.
But little by little, something in me began to quiet down. Fear gave way to reflection. I began to remember my life with impressive clarity. They weren’t flashes, like the movies say. It was deeper. I saw my attitudes, my choices, my silences, my judgments. I felt every moment as if I were living it all over again—but this time through the eyes of truth.
It was then that, in the middle of that absolute void, a point of light appeared—tiny at first, so small I thought I was imagining it. But as I focused my attention on it, I noticed it growing larger—or maybe it was me getting closer to it.
It was a light unlike any other I had ever seen. It didn’t hurt my eyes. It didn’t blind me. It was warm, welcoming, and at the same time, immense, majestic—as if it contained the entire universe within itself.
And then—I felt it.
I didn’t see anyone, but I knew there was a presence—huge, ineffable. It was as if all reality around me had been swallowed up by something infinitely larger than myself.
For the first time in my life, I felt something that I can only describe as the very presence of God.
And then—I heard the voice.
It wasn’t with my ears—I no longer had ears. The voice spoke directly to my conscience. It was soft, but at the same time, it had a weight that ran through everything—an authority so absolute that it silenced even the last vestige of my ego.
"Ezra," said the voice, "it’s time to see what you’ve always denied."
At that moment, I was overcome with awe. Part of me wanted to retreat, to disappear back into the darkness. But another part—deeper, truer—knew that this was a turning point. Something inside me whispered, "You have to see it."
And that’s when everything started to change.
The light around me began to transform in an almost magical way—as if a new world were being woven before my eyes (or rather, before my consciousness, since my body seemed to no longer exist). Colors and shapes appeared in the void—at first vaguely and fluidly, then with astonishing clarity.
It was as if I were being driven—without choice, without direction of my own—by a force that was at once irresistible and absolute.
And that’s when I saw it.
Not an allegory. Not a symbolic illustration. But hell—real, cruel, undeniable.
I, who had spent my life doubting its literal existence, found myself standing before it—forced to face a reality I never imagined I would witness, let alone experience.
If I had still had a physical body, I am certain I would have fainted on the spot. But in that pure state of consciousness, there was no escape. I was completely vulnerable, exposed to that devastating sight.
What I saw was beyond any nightmare, any warning sermon.
The ground beneath me—if it could even be called a ground—was cracked, burned, vibrating with a suffocating heat, as if each fissure hid an ancient pain. The air, thick as smoke from a thousand fires, was filled with the smell of sulfur—and something worse: despair—a scent that seemed to take root within the soul.
All around me, flames danced. They were not like the fire we know. They were alive. They had a will. They writhed like hungry snakes, stretching out as if seeking to touch, to envelop, to consume. They were flames that burned not flesh but spirit—fire that fed on guilt, on belated regret.
And then came the screams.
Screams that seemed to cross dimensions, coming from all sides at once. They were human voices, yes—but torn apart by pain, by remorse, by the loss of all hope. It was an eternal, continuous, desperate lament—a somber chorus that made any thought of peace impossible.
I tried to shield myself from that sound. Instinctively, I wanted to cover my ears—but I had no ears, and the sound somehow penetrated directly into my soul—without filter, without relief.
It was at that moment—at the height of horror—that something inside me snapped.
I turned my gaze (or felt my consciousness being pulled) to a part of that hellish landscape—and what I saw completely disarmed me.
In the midst of the flames, I saw faces.
Familiar faces.
Mr. Thompson—the deacon of our church, always so respected, so careful with the Scriptures—he stood there, covered in flames, his eyes fixed on something only he could see, an expression of pain that no words could describe.
And beside him was Mrs. Jenkins—always present at Sunday services, always smiling—now her face was a mask of pure suffering, contorted as if it were made of melted wax.
I recognized others. Many others. People I had prayed with, worshiped with, served in ministries with—people who, in my mind, were examples of faith.
They were there—as if frozen in an eternal state of belated regret.
As I asked, desperate, "How is this possible? These people were good. They lived in the church. They talked about God."
It was then that the voice returned—the same voice that enveloped me in that light, that spoke directly to the essence of my being.
"Ezra," He said—with tenderness, but also with sadness--"what you see here is not the result of great crimes or obvious evils. What brought these souls here is something more subtle, more insidious: pride."
I was confused. "Pride?" I repeated, still in shock. "But these people were humble servants of God."
The answer came like a cold current that passed through my consciousness:
"The pride of believing that your actions, your prayers, your presence in church were enough to deserve heaven. The pride of silently judging others, of feeling better for fulfilling rituals. The pride of never truly repenting—because deep down, you never believed you needed forgiveness."
Those words cut me like a sharp blade.
And then—like a terrible mirror—I saw myself.
I saw how many times I had done the same thing. How many times I had prayed mechanically. How many times I had gone to church out of habit. How many times I had looked down on those who lived differently.
I had always thought I was right—on the right path. But had I ever really sought transformation? Or had I merely dressed myself in the guise of holiness?
The voice continued—firm but compassionate:
"See, Ezra. See what pride does to the soul."
My attention was then drawn to another group of figures in distress—pastors, spiritual leaders, men and women I knew by name, by fame, by preaching.
They were trapped in a torturous cycle—constantly reliving the moments when they could have turned to God in brokenness of heart but chose the easy way out: self-indulgence, the illusion that they were saved by their own merit.
One of them—a renowned preacher whose sermons I had admired in my youth—cried out in heart-rending pain:
"I preached about hell, but I never believed it was real. I thought my pretty words, my charitable works would be enough."
At that moment, I understood:
It is not the appearance of faith that saves. It is not the rituals, the positions, the good deeds. It is true repentance—humility before grace.
And I—I was dangerously close to falling into the same trap.
Another pastor—someone I knew personally—was crying in the midst of the flames like a lost child.
"I judged others," he regretted. "I believed I was better than them. Now I see that my heart was filled with pride and hypocrisy."
Every word, every cry was like a blade piercing my soul.
I saw in them a reflection of what I was—of what I had become without even realizing it.
The image of these men and women—people I had always admired for their faith—now plunged into eternal suffering forced me to face the truth I had always avoided.
I was just like them.
My faith—which I had always considered strong and true—was just a shell. It was built on customs, habits, and appearances.
I followed the rules, yes. I went to church, yes. I prayed. I read the Bible. I helped with church outreaches.
But all of this was done with the confidence of someone who believes they already have heaven guaranteed—and not with a truly broken heart.
My faith was automatic. Superficial. And empty.
"Why am I seeing this?" I asked, feeling my conscience tremble under the weight of guilt, shame, fear.
The answer came with the same firm and gentle clarity as the previous time:
"So that you can understand. So that you can change. Ezra, you are being given a second chance—a chance to see the truth and choose the right path."
At that moment, something inside me snapped.
A wave of humility and gratitude washed over me in a way I had never experienced before.
I realized how close I had come to being there—among those tormented souls—and not because of any blatant sins, but because of the subtle, silent, and destructive sin of spiritual pride.
"What should I do?" I asked—small before the greatness of God, broken by the truth.
The voice responded with a tenderness that could only come from heaven:
"Return. And live in true humility. Seek genuine repentance. Judge not. Assume not. Love. Serve. And never forget what you have seen."
These words weren’t just spoken—they were branded into my soul.
And then, slowly, the vision began to fade.
The flames, the screams, the suffering faces—everything began to dissolve like mist at dawn.
But what I felt—it didn’t go away.
The impact of that was permanently etched on me.
The first thing I felt was pain—a sharp pain tearing through my throat, as if I had swallowed glass.
My eyes slowly opened—blinded by a bright white light. For a moment, I was disoriented.
Where was the fire? Where were the screams? The smell of sulfur?
Little by little, the environment around me began to take shape.
I was in a hospital room.
The steady, monotonous sound of a heart monitor filled the air. Machines hummed softly around me. I tried to move my arms, but my body felt as heavy as lead.
Then I felt something—a hand squeezing mine.
I turned my head with effort—and saw Abigail.
She was there, sitting next to me, her eyes closed in prayer. She was holding my hand so tightly, as if her very soul was connected to mine in that grip.
"Abby," I whispered, with difficulty—my voice scratching in my throat.
Her eyes opened immediately—full of tears, full of love.
"Ezra! Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed, rising and leaning over me, wrapping me in a delicate embrace—as if she feared I might fall apart.
In the next few minutes, the room filled with doctors and nurses. They took my blood pressure, checked my vital signs, and asked me questions I could barely answer.
I discovered that I had suffered a severe anaphylactic reaction. My heart had stopped. There was no heartbeat for several minutes before I was revived. I had been in a coma for 3 days.
But as they talked about oxygen, adrenaline, and medical statistics, my mind was elsewhere.
What I saw. The hell. The screams. The revelation of the pride that was eating away at my soul.
All of it swelled in my head with more reality than the white room around me.
Was it real? Was it just a dream? A delirium caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain?
I may never have a concrete answer.
But when I looked at Abigail—when I saw the love and relief in her eyes—I knew one thing for sure:
Dream or not--that changed me forever.
The feeling of having been on the brink of eternal damnation—of having seen the abyss beneath the feet of my comfortable faith—was overwhelming.
It didn’t matter whether others believed it or not.
I knew what I had lived through.
"Ezra, are you okay?" Abigail asked, touching my face tenderly, noticing my distant gaze.
I swallowed hard. Tears formed in my eyes.
"Abby," I muttered, my voice cracking, "I—I saw things. I need to tell you."
She squeezed my hand tighter, her eyes now full of concern and affection.
"It’s okay, honey. You’re safe now."
But I knew—no.
Everything was not okay.
Nothing would be normal anymore.
Nothing would be the same anymore.
The words I heard in that light kept echoing within me like a constant call:
"Return. And live with true humility."
How to describe the indescribable?
How could I put into words the profound and silent transformation that had taken place within me?
My family listened to me—with love, with sincere concern in their eyes. Abigail, my children, my close friends—they all listened to me attentively.
But I could see in their eyes a silent doubt. A distance.
And how could I blame them?
They had not seen what I saw. They had not heard that voice. They had not felt the weight of that judgment, nor the pain of the spiritual flames.
The doctors—with their clipboards and clinical explanations—talked about "hallucinations induced by cerebral hypoxia"—a fancy term for lack of oxygen. They claimed that what I experienced was just a manifestation of the brain dying—a kind of vivid death dream.
But I knew—with every fiber of my soul—that it wasn’t.
It was too real. Too painful. Too transformative.
What I experienced was not just the awakening from a physical coma.
It was the end of a spiritual sleep that lasted my entire life.
When I was released from the hospital, I came home with a mission.
It wasn’t to go around preaching or trying to convince others.
No.
It was a personal mission. A mission of reconstruction. Of purification. Of true repentance.
For the first time, I wanted to live in a way that actually reflected the faith I had always professed but never truly embraced.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Decades of pride, of knee-jerk religiosity, of spiritual self-satisfaction wouldn’t be undone overnight.
But now—I saw.
For the first time, I saw clearly.
Abigail was helping me up the porch steps when I stopped in the doorway. I looked up at the sky—which on that spring morning seemed bluer and higher than ever—and whispered, almost without a voice:
"Thank You. Not only for the second chance at life—but for the opportunity to live for real."
In the days and weeks that followed, I dove into deep introspection.
It was as if I had spent my entire life looking at myself through a foggy mirror—and suddenly, the glass had been wiped clean.
What I saw didn’t please me—but it freed me.
Every thought, every old behavior was now placed in a new light—a raw, painful, and necessary light.
The first challenge was to deal with the shock of realization.
For years--decades—I had convinced myself that I was on the right path.
I went to church every week. I prayed before meals. I attended events. I tithed.
I thought that was faith.
I thought that was being saved.
But now, I saw—it was all surface. Appearance. Custom.
I began to question everything.
Every prayer said on autopilot. Every act of charity done with the hidden intention of being seen. Every moment of worship lived more as an obligation than as a dedication.
Guilt gnawed me inside. Shame accompanied me in every silence.
How could I have been so blind?
Abigail noticed, of course. She noticed.
One afternoon, as we sat on the porch, she gently touched my hand and said:
"Ezra, you haven’t been the same since you got back from the hospital. I’m worried about you."
I sighed, not knowing where to begin.
"Abby," I saw things. Things that made me see how wrong I was."
She frowned, her eyes watering. "Honey, you’ve been through a trauma. It’s natural to feel confused. But you’ve always been a man of faith. Don’t let this destroy your trust in God."
Ah, Abigail.
But that was exactly it.
That "strong faith" that everyone saw in me was part of the problem.
It was a proud faith. Presumptuous. Full of empty certainties.
I began to drift away from the church—not because of loss of faith, but because of pain.
Every time I walked through the doors of that temple, I saw the faces of those I had seen in hell—brothers and sisters who, like me, thought they were saved just by being there.
The hypocrisy—not just theirs, but mine—was too painful to bear.
Friends began to comment. Some said I was "in crisis." Others suggested therapy, psychologists. I even heard "exorcism" from a more exalted brother.
But no one understood—I was not losing faith.
I was trying to find her—for real.
For the first time.
I spent entire nights awake, reading the Bible as if it were the first time.
And in a way, it was.
Words that had previously gone unnoticed now came alive.
Verses about humility. About true repentance. About broken hearts—leaped from the pages like an arrow piercing my chest.
I cried while reading.
I cried because I saw all that I had wasted.
I cried because I realized that for years, I had been close to the cross—but never really reached it.
I surrendered to her.
There was a passage in the Bible that I had previously read without paying much attention to—but now, it struck me like a thunderbolt in my soul.
It is in Matthew 7:21-23, where Jesus says:
"Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, in your name cast out demons, and perform many miracles?’ Then I will profess to them, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers.’"
These words echoed inside me like death nails.
I saw myself there—in that crowd of religious people who were devout on the outside but empty on the inside.
How many times had I also said, "Lord, Lord."
How many times had I acted right only on the outside—without ever truly giving my heart?
How many times had I confused devotion with performance?
The internal struggle that followed was one of the most difficult of my life.
There were times when I wanted to give up—to return to the comfortable ignorance of superficial faith that I had before.
It would have been so much easier to just pretend that nothing had changed—to continue with my routine, with my polished image as a "good Christian."
But every time that temptation arose, the memory of what I saw on the other side would pull me back.
The sound of the screams. The empty eyes of pain. The words of the voice that spoke to me.
I couldn’t go back.
Over time, I began to understand that the discomfort burning inside me was not something to be avoided.
It was part of the breaking process.
It was the pain needed to tear down the altar of my own pride.
I finally understood—it wasn’t about being perfect or following rules with surgical precision.
It was about recognizing my fallibility. My constant need for God’s grace. My silent desperation for forgiveness—not just once, but every day.
One night, alone in my home office, my eyes glued to the same page of the Bible for nearly an hour, I finally gave in.
I fell to my knees—and I cried.
They weren’t tears of fear or self-pity.
They were tears of genuine repentance—a weight that I didn’t even know I was carrying, falling apart before a God who, even hurt by my indifference, had never abandoned me.
At that moment—for the first time—I felt that I was really talking to God.
Not a distant God, trapped behind stained-glass windows and pulpits.
But a present, loving Father—waiting for the return of His lost son.
Of me.
That night marked a silent turning point.
I was ready to start over.
Weeks passed.
The near-death experience and the vision of hell had demolished the fragile pillars on which my faith had been built.
Now, I had to rebuild—not on sand, as before, but on the rock of humility and true understanding.
This new beginning began with a simple but deeply meaningful gesture.
One Sunday morning, instead of going to church—as I had done for decades—I took my Bible and went to a park near my home.
I sat on a wooden bench, feeling the sun warm my face and the wind caress my neck.
I didn’t go to run away from faith.
I went to find it again.
I opened the Bible with trembling hands—not as a duty, but as a hungry man sitting down to a long-awaited meal.
And there, in that space between heaven and earth, I read the parable of the prodigal son.
I knew it by heart.
But now--now—it was my story.
For the first time, I saw myself not as the "faithful son" who stayed at home—but as the one who had departed—not in body, but in soul.
I had wasted years in a decorative faith—in a social Christianity.
And now—I was returning.
Humiliated. Broken. And accepted.
The tears came again—but this time, they weren’t from pain.
They were of relief.
Of gratitude.
For the first time, I felt God’s love in a real, intimate, undeniable way.
From that day on, I began to seek God in the details. In simplicity. In people. In nature. In the words of the Bible that now had flavor and weight.
And my prayer changed.
Before, it was a rehearsed list—almost a formal monologue.
Now, it was a lively conversation—a chat with the Father.
I spoke of doubts. Of fear. Of gratitude.
And then—heard.
Silently.
Waiting for the answer that sometimes came with words, other times with a peace that simply took care.
The changes in me did not go unnoticed.
It was one quiet evening, after dinner, as we sat on the porch, that Abigail took my hand and said—with a twinkle in her eye:
"Ezra, you’re different. I can’t explain it, but there’s a peace in you that I’ve never seen before."
I smiled. I squeezed her hand back.
"You’re right, Abby. I’m different. I’ve been through hell—literally. But now, for the first time, I understand what it means to have real faith."
I calmly explained to her everything I had discovered—not just on the other side, but within myself. About how I was finally learning to build a relationship with God—and not with the idea I had of Him.
Not based on habits, appearances, or titles—but on humility. On listening. On dependence.
And there, on that balcony lit only by the soft light of the moon, my wife cried.
But they were good tears.
The tears of someone who was seeing something new being born in the man with whom she had shared her entire life.
I was starting over.
This time—not as an accountant, a husband, or a church member.
But like a son who has returned home.
Abigail looked at me in silence, her eyes filled with tears. There was a tenderness in her gaze that completely disarmed me.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft—almost a whisper—full of emotion.
"I’m so happy for you, my love. If this is your new journey, I want to walk beside you every step of the way."
Those words echoed inside me.
Her support—so sincere and unconditional—had been a foundation throughout the rebuilding process I had been going through.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t trying to find myself alone.
We were finding ourselves together.
We started changing small things in our daily lives.
Instead of just attending church on Sundays as an automatic ritual, we began to seek more authentic ways to live our faith.
Little by little, we began to get involved in community actions. Every week, we would get together to prepare meals that we delivered to homeless people.
It wasn’t out of obligation. Nor an attempt to "score points" with God.
It was out of love—a real love, born from looking at the other with empathy and respect.
This new perspective also changed the way I related to my children.
Before, I thought I had to be an impeccable role model—a "Christian example" that they should follow without question.
But I began to realize that sharing my own doubts, weaknesses, and discoveries created something much more valuable: connection.
Our conversations became deeper. We talked about faith—but also about fears, dreams, and the meaning of life.
I listened to them with an open heart.
And to my surprise—they began to truly listen to me, too.
At work, the changes didn’t go unnoticed.
I no longer tried to maintain a polished image of religious perfection.
Instead, I began to act with more compassion—seeking to understand each colleague’s journey.
One day, after a meeting, one of my teammates approached me—visibly curious.
"Ezra," he said, hesitantly, "I don’t know what’s changed about you, but there’s something different. You seem more... authentic."
He smiled, touched by the observation.
"Let’s just say I went through something that made me see life with different eyes," I replied. "In fact, I learned that true faith is not in appearing perfect—but in accepting our flaws and still trying to be better every day."
As the months passed, I felt my faith growing stronger—but in a whole new way.
It was no longer a belief based on absolute certainty or moral superiority.
It was a humble, restless, living faith.
A faith that questions. That grows. That reinvents itself.
Eventually, I returned to church—not to fulfill an obligation or to be seen, but to be part of an imperfect community—like me—seeking together something bigger than all of us.
It was on one of those Sundays, after the service, that the pastor approached me.
He called me aside with a contemplative look.
"Ezra," he said, his tone almost fatherly, "I’ve noticed something different about you lately. There’s a depth to your faith that’s inspiring. Would you consider sharing your story with the congregation someday?"
I hesitated.
In my mind flashed the vivid memory of the vision of hell—the tormented faces, the silent screams.
I took a deep breath, trying to find courage.
"Yes, pastor," I finally replied. "I think the time has come. Not to make myself great—but to show that true faith is born of humility and sincere recognition of our faults."
At that moment, I realized that my journey of spiritual reconstruction was not just about me.
It was an opportunity to help others avoid making the same mistakes I had made—to show that true Christianity is not about looking flawless, but about a constant search for connection—with God, with others, and with ourselves.
I knew this journey was far from over.
In fact, I understood that it would be a path with no end point—an ongoing process.
But for the first time, I felt like I was on the right path.
A path made of authenticity, humility, and genuine love.
The transformation I went through after my near-death experience didn’t just affect my faith—it reverberated deeply into all my relationships.
As if I had gained a new set of eyes, suddenly, I began to see people more clearly—not as characters in my world, but as complex human beings, full of stories, pain, and hope.
The first big impact was on my marriage.
In the days following my release from the hospital, Abigail was visibly confused and worried. I oscillated between long, introspective silences and moments of intense emotion.
But as I opened up—telling what I experienced, what I saw, and what I felt—something beautiful began to happen between us.
Our connection deepened in ways I never imagined possible.
One quiet night, as we lay side by side, she turned her face toward me and asked—with touching vulnerability:
"Ezra, do you still love me the same way?"
The question caught me off guard.
I looked at her, took her hand, and answered with all the sincerity I could muster:
"Abby, I love you more than ever. But it’s a different love now. It’s more conscious. More present. Before, I had said that I loved Abigail because she was my wife—because that was what was expected of me as a husband, as a Christian, as someone who followed rules. But that night, looking into her eyes, I realized that something had changed profoundly."
"Before, I loved you because it was what I thought I should do," I confessed. "Now, I love you because I see you. I really do. I see your strength, your kindness, your quiet courage. I see your struggles, your hidden pains—and I love you not in spite of your imperfections, but because of them. With them. Within them."
Tears began to stream down Abigail’s face—but her smile was brighter than ever.
She held my hand tightly, her voice choked with emotion:
"I felt the difference. It’s like you were finally here—present—for the first time in many years."
That presence—that new kind of love—began to manifest itself in subtle and powerful ways.
Our conversations became more honest. More vulnerable.
I learned to listen without interrupting. To ask questions without judging.
I discovered layers of her personality that had previously been hidden—not because she hid them, but because I had never really paid attention.
What had been routine became a reunion.
Abigail blossomed before my eyes—and I was finally watching.
This transformation also had an impact on my relationship with our children—Sarah and Daniel.
I had always loved them—but I had been an absent father, even though I was physically present.
I was always busy—with work, with church, with everything but them.
Now, I committed to being truly there—with an open heart.
I began to listen to their fears, their dreams, their frustrations.
And most importantly—I stopped trying to mold them into my image.
One afternoon, my 17-year-old son, Daniel, approached with a nervous expression.
"Father," he said hesitantly, "I—I don’t think I believe in God."
In the past, these words would have shocked me. I would have responded with rebuke, trying to "correct" his faith with verses and arguments.
But in that moment, I just took a deep breath.
"Thank you for telling me that, son. Would you like to tell me what made you think that?"
What followed was one of the deepest and most honest conversations I have ever had.
Daniel talked about his doubts, his disappointments with the church, his discomfort with certain religious stances.
I listened. I asked questions. I also shared my own uncertainties—the shadows of my journey, the pain that led me to change.
When we finished, he hugged me, his eyes welling up with tears.
"Thank you, Dad. I was so afraid of disappointing you."
"You would never let me down by being honest," I replied. "Your journey is yours. My role is to love you and walk beside you—not to control your steps."
This new way of seeing and living went beyond the walls of my home.
At church, I began to see people in a new light.
Before—without even realizing it—I had categorized them: the "good Christians," the "strays," the "lost."
Now, I saw human beings—each one fighting their own silent war, each one carrying scars that no one else sees.
I became involved in support and counseling ministries—not to preach or correct, but to listen. To be present.
In one such session, a woman said to me, moved:
"Ezra, when I came to you, I thought I would hear sermons, judgments. But you just listened to me—and you offered me compassion. That’s how I imagined Jesus would treat people."
I was silent for a moment, touched—because in that moment, I realized that perhaps, finally, I was beginning to live what I preached so much:
To love as Christ loved.
At work, the impact was also evident.
Before—without even realizing it—I had exuded a certain moral superiority.
Now, I treated every co-worker with genuine respect—regardless of their faith or lifestyle.
One day, John—an openly atheist co-worker—called me in for a chat.
"Ezra," he said, scratching his head as if he didn’t know how to begin, "look, I never thought I’d say this—but you changed my view of Christians. You don’t try to convert me. You don’t judge me. But your way of living... that... that really makes me think."
He smiled, touched to the soul.
"Thank you, John."
I learned that true testimony is not in what we say—but in how we live.
And it’s true.
As time went on, I realized that my near-death experience had done much more than reconnect me with God.
It had completely transformed the way I saw and related to the world around me.
Every person had value—real, non-negotiable.
I began to see the beauty and pain in every face—as if I had finally gained color vision after a lifetime of seeing in black and white.
And now—finally—I could see all the colors of the world.
As if I had stepped from a gray world into a vibrant, life-giving canvas.
As the months passed since my near-death experience, I felt like I was truly moving forward on my spiritual journey.
My faith was no longer a set of memorized words—it had become something deep, sincere, and above all, authentic.
My relationships were stronger, and I felt an inner peace I had never known before.
But there was something I hadn’t yet faced head-on:
My past.
One quiet Sunday afternoon, as I was flipping through an old photo album with Abigail, one image in particular stopped me in my tracks for a few seconds.
It was a photo of a church barbecue, taken about 5 years ago.
In the image, I was smiling, surrounded by members of the congregation—looking like the perfect Christian leader: sure, confident, full of self-assurance.
But looking at that photo at that moment, all I felt was shame and deep regret.
"Abby," my voice came out shaky, almost a whisper, "looking at this picture, all I see is hypocrisy. I smiled and acted like I had all the answers—but inside, I was empty."
Abigail placed her hand on my shoulder, her eyes brimming with understanding.
"Ezra, you can’t change the past," she said with a gentleness that comforted me. "The important thing is that you recognize it now and are doing your best to be a better person."
Her words were encouraging—but I knew that it wasn’t enough to just acknowledge my mistakes to myself.
If I really wanted to live a true life—with humility and authenticity—I needed to face my past directly.
Without running away.
The following week, I scheduled a meeting with Pastor David, the leader of our church.
Sitting in his office, my heart racing, I began to speak:
"Pastor, I need to confess something. For years, I have been in leadership positions here. I gave advice. I judged people. But now, I realize I was living a lie. My faith was shallow—based more on pride than on true love for God and my neighbor."
Pastor David listened to me quietly, his eyes kind and attentive.
When I finished, he leaned forward in his chair and said:
"Ezra, what you are describing is a struggle that many of us face—even if few have the courage to admit it. Your honesty is admirable. But what do you think we should do now?"
I took a deep breath and replied:
"I think I need to ask for forgiveness—not only from God, but from the congregation. I want to share my story—not to exalt myself, but to warn others about the dangers of spiritual pride."
The shepherd nodded slowly.
"This takes a lot of courage, Ezra. Are you sure you’re ready for this?"
"Honestly, pastor, I’m terrified—but I know it’s right."
Over the next few weeks, I worked with him to prepare my testimony.
We decided that I would speak on a special Sunday dedicated to repentance and spiritual renewal.
When the day arrived, I stepped up to the pulpit with shaking legs.
I looked around at the congregation—familiar faces, friends, brothers and sisters I had surrounded myself with for years—and felt the weight of what I was about to do.
"Brothers and sisters," I began, my voice wavering but gaining firmness as I went on, "I am not here to preach today. I am here to confess—and ask for forgiveness."
I paused, took a deep breath, and continued:
"For many years, you have seen me as an example of Christian faith. I have held leadership positions, given advice, and judged those around me. But today, I must admit that all of that was a lie."
A murmur ran through the congregation, and I noticed faces filled with surprise, confusion, and even concern.
Still, I knew I had to continue.
"A few months ago, I had a near-death experience," I said, my heart racing. "In that experience, God showed me how shallow and empty my faith was. I was filled with spiritual pride—believing that I was better than others just because I followed rules and participated in church activities."
Then, I shared with them the vision of hell that I had seen—the tormented souls, the despairing faces, including those of those who, like me, thought they were saved by their outward religiosity.
I described the horror of realizing how close I was to that dark fate.
"I am here today," I began, my voice trembling and full of emotion, "to ask for forgiveness. Forgiveness to God for having distorted His message of love, transforming it into a display of false piety. And forgiveness to all of you—for having been an example of hypocrisy when you should have lived an authentic and true faith."
I looked at the faces in front of me.
Some were crying silently. Others were shocked. There were also those who showed doubt and even a certain incomprehension.
"I’m not here to set myself up as a new example to be followed," I clarified, feeling the weight of each word. "I’m here as a warning—a warning about the dangers of spiritual pride, superficial faith, and judging others. I want to tell you that true Christianity is not about appearing perfect—but about recognizing our imperfections and seeking, with an open heart, transformation through God’s love."
When I finished speaking, silence fell over the place.
It was a heavy silence—full of expectation.
After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, people began to move—not to leave, as I had feared, but to approach the altar.
The first to arrive was John—a man I had always silently judged for his struggle with alcoholism.
He hugged me tightly, tears streaming down his face, and said:
"Thank you, Ezra. That meant a lot to me too."
After him, a flood of people followed suit.
Some came to share their own struggles with spiritual pride and hypocrisy. Others simply came to offer forgiveness and support.
One young woman came up to me, overcome with emotion, and told me that my testimony had made her feel—for the first time—that she could be accepted in the church despite all her mistakes.
At that moment, Pastor David came over and put his hand on my shoulder. His voice was choked:
"What you did today, Ezra, is true Christianity—vulnerability, honesty, genuine repentance. You have opened the door for spiritual renewal in our church."
In the days and weeks that followed, I noticed a profound change in the atmosphere of the congregation.
People were more open—willing to share their doubts and struggles.
Judgment gave way to compassion.
Spiritual competition to solidarity.
But this transformation wasn’t limited to church.
At home, my openness opened the door for deeper conversations with Abigail and our children.
At work, colleagues who had previously seen me as unapproachable because of my "perfect Christian" stance now felt comfortable sharing their own challenges and seeking advice.
One time, while walking in the park, I met Maria—a former church member who had left years ago.
"Ezra," she said with a shy smile, "I heard your testimony. It made me want to give the church another chance."
I smiled, feeling a mixture of humility and gratitude.
"Mary," I replied, "the church is not a place for perfect people. It is a hospital for sinners—like the rest of us. I learned that the hard way. And now, I know that it is precisely in our imperfection that we find God’s true grace."
As the months passed, I continued on my journey of self-discovery and spiritual growth.
There were some difficult moments, of course.
Some people walked away—unable to handle this new atmosphere of vulnerability.
Others questioned whether I should still be in leadership positions.
But for every challenge, there was a quiet victory—a new opportunity to learn and evolve.
By admitting my faults and seeking forgiveness—not only from God but from those around me—I found a peace and authenticity that I had never experienced in all the years of false piety.
I finally understood that true Christian witness is not about displaying perfection—but about showing the transforming power of God’s love and grace in our imperfect lives.
And that—without a doubt—is the most powerful message we can offer the world.
(Example of a real Near Death Experience of a Model Christian in hell)
My name is Ezra Whitmore. I am 55 years old, and I was born in the heart of the American South, in Charleston, South Carolina—a city marked by its traditions, its history, and above all, by faith.
I grew up in a deeply Christian family where prayer was as natural as breathing. My mother, a woman of unshakable faith, was the first to teach me to bend my knees. From a very young age, my routine began and ended with a conversation with God. When I woke up, I would give thanks for life; at night, I would ask for protection for myself and my loved ones. And so I continued for decades, repeating this ritual like brushing my teeth or drinking coffee—without questioning it, without overthinking it.
Throughout my youth and most of my adult life, this faith was the backbone of my existence. I attended church every Sunday, helped out at community events, read the Bible regularly, and tried to live by its teachings. I honestly thought that was enough. I was doing everything right. I was a model Christian—or so I liked to think.
I worked as an accountant for over 30 years. I married Abigail, my high school sweetheart, and together we built a stable and peaceful life. We had two wonderful children, bought a charming home on the outskirts of town, and became active in our local church. In the eyes of others, we were an example of a Christian family. And I was proud of that. I was proud of the reputation we had, the life we led—as if all of this were proof that we were on the right path to heaven.
But the truth is that deep down, there was a quiet arrogance inside me—a kind of pride disguised as devotion. Without realizing it, I began to judge those who did not follow in my footsteps. Those who did not go to church, who lived differently, were unconsciously "less" to me—less committed to God, less worthy of salvation. I didn’t say it out loud, of course. Maybe I didn’t even admit it to myself. But that’s what I felt—as if I were somehow on a higher spiritual level.
This, I realized today, was one of the most insidious sins: spiritual pride.
I’ve never been one to believe in a literal hell of fire and brimstone. To me, those images always seemed more like metaphors than realities—something used to teach lessons, not to describe destinies. I saw myself as far removed from all that. After all, I followed the rules, didn’t I? I prayed, I read the Bible, I loved my family. In my mind, that was enough.
But life—or perhaps God—has a curious way of putting us in our place.
And it was on a day that should have been one of joy and celebration that everything changed.
It was a summer Saturday—one of those days that seems tailor-made for a fairy tale. The sky was so blue it was dazzling, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of newly bloomed flowers. I woke up excited. That day would be special—the wedding of Mark, my childhood friend. We grew up together, attended the same services, and laughed together at church retreats. Now, he was about to marry the woman he loved.
I arrived early for the ceremony, which was to be held outdoors in a lovely garden on the outskirts of the city. I helped with the final preparations—I arranged some chairs and lined up the petals on the path where the bride and groom would walk. Everything looked perfect: the green lawn, the impeccably lined-up white chairs, the flower arch that served as an altar. Even the breeze seemed to have been sent directly from heaven.
During the ceremony, when Mark and his bride exchanged vows, I felt my heart fill with gratitude. I thought about my wife, my children, and the life I had built with so much effort and faith. I silently thanked God for everything He had given me. It was one of those moments when everything seemed to fall into place.
After the "I do," everyone went to the reception. The atmosphere was cheerful—full of light, music, laughter, hugs, and reunions. I walked among the guests, talking to friends I hadn’t seen in years, exchanging stories, remembering old times. It was impossible not to feel happy.
It was then that I approached the cake table.
The cake looked like a hand-sculpted work of art—four tall layers of flawless white frosting, decorated with sugar flowers so delicate they looked freshly plucked from a heavenly garden. It seemed almost sacrilegious to cut it.
When the waiter began to serve the slices, I—without hesitation—approached the table and accepted a piece. It was a moment of celebration, of communion. And I confess that not for a second did I think about asking about the ingredients.
I have always taken my peanut allergy very seriously. Since childhood, I was taught to read labels as carefully as one reads the Bible. In restaurants, I would often find myself asking waiters and chefs what was in each dish. But there, in that atmosphere of joy and trust, surrounded by fellow believers, I let my guard down. After all, we were at a Christian wedding. Why would there be anything there that could harm me?
I took the first bite.
It was immediate.
At first, I thought it was just the emotion of the moment—a slight tingling in my throat, perhaps from smiling so much, from talking so much. But within a few seconds, that familiar and dreaded feeling began to intensify. An uncomfortable itch. My throat starting to close up, as if an invisible fist was squeezing inside. My heart raced.
I tried to stay calm. I thought, It can’t be. Not here. Not today.
But it was.
I looked around, and suddenly everything seemed to be spinning slowly. The laughter and music became distant echoes, as if I were underwater. I started to look for Abigail, my wife. I wanted to scream her name, but my voice was failing. A barely formed "Help" escaped my lips—barely audible.
I felt my legs go weak. And before I could understand what was happening, everything around me began to darken.
The last image I have is of Abigail’s face leaning over me—her eyes wide, frightened, and tears falling silently down my face. She was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her anymore. My world was plunged into silence.
At that moment, the only thing I could do was pray.
God, please forgive me.
I didn’t know exactly what sin I was asking forgiveness for. Maybe for everything. Maybe because I lived an automatic faith, because I felt superior, because I judged, because I forgot about grace. It was a desperate, naked, true plea—the most sincere I’ve ever made in my life.
And then—it was all gone.
It wasn’t like sleeping. It wasn’t like being awake, either. It was something else—an existence without form, without weight, without time. There was no ground beneath my feet. In fact, I didn’t even know if I still had feet. It was as if my body had disappeared, and all that was left was my consciousness, floating in an immense void.
At first, the panic was absolute. I tried to scream, but there was no sound. I tried to move, but there were no muscles to command. It was like being trapped in a dream with no body, no direction, no control.
Is this it? I thought. Is this where it all ends?
The weather—I don’t know—that did not obey the time as we know it. It could have been seconds, hours, or years. There, time did not exist.
But little by little, something in me began to quiet down. Fear gave way to reflection. I began to remember my life with impressive clarity. They weren’t flashes, like the movies say. It was deeper. I saw my attitudes, my choices, my silences, my judgments. I felt every moment as if I were living it all over again—but this time through the eyes of truth.
It was then that, in the middle of that absolute void, a point of light appeared—tiny at first, so small I thought I was imagining it. But as I focused my attention on it, I noticed it growing larger—or maybe it was me getting closer to it.
It was a light unlike any other I had ever seen. It didn’t hurt my eyes. It didn’t blind me. It was warm, welcoming, and at the same time, immense, majestic—as if it contained the entire universe within itself.
And then—I felt it.
I didn’t see anyone, but I knew there was a presence—huge, ineffable. It was as if all reality around me had been swallowed up by something infinitely larger than myself.
For the first time in my life, I felt something that I can only describe as the very presence of God.
And then—I heard the voice.
It wasn’t with my ears—I no longer had ears. The voice spoke directly to my conscience. It was soft, but at the same time, it had a weight that ran through everything—an authority so absolute that it silenced even the last vestige of my ego.
"Ezra," said the voice, "it’s time to see what you’ve always denied."
At that moment, I was overcome with awe. Part of me wanted to retreat, to disappear back into the darkness. But another part—deeper, truer—knew that this was a turning point. Something inside me whispered, "You have to see it."
And that’s when everything started to change.
The light around me began to transform in an almost magical way—as if a new world were being woven before my eyes (or rather, before my consciousness, since my body seemed to no longer exist). Colors and shapes appeared in the void—at first vaguely and fluidly, then with astonishing clarity.
It was as if I were being driven—without choice, without direction of my own—by a force that was at once irresistible and absolute.
And that’s when I saw it.
Not an allegory. Not a symbolic illustration. But hell—real, cruel, undeniable.
I, who had spent my life doubting its literal existence, found myself standing before it—forced to face a reality I never imagined I would witness, let alone experience.
If I had still had a physical body, I am certain I would have fainted on the spot. But in that pure state of consciousness, there was no escape. I was completely vulnerable, exposed to that devastating sight.
What I saw was beyond any nightmare, any warning sermon.
The ground beneath me—if it could even be called a ground—was cracked, burned, vibrating with a suffocating heat, as if each fissure hid an ancient pain. The air, thick as smoke from a thousand fires, was filled with the smell of sulfur—and something worse: despair—a scent that seemed to take root within the soul.
All around me, flames danced. They were not like the fire we know. They were alive. They had a will. They writhed like hungry snakes, stretching out as if seeking to touch, to envelop, to consume. They were flames that burned not flesh but spirit—fire that fed on guilt, on belated regret.
And then came the screams.
Screams that seemed to cross dimensions, coming from all sides at once. They were human voices, yes—but torn apart by pain, by remorse, by the loss of all hope. It was an eternal, continuous, desperate lament—a somber chorus that made any thought of peace impossible.
I tried to shield myself from that sound. Instinctively, I wanted to cover my ears—but I had no ears, and the sound somehow penetrated directly into my soul—without filter, without relief.
It was at that moment—at the height of horror—that something inside me snapped.
I turned my gaze (or felt my consciousness being pulled) to a part of that hellish landscape—and what I saw completely disarmed me.
In the midst of the flames, I saw faces.
Familiar faces.
Mr. Thompson—the deacon of our church, always so respected, so careful with the Scriptures—he stood there, covered in flames, his eyes fixed on something only he could see, an expression of pain that no words could describe.
And beside him was Mrs. Jenkins—always present at Sunday services, always smiling—now her face was a mask of pure suffering, contorted as if it were made of melted wax.
I recognized others. Many others. People I had prayed with, worshiped with, served in ministries with—people who, in my mind, were examples of faith.
They were there—as if frozen in an eternal state of belated regret.
As I asked, desperate, "How is this possible? These people were good. They lived in the church. They talked about God."
It was then that the voice returned—the same voice that enveloped me in that light, that spoke directly to the essence of my being.
"Ezra," He said—with tenderness, but also with sadness--"what you see here is not the result of great crimes or obvious evils. What brought these souls here is something more subtle, more insidious: pride."
I was confused. "Pride?" I repeated, still in shock. "But these people were humble servants of God."
The answer came like a cold current that passed through my consciousness:
"The pride of believing that your actions, your prayers, your presence in church were enough to deserve heaven. The pride of silently judging others, of feeling better for fulfilling rituals. The pride of never truly repenting—because deep down, you never believed you needed forgiveness."
Those words cut me like a sharp blade.
And then—like a terrible mirror—I saw myself.
I saw how many times I had done the same thing. How many times I had prayed mechanically. How many times I had gone to church out of habit. How many times I had looked down on those who lived differently.
I had always thought I was right—on the right path. But had I ever really sought transformation? Or had I merely dressed myself in the guise of holiness?
The voice continued—firm but compassionate:
"See, Ezra. See what pride does to the soul."
My attention was then drawn to another group of figures in distress—pastors, spiritual leaders, men and women I knew by name, by fame, by preaching.
They were trapped in a torturous cycle—constantly reliving the moments when they could have turned to God in brokenness of heart but chose the easy way out: self-indulgence, the illusion that they were saved by their own merit.
One of them—a renowned preacher whose sermons I had admired in my youth—cried out in heart-rending pain:
"I preached about hell, but I never believed it was real. I thought my pretty words, my charitable works would be enough."
At that moment, I understood:
It is not the appearance of faith that saves. It is not the rituals, the positions, the good deeds. It is true repentance—humility before grace.
And I—I was dangerously close to falling into the same trap.
Another pastor—someone I knew personally—was crying in the midst of the flames like a lost child.
"I judged others," he regretted. "I believed I was better than them. Now I see that my heart was filled with pride and hypocrisy."
Every word, every cry was like a blade piercing my soul.
I saw in them a reflection of what I was—of what I had become without even realizing it.
The image of these men and women—people I had always admired for their faith—now plunged into eternal suffering forced me to face the truth I had always avoided.
I was just like them.
My faith—which I had always considered strong and true—was just a shell. It was built on customs, habits, and appearances.
I followed the rules, yes. I went to church, yes. I prayed. I read the Bible. I helped with church outreaches.
But all of this was done with the confidence of someone who believes they already have heaven guaranteed—and not with a truly broken heart.
My faith was automatic. Superficial. And empty.
"Why am I seeing this?" I asked, feeling my conscience tremble under the weight of guilt, shame, fear.
The answer came with the same firm and gentle clarity as the previous time:
"So that you can understand. So that you can change. Ezra, you are being given a second chance—a chance to see the truth and choose the right path."
At that moment, something inside me snapped.
A wave of humility and gratitude washed over me in a way I had never experienced before.
I realized how close I had come to being there—among those tormented souls—and not because of any blatant sins, but because of the subtle, silent, and destructive sin of spiritual pride.
"What should I do?" I asked—small before the greatness of God, broken by the truth.
The voice responded with a tenderness that could only come from heaven:
"Return. And live in true humility. Seek genuine repentance. Judge not. Assume not. Love. Serve. And never forget what you have seen."
These words weren’t just spoken—they were branded into my soul.
And then, slowly, the vision began to fade.
The flames, the screams, the suffering faces—everything began to dissolve like mist at dawn.
But what I felt—it didn’t go away.
The impact of that was permanently etched on me.
The first thing I felt was pain—a sharp pain tearing through my throat, as if I had swallowed glass.
My eyes slowly opened—blinded by a bright white light. For a moment, I was disoriented.
Where was the fire? Where were the screams? The smell of sulfur?
Little by little, the environment around me began to take shape.
I was in a hospital room.
The steady, monotonous sound of a heart monitor filled the air. Machines hummed softly around me. I tried to move my arms, but my body felt as heavy as lead.
Then I felt something—a hand squeezing mine.
I turned my head with effort—and saw Abigail.
She was there, sitting next to me, her eyes closed in prayer. She was holding my hand so tightly, as if her very soul was connected to mine in that grip.
"Abby," I whispered, with difficulty—my voice scratching in my throat.
Her eyes opened immediately—full of tears, full of love.
"Ezra! Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed, rising and leaning over me, wrapping me in a delicate embrace—as if she feared I might fall apart.
In the next few minutes, the room filled with doctors and nurses. They took my blood pressure, checked my vital signs, and asked me questions I could barely answer.
I discovered that I had suffered a severe anaphylactic reaction. My heart had stopped. There was no heartbeat for several minutes before I was revived. I had been in a coma for 3 days.
But as they talked about oxygen, adrenaline, and medical statistics, my mind was elsewhere.
What I saw. The hell. The screams. The revelation of the pride that was eating away at my soul.
All of it swelled in my head with more reality than the white room around me.
Was it real? Was it just a dream? A delirium caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain?
I may never have a concrete answer.
But when I looked at Abigail—when I saw the love and relief in her eyes—I knew one thing for sure:
Dream or not--that changed me forever.
The feeling of having been on the brink of eternal damnation—of having seen the abyss beneath the feet of my comfortable faith—was overwhelming.
It didn’t matter whether others believed it or not.
I knew what I had lived through.
"Ezra, are you okay?" Abigail asked, touching my face tenderly, noticing my distant gaze.
I swallowed hard. Tears formed in my eyes.
"Abby," I muttered, my voice cracking, "I—I saw things. I need to tell you."
She squeezed my hand tighter, her eyes now full of concern and affection.
"It’s okay, honey. You’re safe now."
But I knew—no.
Everything was not okay.
Nothing would be normal anymore.
Nothing would be the same anymore.
The words I heard in that light kept echoing within me like a constant call:
"Return. And live with true humility."
How to describe the indescribable?
How could I put into words the profound and silent transformation that had taken place within me?
My family listened to me—with love, with sincere concern in their eyes. Abigail, my children, my close friends—they all listened to me attentively.
But I could see in their eyes a silent doubt. A distance.
And how could I blame them?
They had not seen what I saw. They had not heard that voice. They had not felt the weight of that judgment, nor the pain of the spiritual flames.
The doctors—with their clipboards and clinical explanations—talked about "hallucinations induced by cerebral hypoxia"—a fancy term for lack of oxygen. They claimed that what I experienced was just a manifestation of the brain dying—a kind of vivid death dream.
But I knew—with every fiber of my soul—that it wasn’t.
It was too real. Too painful. Too transformative.
What I experienced was not just the awakening from a physical coma.
It was the end of a spiritual sleep that lasted my entire life.
When I was released from the hospital, I came home with a mission.
It wasn’t to go around preaching or trying to convince others.
No.
It was a personal mission. A mission of reconstruction. Of purification. Of true repentance.
For the first time, I wanted to live in a way that actually reflected the faith I had always professed but never truly embraced.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Decades of pride, of knee-jerk religiosity, of spiritual self-satisfaction wouldn’t be undone overnight.
But now—I saw.
For the first time, I saw clearly.
Abigail was helping me up the porch steps when I stopped in the doorway. I looked up at the sky—which on that spring morning seemed bluer and higher than ever—and whispered, almost without a voice:
"Thank You. Not only for the second chance at life—but for the opportunity to live for real."
In the days and weeks that followed, I dove into deep introspection.
It was as if I had spent my entire life looking at myself through a foggy mirror—and suddenly, the glass had been wiped clean.
What I saw didn’t please me—but it freed me.
Every thought, every old behavior was now placed in a new light—a raw, painful, and necessary light.
The first challenge was to deal with the shock of realization.
For years--decades—I had convinced myself that I was on the right path.
I went to church every week. I prayed before meals. I attended events. I tithed.
I thought that was faith.
I thought that was being saved.
But now, I saw—it was all surface. Appearance. Custom.
I began to question everything.
Every prayer said on autopilot. Every act of charity done with the hidden intention of being seen. Every moment of worship lived more as an obligation than as a dedication.
Guilt gnawed me inside. Shame accompanied me in every silence.
How could I have been so blind?
Abigail noticed, of course. She noticed.
One afternoon, as we sat on the porch, she gently touched my hand and said:
"Ezra, you haven’t been the same since you got back from the hospital. I’m worried about you."
I sighed, not knowing where to begin.
"Abby," I saw things. Things that made me see how wrong I was."
She frowned, her eyes watering. "Honey, you’ve been through a trauma. It’s natural to feel confused. But you’ve always been a man of faith. Don’t let this destroy your trust in God."
Ah, Abigail.
But that was exactly it.
That "strong faith" that everyone saw in me was part of the problem.
It was a proud faith. Presumptuous. Full of empty certainties.
I began to drift away from the church—not because of loss of faith, but because of pain.
Every time I walked through the doors of that temple, I saw the faces of those I had seen in hell—brothers and sisters who, like me, thought they were saved just by being there.
The hypocrisy—not just theirs, but mine—was too painful to bear.
Friends began to comment. Some said I was "in crisis." Others suggested therapy, psychologists. I even heard "exorcism" from a more exalted brother.
But no one understood—I was not losing faith.
I was trying to find her—for real.
For the first time.
I spent entire nights awake, reading the Bible as if it were the first time.
And in a way, it was.
Words that had previously gone unnoticed now came alive.
Verses about humility. About true repentance. About broken hearts—leaped from the pages like an arrow piercing my chest.
I cried while reading.
I cried because I saw all that I had wasted.
I cried because I realized that for years, I had been close to the cross—but never really reached it.
I surrendered to her.
There was a passage in the Bible that I had previously read without paying much attention to—but now, it struck me like a thunderbolt in my soul.
It is in Matthew 7:21-23, where Jesus says:
"Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, in your name cast out demons, and perform many miracles?’ Then I will profess to them, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers.’"
These words echoed inside me like death nails.
I saw myself there—in that crowd of religious people who were devout on the outside but empty on the inside.
How many times had I also said, "Lord, Lord."
How many times had I acted right only on the outside—without ever truly giving my heart?
How many times had I confused devotion with performance?
The internal struggle that followed was one of the most difficult of my life.
There were times when I wanted to give up—to return to the comfortable ignorance of superficial faith that I had before.
It would have been so much easier to just pretend that nothing had changed—to continue with my routine, with my polished image as a "good Christian."
But every time that temptation arose, the memory of what I saw on the other side would pull me back.
The sound of the screams. The empty eyes of pain. The words of the voice that spoke to me.
I couldn’t go back.
Over time, I began to understand that the discomfort burning inside me was not something to be avoided.
It was part of the breaking process.
It was the pain needed to tear down the altar of my own pride.
I finally understood—it wasn’t about being perfect or following rules with surgical precision.
It was about recognizing my fallibility. My constant need for God’s grace. My silent desperation for forgiveness—not just once, but every day.
One night, alone in my home office, my eyes glued to the same page of the Bible for nearly an hour, I finally gave in.
I fell to my knees—and I cried.
They weren’t tears of fear or self-pity.
They were tears of genuine repentance—a weight that I didn’t even know I was carrying, falling apart before a God who, even hurt by my indifference, had never abandoned me.
At that moment—for the first time—I felt that I was really talking to God.
Not a distant God, trapped behind stained-glass windows and pulpits.
But a present, loving Father—waiting for the return of His lost son.
Of me.
That night marked a silent turning point.
I was ready to start over.
Weeks passed.
The near-death experience and the vision of hell had demolished the fragile pillars on which my faith had been built.
Now, I had to rebuild—not on sand, as before, but on the rock of humility and true understanding.
This new beginning began with a simple but deeply meaningful gesture.
One Sunday morning, instead of going to church—as I had done for decades—I took my Bible and went to a park near my home.
I sat on a wooden bench, feeling the sun warm my face and the wind caress my neck.
I didn’t go to run away from faith.
I went to find it again.
I opened the Bible with trembling hands—not as a duty, but as a hungry man sitting down to a long-awaited meal.
And there, in that space between heaven and earth, I read the parable of the prodigal son.
I knew it by heart.
But now--now—it was my story.
For the first time, I saw myself not as the "faithful son" who stayed at home—but as the one who had departed—not in body, but in soul.
I had wasted years in a decorative faith—in a social Christianity.
And now—I was returning.
Humiliated. Broken. And accepted.
The tears came again—but this time, they weren’t from pain.
They were of relief.
Of gratitude.
For the first time, I felt God’s love in a real, intimate, undeniable way.
From that day on, I began to seek God in the details. In simplicity. In people. In nature. In the words of the Bible that now had flavor and weight.
And my prayer changed.
Before, it was a rehearsed list—almost a formal monologue.
Now, it was a lively conversation—a chat with the Father.
I spoke of doubts. Of fear. Of gratitude.
And then—heard.
Silently.
Waiting for the answer that sometimes came with words, other times with a peace that simply took care.
The changes in me did not go unnoticed.
It was one quiet evening, after dinner, as we sat on the porch, that Abigail took my hand and said—with a twinkle in her eye:
"Ezra, you’re different. I can’t explain it, but there’s a peace in you that I’ve never seen before."
I smiled. I squeezed her hand back.
"You’re right, Abby. I’m different. I’ve been through hell—literally. But now, for the first time, I understand what it means to have real faith."
I calmly explained to her everything I had discovered—not just on the other side, but within myself. About how I was finally learning to build a relationship with God—and not with the idea I had of Him.
Not based on habits, appearances, or titles—but on humility. On listening. On dependence.
And there, on that balcony lit only by the soft light of the moon, my wife cried.
But they were good tears.
The tears of someone who was seeing something new being born in the man with whom she had shared her entire life.
I was starting over.
This time—not as an accountant, a husband, or a church member.
But like a son who has returned home.
Abigail looked at me in silence, her eyes filled with tears. There was a tenderness in her gaze that completely disarmed me.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft—almost a whisper—full of emotion.
"I’m so happy for you, my love. If this is your new journey, I want to walk beside you every step of the way."
Those words echoed inside me.
Her support—so sincere and unconditional—had been a foundation throughout the rebuilding process I had been going through.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t trying to find myself alone.
We were finding ourselves together.
We started changing small things in our daily lives.
Instead of just attending church on Sundays as an automatic ritual, we began to seek more authentic ways to live our faith.
Little by little, we began to get involved in community actions. Every week, we would get together to prepare meals that we delivered to homeless people.
It wasn’t out of obligation. Nor an attempt to "score points" with God.
It was out of love—a real love, born from looking at the other with empathy and respect.
This new perspective also changed the way I related to my children.
Before, I thought I had to be an impeccable role model—a "Christian example" that they should follow without question.
But I began to realize that sharing my own doubts, weaknesses, and discoveries created something much more valuable: connection.
Our conversations became deeper. We talked about faith—but also about fears, dreams, and the meaning of life.
I listened to them with an open heart.
And to my surprise—they began to truly listen to me, too.
At work, the changes didn’t go unnoticed.
I no longer tried to maintain a polished image of religious perfection.
Instead, I began to act with more compassion—seeking to understand each colleague’s journey.
One day, after a meeting, one of my teammates approached me—visibly curious.
"Ezra," he said, hesitantly, "I don’t know what’s changed about you, but there’s something different. You seem more... authentic."
He smiled, touched by the observation.
"Let’s just say I went through something that made me see life with different eyes," I replied. "In fact, I learned that true faith is not in appearing perfect—but in accepting our flaws and still trying to be better every day."
As the months passed, I felt my faith growing stronger—but in a whole new way.
It was no longer a belief based on absolute certainty or moral superiority.
It was a humble, restless, living faith.
A faith that questions. That grows. That reinvents itself.
Eventually, I returned to church—not to fulfill an obligation or to be seen, but to be part of an imperfect community—like me—seeking together something bigger than all of us.
It was on one of those Sundays, after the service, that the pastor approached me.
He called me aside with a contemplative look.
"Ezra," he said, his tone almost fatherly, "I’ve noticed something different about you lately. There’s a depth to your faith that’s inspiring. Would you consider sharing your story with the congregation someday?"
I hesitated.
In my mind flashed the vivid memory of the vision of hell—the tormented faces, the silent screams.
I took a deep breath, trying to find courage.
"Yes, pastor," I finally replied. "I think the time has come. Not to make myself great—but to show that true faith is born of humility and sincere recognition of our faults."
At that moment, I realized that my journey of spiritual reconstruction was not just about me.
It was an opportunity to help others avoid making the same mistakes I had made—to show that true Christianity is not about looking flawless, but about a constant search for connection—with God, with others, and with ourselves.
I knew this journey was far from over.
In fact, I understood that it would be a path with no end point—an ongoing process.
But for the first time, I felt like I was on the right path.
A path made of authenticity, humility, and genuine love.
The transformation I went through after my near-death experience didn’t just affect my faith—it reverberated deeply into all my relationships.
As if I had gained a new set of eyes, suddenly, I began to see people more clearly—not as characters in my world, but as complex human beings, full of stories, pain, and hope.
The first big impact was on my marriage.
In the days following my release from the hospital, Abigail was visibly confused and worried. I oscillated between long, introspective silences and moments of intense emotion.
But as I opened up—telling what I experienced, what I saw, and what I felt—something beautiful began to happen between us.
Our connection deepened in ways I never imagined possible.
One quiet night, as we lay side by side, she turned her face toward me and asked—with touching vulnerability:
"Ezra, do you still love me the same way?"
The question caught me off guard.
I looked at her, took her hand, and answered with all the sincerity I could muster:
"Abby, I love you more than ever. But it’s a different love now. It’s more conscious. More present. Before, I had said that I loved Abigail because she was my wife—because that was what was expected of me as a husband, as a Christian, as someone who followed rules. But that night, looking into her eyes, I realized that something had changed profoundly."
"Before, I loved you because it was what I thought I should do," I confessed. "Now, I love you because I see you. I really do. I see your strength, your kindness, your quiet courage. I see your struggles, your hidden pains—and I love you not in spite of your imperfections, but because of them. With them. Within them."
Tears began to stream down Abigail’s face—but her smile was brighter than ever.
She held my hand tightly, her voice choked with emotion:
"I felt the difference. It’s like you were finally here—present—for the first time in many years."
That presence—that new kind of love—began to manifest itself in subtle and powerful ways.
Our conversations became more honest. More vulnerable.
I learned to listen without interrupting. To ask questions without judging.
I discovered layers of her personality that had previously been hidden—not because she hid them, but because I had never really paid attention.
What had been routine became a reunion.
Abigail blossomed before my eyes—and I was finally watching.
This transformation also had an impact on my relationship with our children—Sarah and Daniel.
I had always loved them—but I had been an absent father, even though I was physically present.
I was always busy—with work, with church, with everything but them.
Now, I committed to being truly there—with an open heart.
I began to listen to their fears, their dreams, their frustrations.
And most importantly—I stopped trying to mold them into my image.
One afternoon, my 17-year-old son, Daniel, approached with a nervous expression.
"Father," he said hesitantly, "I—I don’t think I believe in God."
In the past, these words would have shocked me. I would have responded with rebuke, trying to "correct" his faith with verses and arguments.
But in that moment, I just took a deep breath.
"Thank you for telling me that, son. Would you like to tell me what made you think that?"
What followed was one of the deepest and most honest conversations I have ever had.
Daniel talked about his doubts, his disappointments with the church, his discomfort with certain religious stances.
I listened. I asked questions. I also shared my own uncertainties—the shadows of my journey, the pain that led me to change.
When we finished, he hugged me, his eyes welling up with tears.
"Thank you, Dad. I was so afraid of disappointing you."
"You would never let me down by being honest," I replied. "Your journey is yours. My role is to love you and walk beside you—not to control your steps."
This new way of seeing and living went beyond the walls of my home.
At church, I began to see people in a new light.
Before—without even realizing it—I had categorized them: the "good Christians," the "strays," the "lost."
Now, I saw human beings—each one fighting their own silent war, each one carrying scars that no one else sees.
I became involved in support and counseling ministries—not to preach or correct, but to listen. To be present.
In one such session, a woman said to me, moved:
"Ezra, when I came to you, I thought I would hear sermons, judgments. But you just listened to me—and you offered me compassion. That’s how I imagined Jesus would treat people."
I was silent for a moment, touched—because in that moment, I realized that perhaps, finally, I was beginning to live what I preached so much:
To love as Christ loved.
At work, the impact was also evident.
Before—without even realizing it—I had exuded a certain moral superiority.
Now, I treated every co-worker with genuine respect—regardless of their faith or lifestyle.
One day, John—an openly atheist co-worker—called me in for a chat.
"Ezra," he said, scratching his head as if he didn’t know how to begin, "look, I never thought I’d say this—but you changed my view of Christians. You don’t try to convert me. You don’t judge me. But your way of living... that... that really makes me think."
He smiled, touched to the soul.
"Thank you, John."
I learned that true testimony is not in what we say—but in how we live.
And it’s true.
As time went on, I realized that my near-death experience had done much more than reconnect me with God.
It had completely transformed the way I saw and related to the world around me.
Every person had value—real, non-negotiable.
I began to see the beauty and pain in every face—as if I had finally gained color vision after a lifetime of seeing in black and white.
And now—finally—I could see all the colors of the world.
As if I had stepped from a gray world into a vibrant, life-giving canvas.
As the months passed since my near-death experience, I felt like I was truly moving forward on my spiritual journey.
My faith was no longer a set of memorized words—it had become something deep, sincere, and above all, authentic.
My relationships were stronger, and I felt an inner peace I had never known before.
But there was something I hadn’t yet faced head-on:
My past.
One quiet Sunday afternoon, as I was flipping through an old photo album with Abigail, one image in particular stopped me in my tracks for a few seconds.
It was a photo of a church barbecue, taken about 5 years ago.
In the image, I was smiling, surrounded by members of the congregation—looking like the perfect Christian leader: sure, confident, full of self-assurance.
But looking at that photo at that moment, all I felt was shame and deep regret.
"Abby," my voice came out shaky, almost a whisper, "looking at this picture, all I see is hypocrisy. I smiled and acted like I had all the answers—but inside, I was empty."
Abigail placed her hand on my shoulder, her eyes brimming with understanding.
"Ezra, you can’t change the past," she said with a gentleness that comforted me. "The important thing is that you recognize it now and are doing your best to be a better person."
Her words were encouraging—but I knew that it wasn’t enough to just acknowledge my mistakes to myself.
If I really wanted to live a true life—with humility and authenticity—I needed to face my past directly.
Without running away.
The following week, I scheduled a meeting with Pastor David, the leader of our church.
Sitting in his office, my heart racing, I began to speak:
"Pastor, I need to confess something. For years, I have been in leadership positions here. I gave advice. I judged people. But now, I realize I was living a lie. My faith was shallow—based more on pride than on true love for God and my neighbor."
Pastor David listened to me quietly, his eyes kind and attentive.
When I finished, he leaned forward in his chair and said:
"Ezra, what you are describing is a struggle that many of us face—even if few have the courage to admit it. Your honesty is admirable. But what do you think we should do now?"
I took a deep breath and replied:
"I think I need to ask for forgiveness—not only from God, but from the congregation. I want to share my story—not to exalt myself, but to warn others about the dangers of spiritual pride."
The shepherd nodded slowly.
"This takes a lot of courage, Ezra. Are you sure you’re ready for this?"
"Honestly, pastor, I’m terrified—but I know it’s right."
Over the next few weeks, I worked with him to prepare my testimony.
We decided that I would speak on a special Sunday dedicated to repentance and spiritual renewal.
When the day arrived, I stepped up to the pulpit with shaking legs.
I looked around at the congregation—familiar faces, friends, brothers and sisters I had surrounded myself with for years—and felt the weight of what I was about to do.
"Brothers and sisters," I began, my voice wavering but gaining firmness as I went on, "I am not here to preach today. I am here to confess—and ask for forgiveness."
I paused, took a deep breath, and continued:
"For many years, you have seen me as an example of Christian faith. I have held leadership positions, given advice, and judged those around me. But today, I must admit that all of that was a lie."
A murmur ran through the congregation, and I noticed faces filled with surprise, confusion, and even concern.
Still, I knew I had to continue.
"A few months ago, I had a near-death experience," I said, my heart racing. "In that experience, God showed me how shallow and empty my faith was. I was filled with spiritual pride—believing that I was better than others just because I followed rules and participated in church activities."
Then, I shared with them the vision of hell that I had seen—the tormented souls, the despairing faces, including those of those who, like me, thought they were saved by their outward religiosity.
I described the horror of realizing how close I was to that dark fate.
"I am here today," I began, my voice trembling and full of emotion, "to ask for forgiveness. Forgiveness to God for having distorted His message of love, transforming it into a display of false piety. And forgiveness to all of you—for having been an example of hypocrisy when you should have lived an authentic and true faith."
I looked at the faces in front of me.
Some were crying silently. Others were shocked. There were also those who showed doubt and even a certain incomprehension.
"I’m not here to set myself up as a new example to be followed," I clarified, feeling the weight of each word. "I’m here as a warning—a warning about the dangers of spiritual pride, superficial faith, and judging others. I want to tell you that true Christianity is not about appearing perfect—but about recognizing our imperfections and seeking, with an open heart, transformation through God’s love."
When I finished speaking, silence fell over the place.
It was a heavy silence—full of expectation.
After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, people began to move—not to leave, as I had feared, but to approach the altar.
The first to arrive was John—a man I had always silently judged for his struggle with alcoholism.
He hugged me tightly, tears streaming down his face, and said:
"Thank you, Ezra. That meant a lot to me too."
After him, a flood of people followed suit.
Some came to share their own struggles with spiritual pride and hypocrisy. Others simply came to offer forgiveness and support.
One young woman came up to me, overcome with emotion, and told me that my testimony had made her feel—for the first time—that she could be accepted in the church despite all her mistakes.
At that moment, Pastor David came over and put his hand on my shoulder. His voice was choked:
"What you did today, Ezra, is true Christianity—vulnerability, honesty, genuine repentance. You have opened the door for spiritual renewal in our church."
In the days and weeks that followed, I noticed a profound change in the atmosphere of the congregation.
People were more open—willing to share their doubts and struggles.
Judgment gave way to compassion.
Spiritual competition to solidarity.
But this transformation wasn’t limited to church.
At home, my openness opened the door for deeper conversations with Abigail and our children.
At work, colleagues who had previously seen me as unapproachable because of my "perfect Christian" stance now felt comfortable sharing their own challenges and seeking advice.
One time, while walking in the park, I met Maria—a former church member who had left years ago.
"Ezra," she said with a shy smile, "I heard your testimony. It made me want to give the church another chance."
I smiled, feeling a mixture of humility and gratitude.
"Mary," I replied, "the church is not a place for perfect people. It is a hospital for sinners—like the rest of us. I learned that the hard way. And now, I know that it is precisely in our imperfection that we find God’s true grace."
As the months passed, I continued on my journey of self-discovery and spiritual growth.
There were some difficult moments, of course.
Some people walked away—unable to handle this new atmosphere of vulnerability.
Others questioned whether I should still be in leadership positions.
But for every challenge, there was a quiet victory—a new opportunity to learn and evolve.
By admitting my faults and seeking forgiveness—not only from God but from those around me—I found a peace and authenticity that I had never experienced in all the years of false piety.
I finally understood that true Christian witness is not about displaying perfection—but about showing the transforming power of God’s love and grace in our imperfect lives.
And that—without a doubt—is the most powerful message we can offer the world.
