EMORY STILL FEELS the pain of frost-numbed bare feet on the long winter walk to school. Times were hard, and I left school to work much sooner than most other children. Father was just a poor market gardener who scratched a living from his patch of land. Somehow the family seemed to multiply faster than his money, and we were ill clothed and unshod. Don’t get the wrong idea about my father. He was not lazy or a spendthrift. No, he was a hardworking and honest man—a devout Hindu who taught us to believe in his religion.

Rebellion set in at a very young age; no amount of punishment at home or school could change my destructive course. One teacher commented that there was no hope for me and that I would spend the rest of my life behind prison bars. By now my long-suffering father could take it no more and was ready to send me to a reformatory. My mother’s pleading gave me a reprieve.

Work brought another world within my reach, a world of new and exciting experiences. I began smoking pot and anything that makes one high. It was during the rock and roll era, when “stovepipe” jeans, leather jackets, and sharp knives were all part of the street gang scene, into which I drifted.

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What Is Hinduism?

Our values were distorted; we enjoyed damaging parked cars and public buildings, and ripping open bus seats. Street fights against rival gangs soon supplemented these tame activities, which invariably left me nursing terrible injuries. (I leave out the more gory details.) The gang enjoyed gate-crashing social parties and wedding receptions, causing much havoc and unhappiness in the process. I still tremble when I think back on the numerous times death loomed its ugly face at me, but I was spared.

We Tried to Wreck the Service
One evening the gang was heavily intoxicated, and we passed a large tent in which a Christian revival service was in progress. We decided to enter and have fun mocking these Christians and their God. This we did, and after noisily taking our seats we proceeded to punctuate the sermon with raucous “amens” and “praise the Lords.”

When the preacher invited those wanting special spiritual help to come forward, we all trooped to the front, where he prayed for us in spite of our irreligious attitude. This done, we left the tent, but not before the preacher had pressed a little book into my hand.

Upon waking the next morning, I examined the little book and found that it was a copy of the Christian New Testa-ment. As I stared at the book cupped in my hand, the events of the previous night slowly took focus, leaving me with the strong feeling of fear. I had mocked the Christian God, something I should never have done. For the first time in my life I knew that He was real. So real that I could speak to Him, and I did, saying, “I did the wrong thing last night. I should never have mocked You like that. I’m sorry.” I really felt bad about what I’d done, but was quick to add, “But I still can’t accept You as my God. Maybe someday, but not now!” and I gave the book away.

Time to Think
My life took a different shape when I left for Durban to take up a new job. Fortunately, I left all my gang friends and most of my bad habits behind me when I moved to this busy port city. Finding it hard to break into a new circle of friends, I spent many hours alone reading.

Religious Hindu literature began to interest me, and I enjoyed reviewing the faith my parents had taught me as a child. I met a staunch Hindu girl, and we were married and set up a happy home. Our religion was very precious to both of us. I learned to repeat the mantras (holy chants) and would spend a lot of time chanting and meditating. During my morning and evening prayers I would sit in the lotus position and pray with the use of the Hindu rosary. We were also very strict about fasting and the observance of Hindu holy days.

My rising religious fervor made me intolerant of those who were careless about the Hindu faith and tradition. I was especially outspoken against those influenced by Christianity, and I came to dislike Jesus Christ. At times that dislike would flare into anger, and I would curse those who mentioned His name in my presence.

Three Disturbing Dreams
Such was my life until the events of one remarkable evening. I had completed my prayers, retired to bed, and fallen soundly asleep. Suddenly my sleep was invaded by a most vivid and disturbing dream in which I saw the man Jesus towering above me on a massive wooden cross. His head hung toward His right shoulder. I was awestruck by His beauty and physique. He was the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and I said to Him, “Lord, I didn’t know You looked like this.” He opened His eyes very slowly; golden yellow beams (like the headlights of a car) radiated from His eyes and rushed toward me. I was completely engulfed by this light. I couldn’t see anymore. I covered my eyes with my hands, shielding myself from the brightness.

The dream faded, and I woke with a strange and yet wonderful excitement. Not able to keep the dream to myself, I shook my wife awake and told her what I had experienced. All through the retelling, one question seemed to hurl itself at me: “Why did Jesus appear to me? I am not a Christian!” The night had no answer.

Two nights later I had another disturbing dream. In this dream I found myself repeating the words “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit” again and again. As I awoke the dream became a reality, for these strange words were actually coming from my lips. It was most alarming; here I was, a dedicated Hindu, repeating Christian prayers instead of the traditional mantras of my own religion. I shook my wife awake and told her what I’d experienced.

A third vivid dream followed a few nights later. I was sitting in a room. I felt a strange presence of holiness. I turned around and looked at the opened doorway. I saw a towering, majestic person of ancient times. His robe I could see, but his face was shrouded in a circling mist, and I cried out, “Father Emmanuel.” He lifted his huge left hand and blessed me and then disappeared. Who was this Father Emmanuel who left me with a pounding heart and yet feeling elated? Once again I shook my wife awake and told her what I’d experienced.

Two Years of Struggle
I could not pray as a Hindu anymore. Every time I sat to meditate and pray with the rosary, Jesus would invade my meditation. I would discontinue my prayers. I did not want Jesus in my life; I was born a Hindu and had no desire to change.

And thus for two years the battle raged in my heart. The power of Jesus was pulling me toward Him and another force away from Him. Deeply puzzled and in urgent need of some satisfying answers, I visited many churches. They were unanimous in telling me that their God was calling me to become a Christian. They explained to me that Jesus is the Son of God; that Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit are the Holy Trinity; and that Emmanuel means “God with us.”

This I did not want to believe. How could Someone whom I had disliked so much want me to become one of His followers? That did not sound right at all. I was happy being a Hindu, and I did not want to change.

As time passed I started to fall in love with this tender, beautiful, loving Jesus. One day as I sat in the lounge, thinking deeply about my present spiritual life, which seemed to be in tatters, suddenly everything came into focus. My mind went back to the Christian camp meeting 20 years ealier, during which I’d insulted God and then halfheartedly promised Him that I would follow Him some day. Jesus remembered this feeble promise when I had held His Word in my hand and said, “Maybe someday, but not now.” It seemed that a great burden had been lifted from me. I simply said, “Lord,

I can’t fight You anymore. You win.” I knew right then that I must follow Him.

The Search Was On
God had prepared the hearts of my wife and my children. When I put the question “Shall we remain Hindus or become Christians?” to them, the vote for Jesus was overwhelming. But the big question was Which church do we attend? There are so many churches, and they all seem different. My wife suggested that we attend a church where some neighbors went on Saturdays.

I thought these people were quite mad. It’s common knowledge that Sunday is a church day. When I used to drive to the market on Saturday mornings I would see these people standing at the bus stop with Bibles in their hand, and I would give them a ride to the church. I would chuckle to myself because they looked so odd, sticking out like a sore thumb, going to church on a Saturday. I told my wife we would attend any church except this peculiar Saturday church.

My search for the “real” church was overpowering. I wanted to do everything acceptable in God’s sight. We prayed and asked God to lead us to His church. That very night I had another vivid dream. I saw these Saturday worshipers sitting around a table, and a Bible was in their midst. I awoke immediately and realized the Bible was God’s book and these were God’s people. The following Saturday my family and I attended the Verulam Seventh-day Adventist Church, where we were warmly welcomed, and we found the worship to be wholesome and enjoyable and at the same time full of reverence. In due course we were baptized, and 20 years later we are still regular, churchgoing, happy Christians.

We are thankful for the love of Jesus, which successfully penetrated the gloomy stronghold of traditional religion and led us into the light of Christianity. I feel humbled by a mighty God who called a worthless sinner into His fold, and I want to live for Him today and every day for the rest my life.

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Ned Naggyah is an associate elder and adult Sabbath school teacher of the West Island Seventh-day Adventist Church in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. He is happily married, with three daughters.