The story of Hidden Manna Church is quite literally a tale of death and resurrection.

 

It began when the sweeping scourge of depression hit both me and my family. I had just graduated with a degree in accounting, and my committed girlfriend was away in Pharmacy school. Meanwhile, I - unable to find a job amid the economic crisis of 2008 - was still living at home with my dad.  For three long years I clung to videogames and midnight McDonalds runs for my sanity. While this was fine for a while, the ticking of the clock became increasingly apparent, and the seams of life began to come into focus.  What in the world was I doing? More importantly, why was I so unhappy? ​
 

In my best effort to keep the world at bay and buy myself time to figure things out, I enrolled myself in graduate school.  That's when the seed of faith was planted.  It must be said that although I had always believed in God nominally, He was by no means a felt presence in my life.

 

At any rate, after one of my evening lectures concluded, a classmate named Gordon passingly recommended that I listen to one of his favorite speakers, and gave me his name. I cannot attribute my willingness to partake as anything other than a divine appointment.  Under any other circumstances, I would have thrown out the idea at first opportunity and then given a generic affirmation when asked what I thought. 

 

However, that night I found myself bouncing around YouTube listening to men of faith speak about God for hours. I don't remember exactly who it was, but one of the nameless speakers posited a very peculiar challenge to his audience: demand faith from God and He will deliver it.  His logic was this: if God's desire is truly for man to enter back into faithful communion with Him (and it is!), then He will respond favorably to any request for it. 

 

Having nothing to lose, I took the unknown speaker up on his challenge. That night, I gave this prayer: 

 

"God, I want to die. I have everything that the world told me would be enough - a loving family, a beautiful girlfriend, an education, endless videogames and technology - and yet somehow none of it matters. Set me on fire! Use me - forcibly if necessary - to do your will. I am your vessel, and will do whatever you call me to do. Just save me from this hell." 

 

Insta-conversions and testimonial have always been highly suspicious to me, but I am now a firm believer in such tales. I tell you the truth - I was immediately infected with the God bug. I woke up the next morning with an inexplicable love for the world.  Everything in my small and miserable world suddenly carried an aura around it, and I saw with new eyes. Right there, while I sat quite uncomfortably in the region and shadow of death, a great light had dawned.  Jumping through time quickly, I spent the next few years teaching myself Greek, advocating for the existence of God to internet audiences and delving into church history during my free time. 

 

This was the trial period. I remember conversing anonymously with internet skeptics for hours on end, into the wee hours of the night on a daily basis. Being able to info dump evidences and arguments on others from behind the computer screen, although stressful in its own right, was comfortable, and served my awkward introverted nature quite well.  I'll spare you all of the intimate anecdotal details, but soon, through a series of visions and dreams, God called me out of web apologetics and demanded that I use my newfound voice to tell family and friends about Him.

 

I began to give speak - for what felt like the first time in my life - to those appearing in my dreams. I would tell them about the things I'd learned in my studies. I'd tell them about the supernatural happenings I'd witnessed since converting. As I suppose is to be expected when anyone suddenly goes "rogue for God," my proselytizing was met with with mixed reaction. Friends thought I had joined a cult, and close family would later admit that my sudden transformation was more than a little weird at first.  For those who had been subject to my cynical, depressing rants in just days prior, it must have all seemed phony. However, I relented in my pursuit of God, and others - even if in disagreement - learned to appreciate (or tolerate!) my zeal. 

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As I matured in my studies and in my faith, I could not help but wonder why there seemed to be such a misalignment between the awe-inspiring figure of Christ and those professing to be His followers. Try as I may, I could not find an outlet for expressing my faith.  Everyone I spoke to seemed so distant, so disinterested. Discontent with the trappings of modern Christianity, but being convinced that I'd been called, my soul was screaming for a deeper God experience.  

 

My faith dilemma eventually led me to the heart of Israel on a 9-day pilgrimage tour.  Through some convincing of the Mrs. and some clever manipulation of the home checkbook, passports and tickets were quickly obtained!  In the weeks preceding our trip, I told myself that it would be here that I would surely find the God that had seemed so keen to evade Western Christianity! 

 

Looking back, I don't know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn't what I got. 

 

From the time our plane landed in the midst of Holy Land, I was met with continual disappointment. Faith seemed to be as remote and unfelt as I had believed it to be in the states. Life was busy and full of indulgences. Church rites were superficial and oppressive. Commerce (of which I am empathetic as many do not have other means of survival other than tourism) drowned out the air of worship. My own tour group was not much interested in discussing matters of faith as we hit up the ancients locales. I even missed my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of a Jordan River baptism due to scheduling conflicts. 

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On the 7th day of our trip, for the first time in my 30 years of life, I doubted the existence of God. 

 

I remember breaking away from the tour group and clinging to the iron gates that bordered Gethsemane, debating God, "Lord, I've gone through a lot to come meet You here: I've exhausted my credit limit. I've fought with my office to obtain vacation time. I've convinced my wife that this would be worthwhile. Where the heck are You?" 

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Then, in a moment, the answer dawned upon me like new light.  Here I was, mere feet from the rock where historians claim that Christ, on the eve of His crucifixion, had given His most desperate prayer to God.  It was here that the man whom I called "Lord" had pleaded with God, much in the same way that I was, to deliver Him from the encroaching forces of darkness. It was here that Christ took a look in death's crazed stare, and became so consumed by despair that He perspired blood. Behind Him were loitered family and friends who had gravely misunderstood His purpose every step of the way, and who had even fallen asleep in His greatest hour of need; stretched out before Him was an approaching crowd seeking to bind and kill Him. 

 

It was then that the old "Footsteps in the Sand" poem that that had hung in my old hallway came to life. In my greatest hour of need - the first and only time I had ever doubted God - it was Christ who had stooped to where I was in order to help me burden the weight of my fear and doubt.  My Lord had come to this same valley set on the outskirts of the Holy City long before I had. He, too, had been in a search of a faith that eluded Him elsewhere in the world. And though He called out for refuge, there was none. Though He longed to be comforted, there was none.  No longer could He hear the sound of "Hosanna's." 

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Maybe this comparison sounds a little dramatic, all things considered.  However, for me to return to the states without a souvenir from Heaven was akin to a corpse returning to his grave after realizing that there was to be no resurrection. Going back home without God was death for me. 

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Then, while my eyes remained shut, it was if the heavens were opened, and I heard the sound of voices singing in unison to the tune of American Christian pop! I saw a vision of weeping crowds in the last church service I'd attended (New Hope Worship Center), and remembered the overwhelming sense of of God's Spirit that I had felt there. With clarity the Lord proclaimed not only His existence over my doubts, but also the promise of His presence in my life, which was not to be found in the heart of the Holy Land, or in any place of ancient stones or texts, but in the hearts of all who would gather in His name.  The church was the place that He'd set apart for His dwelling alongside man, and I somehow had missed this.  

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It was from then on that I realized that it would be my cross to bear - to bring the Gospel to the world, and to fan the flames of His love to all people. While the world has grown in its disdain for itself, birthing and breeding irreverence, racism, murder and materialism among our people, God is the Savior and Deliverer of all people.

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My life experience has demonstrated that so many of us - all across the face of the globe - are wandering the wastelands of modernity in pursuit of love, meaning and hope.  Inventive as we are, we have found ways to survive from the scraps offered by the world and its lusts, but we await the hope of something better.  Only God is big enough to satisfy the deepest hungers of man. 

This is a land and people ripe for the harvest, but the laborers are few. 

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Hidden Manna Church is my best effort to feed the hungry, to shine a light in the dark and to bring back dancing to the mourning. 

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- Christopher Nguyen