I was running hard at this point. Sweat was dripping down my back, and my short hair was matted to my head. As I stepped onto my three-mile mark in the parking lot of my apartment building I shouted, “He restoreth my soul!” I bent over in exhilarating pain from the workout. “He restoreth my soul,” I said out loud, more softly this time, but I continued to repeat it. “He restoreth my soul, he restoreth my soul.” As I said these words, something stirred inside of me. It was as if a lightbulb had turned on, exposing a sacred secret that I’d known all along yet had hidden from even myself. I hadn’t prayed to God in years. “What is the point of prayer,” I’d ask, “unless you are in trouble?” But something inside kept nudging at me. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. ...”
“God,” I prayed silently, “that’s the answer. My soul is broken, and that’s why I’m not happy. If you really are up there, will you restore my soul?” At that moment it suddenly became clear to me: if God originally made the soul, then he should be able to restore it!
As powerful as that moment was, I immediately let go of it and went about my day. God, however, would not let go. Within a week I was introduced to an evangelical Christian who would, in the months to come, lead me to the Lord and disciple me. God is faithful, and he knew the innermost desire of my heart, which was restoration. At that moment my heart became one with his. He too was seeking restoration. He spoke to me, the unbeliever, in an attempt to draw me into his kingdom. He initiated the contact, which became a romance that has led to twelve years of continual transformation. As real as his ministry of reconciliation seems in the biblical accounts, God became personally real to me. He is now my everything, the focus of my love and admiration. It is with great honor that I worship and serve him. Jesus told his disciples in Mark 10:29–30 that anyone who relinquished everything to follow him would receive it back a hundredfold. God always multiplies the blessings when he renews a relationship. Through the acceptance of Christ as our Savior, he replaces the unbeliever’s life with a more powerful, majestic, and glorious one than we could ever have imagined. His promises of restoration are true. The key to all of this is the removal of ourselves from the throne of our lives and the placing of our heavenly Father there, where he belongs. I was a slave to sin, as well as to the master of sin, Satan. Deliverance from this master required payment of a ransom. When I asked for freedom, Jesus rescued me, providing redemption through his death. Deliverance from my sin resulted in freedom.
During my life as an unbeliever I sought redemption through self-help books, religion, secular counseling, treatment centers, and medication. They were just Band- Aids on my gaping wounds. None of them brought true healing; they simply lacked the healing power that I needed. God can certainly use such resources as counseling, books, and even medication. But none of them, by themselves, can truly heal. Simply giving a name or a diagnosis to a wound does not heal it. Calling cancer by its name does not bring healing to the body. It is just a label, and labels only help to identify the wound. Doctors treat, but Jesus heals. The same is true of medications, psychiatrists, counselors, self-help books, and, yes, even pastors. They treat; Jesus heals.
True life change requires an internal and spiritual process, a metamorphosis. Metamorphosis refers to a change to a fundamentally different form, a change from one essential form into another. Metamorphosis describes Jesus’ transfiguration (see Matt. 17 and Mark 9), which involved a transformation from an earthly form into a supernatural one. Metamorphosis refers to both a visible spiritual transformation—one that we will experience when we eventually see Jesus and become like him (see 1 John 3:2) —and the invisible process that takes place in our hearts as he shapes our character to become like his (see Rom. 12:2, 2 Cor. 3:18).
There is another word that is similar to but distinct from metamorphosis. It is the Greek word metaschematizo, which means “to change one’s outward form or appearance.” Metaschematizo, however, does not refer to a fundamental alteration of the nature of a person or thing. If one were to change a Dutch garden into an Italian one, that would be an example of metaschematizo. But if one were to transform a flower garden into a baseball field, that would be metamorphoo—a total and complete transformation.
We commonly observe metaschematizo in modern medicine’s frequent approach to healing. There are many procedures that physicians utilize in treating illnesses, but they often serve merely as Band-Aids for a dying world. They cover the wound, but the wound only heals on the surface, while the festering continues underneath. Complete and perfect healing, as well as transformation, comes from one place: the cross of Jesus.
