An Aching Void The World Can Never Fill

The year was 1998.

At that point in my life I was a 24 yr old man with a wife, 2 kids and a job. I was involved in the same conservative religious sub-culture in which I had grown up as a kid. It had been 10 yrs since I had officially aligned myself with the group; though I had never really been misaligned since birth. It was all I had ever known. I was also deeply addicted to pornography and had serious anger issues. In an attempt to overcome my sin I became more and more entrenched in non-conformity and asceticism. While this lifestyle had the appearance of wisdom, such self-abasement and severe treatment of the body was of no value against fleshly indulgences.

Due to the fact that none of my attempts were producing any lasting fruit of righteousness I eventually concluded that religion was nothing more than an illusion; while there was probably a being who created, he was obviously disinterested, at best, in our lives; Christianity was simply a playact in which the actors and the audience were one and the same (and I was as equipped as anyone to continue following the script); death was the eventual end of it all for each of us. These conclusions didn’t quite feel right, however, so I made one last ‘all or nothing’ attempt to clear the confusion in my mind. I called out to God.

My calling out was not what you normally think of when you hear a sinner speak of calling out to God, though; it was more of a barter, a challenge, a dare. I decided that there were a few different things to which I needed answers simultaneously. Was there indeed a God? Was he remotely interested in the details of our life? Was there an afterlife (what I had always heard referred to as heaven, or paradise)? If he existed and if there was some form of an afterlife; was I satisfying his expectations well enough to gain me his acceptance? Those were the questions that led me to the challenge, or dare.

At the time I was working on a commercial steel erection crew building a structure on the back side of Lafayette, IN. This building was kind of out of the way with nothing much around it at the time. Seldom did we see much activity except construction related traffic and people, which made the likelihood of the challenge all the more unlikely. This was intentional; I was presenting a challenge to a god whom I wasn’t positive existed which would require extremely abnormal circumstances in order to come to pass. I think deep in my heart I was afraid of what I knew to be the certain answer. The challenge went like this, ‘If there is an after life, a heaven, and if I’m unprepared to stand and be judged worthy for acceptance into the same, place a [specific item related to my current addiction] in plain sight on the job site tomorrow.’ That was my fleece and, like Gideon’s, it was highly unlikely.

It happened.

I dismissed it as chance.

The next day I ‘fleeced’ it again. This particular thing had never happened before so I was certain it was impossible on subsequent days. It happened…again…the very next day. Suffice it to say God had my attention but I didn’t know how to respond.

I immediately decided that I had to have answers. Period. I would stop at nothing to find these answers. Answers to the questions about salvation, victory over sin, Christian experience and anything else you could think of related to the subject. The problem was, though, I wasn’t sure where to turn so I went to the only place I could think of, the Bible. I was familiar (raised in church) and unfamiliar (never made personal application) with it all at the same time.

I poured myself into studying this book.

I didn’t know how to study. I didn’t know where, in the book, to look for answers. Daily I rose and spent 1-2 hrs combing through its pages. Asking questions; seeking answers. Nothing could deter me from my quest to find answers to nagging questions about the emptiness I felt in my soul.

For the next 3 1/2 years I maintained this daily regimen, alone. I dared not admit to anyone that I was a hypocrite, a fake. I was a reasonably respected member in my local church who was meeting all the expectations of the other members and leadership. How could I drop the mask and let those people see who Aaron Hoblit really was?

The date is now early 2002.

By this time I have come to realize that the Christian ‘god’ (whom I understand theologically to be somehow connected to Jesus) is both real and interested in our individual lives. I also understand that prayer is [somehow] an integral part of the whole equation. I realized that ‘relationship’ was the buzz word used when referencing this interaction with this god. (Though the church I affiliated with seemed to minimize this concept.) I could also recognize the difference between those who ‘had it’ and those who didn’t.

Vivid in my memory is a Sunday evening sitting with several families in a living room setting when one brother casually says, ‘Let’s go around the room and have everyone share their testimony of conversion.’ What was a casual statement for him was a catastrophic turn of events for me. I was very aware of the lack of such a ‘testimony’ in my life. I panicked. Suffering from a head cold at the time I feigned laryngitis. Serious. Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures.

I’m not certain how deliberate my prayer was in the next few weeks but it went like this, ‘Lord, give me one of these ‘testimonies of conversion’ so I won’t be embarrassed the next time the subject comes up.’ Noble? Hardly, but He heard; and answered. Three weeks later on a Tuesday afternoon he did just that.

Damascus Road. Darkness to light. Dead to life. Something significant changed that day.

My fire had been lit and nothing could put it out. I continued my habit of rising early (sometimes as early as 3:30-4 am) and spending a significant amount of time in the Scriptures. Daily I was receiving new revelations. Prayer permeated my every waking moment. I began distributing gospel tracts everywhere I went and sharing the gospel with everyone I met (whether they wanted to hear it or not!); customers, bank tellers, waitresses, store clerks, friends, family, strangers, everyone. People who had previously known me began asking what had happened--pointing to positive changes in my life and habits.

God began opening doors for ministry. Street evangelism. Prison ministry. Worldwide online evangelism. Music ministry. The sweetness of what had happened in my life simply needed to be told. I was a dying patient who had met a man who had completely healed me of my sickness called sin and I was on a quest to tell every other patient dying of the same ailment. Nothing could stop me. Nothing.

Fast forward nearly 9 years to present day.

Where is that blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul refreshing view
Of Jesus and His Word?

As I look back over the last several years I realize that something dampened the fire. My zeal to ‘save the world’ has become slightly cynical. The passion I had to share the gospel with everyone I met has been replaced with complacency. The desire I for constant communication with my Father has been reduced to Post-It ™ Note prayers. My study of the Scripture has become academic. My habits have become loose.

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed!
How sweet their memory still!

While I’m aware that this experience is common to mature Christians something tells me it doesn’t have to be this way.

Return, O holy Dove! return,
Sweet messenger of rest!