[For the detailed background story, please read my About page first.]
Reading The Warning hits home like nothing ever has. It’s a slap in the face from God Himself, telling me to wake the hell up and get my act together.
The book talks about an upcoming event called the Warning (aka the Illumination of Conscience), brought upon mankind by God. In a span of about 15 minutes, we will see our own soul the way Jesus sees it—in all its sinfulness, depravity, and filth.
Some people will die of sheer terror and fright when they see the state of their souls. Most will instantly convert to the Catholic faith.
This terrifying event is not a punishment from God, though—it's His final act of mercy... our last chance to turn around, repent, and be saved.
One part of the book is testimonies of people who lived through their own personal Illumination of Conscience.
The first story, by one Allen Ames, a violent alcoholic, thief, and embezzler, hits me the hardest. Here’s how he describes his moment of truth:
I saw how every time I hurt someone, I was hurting Jesus. Any time I told a lie, I was lying about Jesus as he suffered and died. Every time I gossiped about people, I was below the Cross with those gossiping about Jesus as he hung in agony. Any time I made fun of others, I was making fun of Jesus as he died for me. Even the smallest sin, even the thoughts I had toward others—of dislike, anger, hate, or frustration—seemed so big. To see my grievous sins was absolutely terrible.
Jesus showed me the state of my soul, which was putrid. He revealed that my sins not only hurt other people but even led them into sin, such as when they imitated me or responded with anger or violence. I felt so ashamed, so unworthy.
I wanted to run away, but could not, and Jesus would not leave me. Worse yet, he kept telling me he loved me and longed to forgive me.
Then the view changed, and I saw Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, taking into his heart the suffering and hurt from my sins and everyone else's from the beginning through the end of time. It is no wonder that he sweated blood.
I saw the strokes of the whip and the crown of thorns as my sins. I saw Jesus carrying the Cross and myself sitting on top of it with my pride, making it heavier and heavier. I saw each of the nails, the thrust of the spear.
I saw Jesus hanging on the Cross just loving me, and calling out that he wanted to forgive me no matter how much I hurt him. "Through all those times," he said, "I was still there by your side loving you."
I fell to the ground crying, seeing how much throughout my life I had hurt my sweet, gentle, and wonderful Lord.
I didn't want to live. I begged him to let me die and to send me to hell because I didn't feel that I should exist anymore.
But Jesus kept calling out to me. For five hours, I cried and cried, curled up on the floor, sobbing like a baby, begging Jesus, "Let me die, let me die!"
To see his blood running down his face as he called out to me through his suffering, "I love you, and I want to forgive you," was the deepest pain I've ever felt in my life.
It feels like someone punched me in the face. I instantly recognize myself in his description. I’ve been a Catholic for over two years, but I’ve been faking it the whole time. Even after I converted, I’ve tried to hang onto some of my New Age practices and beliefs.
Surely, God wouldn’t mind if I did some Tarot readings, just for myself. Surely, God wouldn’t mind me performing a little Reiki here and there. Surely, God wouldn’t mind me teaching others the Law of Attraction. “I’m a powerful co-creator” sounds and feels so much better than “I’m a terrible sinner.”
But that’s what I am, a sinner and a phony—one of the lukewarm believers that Jesus said he will spit out of his mouth. If I don’t change now, I’ll be going to hell in the proverbial hand basket.
I break down sobbing, unable to stop myself. Please, Jesus, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.