“Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Shew us the Father?” (John 14:9)
One particular evening, after I had sat down in my favorite chair to relax a little before going to bed, I happened to pick up a magazine that belonged to my wife and began to glance through it.
It was then that I saw something that grabbed my attention.
It was an article on the Shroud of Turin, which many people believe to be the burial shroud of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
When a photograph of the shroud is taken, the negative reveals the distinct image of a man, which is not discernable in the regular photograph.
The man appears to be lying in death, hands folded with eyes closed, and has the exact same wounds in the forehead, hands, feet, side and back as the Bible describes inflicted upon Jesus.
Experts have debated for years over the authenticity of the shroud, but it wasn’t the shroud or necessarily the article that captured my attention.
It was the face of the man in the picture.
It was evident that this individual had gone through excruciating pain and torture, yet this face had such nobility, a peace, a regality about it. It was as if pain, sorrow, and even death could have no victory over him, that he was of such royalty he was above all of it.
I thought, “What if God really did have a Son, and this was Him. Could I really be looking at the face of the Son of God?”
I could not get that face out of my mind.
Over the next few days I asked around to see if anyone else that I knew had ever heard of the shroud, but no one had, and I put it to the back of my mind. But, there was just something about that face.
As time went by, I began to think about that article less and less, but God was orchestrating all of the things in my life that would bring me to a crossroads, a turning point, and a decision from which there could be no turning back.