Conversion

Until God called and met me in the first year of high school in 1974, I lived with almost no religious influence. My only memories of church were going twice to a Christmas Eve service in elementary school for the apples they gave out and following neighborhood kids to a single Mass at the local cathedral.

Looking back, even though I never formally attended church or a cathedral, I must have had some religious curiosity whenever I thought about them. But no one guided me, and no opportunity arose, so I spent my childhood in a world practically without God.

In elementary school I especially loved nature. Whenever I had time, I would walk for hours to nearby mountains or rivers for little picnics.

I can still vividly remember how nature captivated me almost to the point of losing my mind. In spring I climbed quiet mountain peaks to pick azaleas and pasqueflowers, and I dove into rivers to gather clams.

Though I never received religious education, I think the wonder of nature planted some awareness of God’s existence in my heart (Rom 1:20).

Even without attending church, I sometimes thought about the afterlife. I wondered, if there is a God and an afterlife, might I go to heaven? Even in my young eyes, many kids already had bad hearts and behavior.

In middle school I also felt my own heart was corrupt. I saw sin lurking within and sometimes suffered because of it, yet I consoled myself that I was living more conscientiously than many others.

I formally stepped into church during the summer of my third year of middle school. Sadly, it wasn’t because I heard the gospel, but because a classmate (who later graduated Seoul National University law school and is now an attorney) told me there would be girls at church and a student retreat coming up in a scenic place. Tempted, I went right away. Even though high school entrance exams were ahead, I had a great time at that retreat.

Once the retreat ended, I stopped attending after about two months because I expected no more fun events.

The church I went to had a quaint, beautiful building, and I had a decent impression of the place itself. But I didn’t sense that God was there in any special way. I learned nothing beyond my vague ideas of God, either through church life or the retreat, so I naturally stopped going. There was no “reason” to continue.

Even without attending, I never thought I didn’t believe in God. Whether I outwardly went to church or not felt irrelevant to me.

Around that time in middle school I had a memorable experience. I had caught a bad cold and had a severe headache. My two older brothers, watching me suffer, challenged me: “If you go to church and believe in God, pray and get better.” Inside, I considered myself a believer in some childish way.

So I boldly told my brothers, “Fine, I’ll pray. Watch me.” Right in front of them I knelt and loudly prayed for God to heal my headache. When I finished with “Amen” and stood up, the headache vanished as if it were a lie.

Even after that experience, I didn’t keep going to church. I didn’t feel I had to. The church hadn’t challenged or moved me spiritually, and I saw nothing in the other kids there that was different from the world. So I felt no need to attend.

In middle school I loved to go out and play. I rode boats at parks or went to roller rinks. I also adored movies, watching about one every week or two. I often watched them twice in a row: the first time to get swept up in the story, and the second time to catch what I missed and observe the supporting actors, costumes, and props. When I saw “Ben-Hur,” I went in around 9 a.m., watched it twice, and came out near 5 p.m. I also loved baduk; during the summer of my third year, I played so much I had no time to study.

Even as a first-year high schooler, I was still focused on outings. If I had free time, I went to movies or rode my bike to parks. I was living thoughtlessly.

While I was drifting in the world, God’s saving hand reached me. I didn’t recognize it at first, but now I know it clearly.

Let me record how I came to meet God.

It was the fall of my first year in high school. After a military drill session, a classmate named Changbok Jung approached me and asked, “Byeong-gi, do you believe God is alive?” I immediately answered, “Of course. If God weren’t alive, how could this beautiful, orderly world exist?”

Hearing that, Changbok said, “You can’t just vaguely believe. You must be born again by the Holy Spirit to enter the kingdom of heaven,” and he quoted John 3:5.

The moment I heard it, it felt right. “Since I haven’t been born again, I must be born again. Since I haven’t received the Holy Spirit, I must receive Him.”

I asked how I could be born again by the Spirit. Changbok (now a successful dentist) invited me to a small prayer meeting he was attending. He offered to take me there after class, but I thought, I am going to meet God—no one needs to go out of his way for me. So I just asked for directions and went directly that afternoon.

From then on, I gladly attended that prayer meeting. It was small in number but pure and fervent. From that time until now, I have never once looked back, but have followed Jesus (Lk 9:62).

Once I joined, I sought God earnestly. Our little group met in a building to pray on Tuesday and Friday afternoons and held all-night prayer on Saturdays at a mountain prayer site that was under construction. The site was on the side of a tall mountain outside the city with many rocks and a stream. To get there, you had to take a bus to the entrance and walk alone up a dark path for about 15 minutes.

I started attending with joy, but meeting God was not quick or easy. Many steps awaited me.

Early on, while I prayed for the Holy Spirit, I struggled to submit to God because of one troubling question.

It was this: If God is omniscient and omnipotent, He knew before creation that hell would exist. Why then create the world and allow so many people to go to hell? I couldn’t accept that so many would suffer eternal punishment—not for a year, not a hundred, not ten million, but forever. How could a merciful God do that? Was He not a tyrant? How could I seek to go to heaven while most others went to hell?

I felt a strong sense of human solidarity: I shouldn’t believe alone without first resolving this. After all-night prayer I peppered the evangelist and teacher leading the meeting with questions and even argued, but found no satisfying answer.

While I wrestled with this for a long time, God led me out of that dark cloud with the following conviction, which no one taught me:

“Are you more righteous than God?”

“Who are you to ask such questions of God? Who are you to speak that way to Him?”

These realizations struck me like a shock, piercing deep into my heart. (Later I learned Job contains similar thoughts, and Romans explains God’s sovereignty with the potter and clay.) After that, I never again entertained such irreverent thoughts.

To meet God, I poured out all my strength (Mt 11:12; 13:44-45). Every Tuesday and Friday we prayed in the building, and on Saturdays we climbed the mountain and prayed all night.

The Saturday meeting went like this: We gathered around 10 p.m., prayed together for about an hour, then had free prayer time until dawn prayer. We each prayed through the night without stopping until dawn.

When free prayer began, I climbed higher into the mountain to a quiet spot where no one else was. I wanted to pray before God alone without interruption.

Staring at the stars in the dark sky or the city lights twinkling below, I prayed all night and spent time before God.

It was midwinter then. Looking at countless stars and the colorful city lights in the distance felt like watching the blinking lights on a Christmas tree.

Though it was bitterly cold, around -20°C, I prayed so fervently that sweat trickled down between my undershirts. I wore two or three coats up the mountain, and I cried out so much that my voice was hoarse until the following Tuesday.

Sometimes I caught short naps before dawn prayer. We slept on the unfinished prayer-house floor or cold rocks on the hillside, laying torn blankets or discarded rice sacks beneath or over us.

Even at home during the week I prayed often. Worried that my family might see me praying, I would cover myself with two thick winter blankets even though I had my own room.

A month or two after I began praying on the mountain, about ten students and the evangelist (then around 22) continued the all-night prayer. Sometimes the evangelist brought new groups of students.

One time a new student approached me, assuming I had come earlier, and asked, “What have you realized while praying?”

Without hesitation I answered what I felt then: “While praying, I realized what sin is. Before I prayed, my awareness of sin was vague, but through prayer I clearly came to understand it.”

Looking back, I believe that was when the Holy Spirit began granting me the grace to perceive sin (Jn 16:8).

Even though I prayed hard, after two or three months I still felt no sense that I had met God. Holding onto Acts 2:37-39—that the Spirit is given when we repent and receive forgiveness—I prayed as if my life depended on it, yet I had no assurance I had received the Holy Spirit.

I prayed so intensely on the mountain that my stomach clenched and my guts felt like they would tear. I cried out “Lord!” until I had to pause three seconds because of the pain, then shouted again, repeating until I had no strength (Jer 29:12-13).

Even after repenting with others at the meeting, I didn’t feel peace, so I repented again at home, repeating the same repentance three times lest anything remain uneasy before God.

Despite fervently seeking and repenting, I felt no sense of grace. I even wondered if God had forgotten me.

Once I shared this frustration with the evangelist during a break after prayer on the mountain: “Why, after praying so earnestly, does God give me no grace?”

He gave an interesting answer: “A small pot boils quickly but cools quickly; a big cauldron takes time to boil but stays hot for a long time.”

That encouraged me. I didn’t lose heart but prayed even more. I longed for grace, and felt pitiful that I wasn’t receiving it quickly.

Once I sang hymn 343, “Weeping Will Not Save Me,” in tears, clapping until my hands hurt, lamenting how unworthy I must be that God would not meet me.

“Weeping doesn’t work, enduring doesn’t work, striving doesn’t work!” I was struck by the line: “Faith will do it. By trusting Jesus alone, by His grace, by coming to Him, eternal life is gained. Jesus suffered on the cross. There is no one but Jesus who can save me.” I sang it again and again with a burning heart.

The Puritans said, “Before God reveals His mercy and love, He first lets man feel his misery.” I truly felt like a worm and prayed that way for a long time (Jn 16:8).

Around that time the Holy Spirit made it clear to me how great a sin it is not to believe in Christ—the greatest sin of all (Jn 16:9).

Looking back, the Spirit was working on me little by little, one step at a time.

Though I was frustrated that I had not yet received the grace of new birth, I was overjoyed simply to be seeking the Lord. It made me happy to seek the Lord whom the world ignored.

In 1974, hardly anyone around me—school, relatives, or elsewhere—believed. Though I was thirsty and eager for grace, I was not discouraged or depressed.

Once after prayer on the mountain, during a break I asked the evangelist, “I don’t think I’ve received the Holy Spirit yet, so why am I so happy?”

He replied, “It looks like you’ve received the gift of joy.”

I didn’t know how the gift of joy appears in Scripture, but I was sure God had given me joy (Gal 5:22-23; Jn 14:27). I gladly accepted his words.

I was so proud to be seeking God’s grace that when I went to pray, I would tuck a big Bible with red edges under my arm like a pastor and walk through the snowy city wearing my father’s thick black overcoat. The memory is still vivid.

After praying for a long time, I was uneasy that I still hadn’t received grace. Then one day God made me realize that I am justified freely by faith in Jesus Christ.

For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus” (Rom 3:24).

I don’t recall exactly how I heard this message—time has passed too long. But I remember that as soon as I encountered and understood it, I knelt right there, asked God for the grace of justification, and thanked Him for granting it immediately.

Since then, I have never doubted the grace of justification or had my assurance of being declared righteous shaken. Praise God!

While I was devoted to prayer, I heard that the evangelist privately went to a prayer mountain outside the city. It was midwinter. Wanting to seek God more earnestly, I decided to go.

That prayer mountain had individual prayer rooms where you had to heat with firewood and cook for yourself. I heard I would need a pot, so I put a fairly large cauldron from home into a sack, slung it over my shoulder like Santa Claus, and took a bus from the city to the prayer mountain. My heart was so fresh and joyful on the way.

The prayer mountain was at the top of a very high mountain in the suburbs; after getting off the bus, you had to walk steadily for an hour uphill to reach it. I still remember spending two to three days there praying earnestly for God’s grace.

One Saturday at the prayer mountain, something happened. As I was praying with all my strength, wondering why I still hadn’t met God, Luke 14:26 came to me: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate even their own life, such a person cannot be my disciple.”

I asked myself deeply, “Have I ever hated my own life?” Then these thoughts swept through my mind:

“I said I repented and gave up everything, yet I have not given up the very self praying right now, the self seeking grace. Have I not prayed even for my salvation for my own sake? Am I truly praying for God Himself? If it were for God, would I rejoice even if I went to hell?”

The realization followed:

“Yes. Though I said I prayed, it was for myself. Even my quest for salvation was for me. I have not crucified my old self that lives for me. I prayed for salvation but did not deny myself.”

“Even my prayer for salvation was about my prospering and my going to heaven! Before the altruistic cross of the Holy Lord, I failed to consider Him, His holiness, His self-giving love, or His will. I failed to pray for His will.”

“Lord, let my self, my old nature, be nailed completely to the cross. Let only You live in me (Gal 2:20). I will crucify my self entirely. Whether I live or die, accomplish only Your will through me!”

Praying this, I wept bitterly before God. I am not one to cry easily; even when my beloved father suddenly passed away in my third year of high school, I hardly shed tears. But this realization cut so deeply that I wept big tears like drops of chickpeas. I wept even more at how selfish I had been. Now I had no regret or hesitation about giving myself wholly to God’s will.

“Who am I? God’s creature! What is my life? Something He has given! I was made by Him for Him, and everything of mine is ultimately His!”

This was the realization given to my heart. Looking back, that day was the day of my conversion.

Whenever I prayed, I pictured the cross of Jesus before me. I prayed that the fiery, self-giving love of His cross would come like fire into my heart. I prayed that the Spirit of Christ’s selfless love would descend like fire so I might live by His love. That was the only prayer that welled up in my heart. I prayed it with all my strength and all my heart.

After I began praying, I often felt even the color of the ground I walked on becoming holy. On my way to the prayer site, I frequently sensed the road glowing with a gentle golden light of God’s glory (Isa 30:26). The people on the road felt like angels. As God’s love came into my heart, everyone seemed lovable (Rom 5:5). I felt, “God’s glory has descended on the ground I walk.” Yet after three or four months of prayer, I still lacked a strong assurance that this was receiving the Spirit. So I asked the evangelist guiding me, “Why don’t I have certainty that I’ve received the Holy Spirit?” He replied, “Then pray for the gift of tongues.” So on a Saturday while praying on the mountain, I poured out my earnest heart to God. A few days later, while praying alone under a blanket in my room, tongues flowed from my mouth. This confirmed that God was hearing my prayers. I continued praying without ceasing. When dawn broke as I came down from the mountain after all-night prayer, seeing the morning sun rise filled me with freshness and joy. I felt verses like “You will leap like calves released from the stall” (Mal 4:2) and “Streams of living water will flow from within them” (Jn 7:37-38) were absolutely true.

During winter break, a nearby church held a revival for students. The guest evangelist was a seminarians from Chongshin University in Seoul, a close friend of the evangelist who led our group. Though he had previously been spiritually dry, he had received grace and was transformed. I attended eagerly and received great grace. One vivid memory remains. After speaking about spiritual gifts, the evangelist looked at the congregation and asked, “Among those who have the gift of tongues, who wants the gift of interpretation? Raise your hand.” A close friend from the mountain prayer group sat next to me, and we both shot our hands up immediately. It seemed only the two of us did. The evangelist then asked us to stand and speak in tongues one by one. I remember there were well over 200 students gathered. We each prayed loudly in tongues. He interpreted for each of us. My tongues were interpreted as: “Thank you for God’s grace. Praise God.” I had expected something deeper or more detailed, so I was a little disappointed because I thought I had poured out many varied words until he told me to stop. Still, I was glad to know my tongues praised and thanked God. On the final evening of the revival, there was a personal all-night prayer time after the service. I can never forget that night. From about 10 p.m., while others stopped praying within an hour to sleep or rest in scattered places, I think I prayed two to three hours straight with intense focus before God, caring nothing about others around me. As I prayed wholeheartedly, the spirit of prayer came from above. It wasn’t difficult; God gave strength through the Holy Spirit, as when an angel strengthened Jesus in Gethsemane (Lk 22:39-44). I was experiencing the Spirit’s anointing (2 Cor 1:21-22). I prayed in tongues, interpreted myself, and prophesied as I looked at the times. I still remember the prayer: “Lord, grant me the Spirit’s love, word, and power so I can proclaim the grace of Your cross to the ends of the earth.” When I finished praying with all my heart, most students were already asleep. I received the fullness of the Spirit that night. I even wrote down the date so I could remember it, but later lost the note. (This was about four to five months after I began praying.) After that, our little prayer group dissolved. The evangelist who led us was studying at Chongshin University in Seoul and came down on Tuesdays and Fridays, but for some reason he stopped coming without any news. Even so, for two weeks I went to the mountain prayer site on Saturdays and waited. The first Saturday, only a close prayer friend and I climbed the mountain. The second Saturday, I went alone. Then I also stopped going on Saturdays.

After that I had to live my faith utterly alone. Yet thankfully, without anyone teaching me, I came to realize that I had become a new creation by God’s Spirit (2 Cor 5:17). The indwelling Spirit clearly testified that I was a child of God (Rom 8:16). Whether I looked at the sky or the ground, I sensed God’s presence everywhere. People on the street looked like angels. It was as if God’s divinity shone through all creation. The whole world looked golden (Isa 30:26). After receiving the Spirit, my heart was filled with indescribable joy—so full that I struggled to contain it. The following Scriptures were 100% true for me: “On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, ‘Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.’ By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive” (Jn 7:37-39). “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (Jn 4:13-14). “Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord” (Acts 3:19). “Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls” (1 Pet 1:8-9). The feeling of meeting God was an overwhelming joy beyond comparison. I was bursting to share the news. I immediately preached the gospel to anyone I met when I had the chance. When I opened my mouth, words flowed as if God Himself were speaking through me. I led one friend to church successfully, though another middle-school friend I fervently visited seemed to think I had gone strange. I spent all my high school days thinking about God. Everything related to Him delighted me. I once loved movies and outings, but after tasting heavenly joy, those things no longer pleased me. I cut off the worldly entertainments I once loved. Just saying “Jesus” made my heart race. It felt as if my heart was set ablaze with Jesus’ love. The burning love that Jesus poured into my heart by the Spirit has never cooled since and has only deepened (Rom 5:5). Praise God!

Though the small prayer group disbanded, I faithfully attended the neighborhood church (the same one from my middle school days). I attended the high school ministry and voluntarily the main Sunday service, sitting in the front row or second row. After worship I loved greeting the older members as I walked down the center aisle. After experiencing the Spirit, I was eager to be baptized, but in the Presbyterian church you had to wait six months for the catechism class and another six for baptism, so I waited nearly a year. I also heard that baptism candidates should read the New Testament once, so I gladly read through it while counting down to baptism. Finally the Saturday of the baptism interview arrived. Many had applied, so we were examined in groups. My group, which included several adults, entered the room for the interview with the senior pastor and five or six elder elders. The pastor said, “There is water baptism and fire baptism. Water baptism is administered by people and means pledging, ‘I will live zealously as God’s person.’ But fire baptism is given directly by God and is the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Has anyone among you received fire baptism?” On hearing that, I proudly raised my right hand without hesitation. One of the elders sitting in front said, “That’s right. That student seems to have received fire baptism!” The next day, with great emotion, I received water baptism. It was Thanksgiving Sunday in November 1975.

(I will share the later parts at another time. Looking back, every aspect of salvation is God’s grace: He called me, made me thirst for His grace, convicted me of sin, led me to cling only to the cross of Christ, enabled me to crucify my old self, and poured out the Holy Spirit. I earnestly pray that the same grace of the Lord overflows to you who read this. Praise the Lord!)