It was December 1952 in Jaffa, Israel. Clemence Hinn, about to give birth to her second child,was in the hospital, gazing out the window of her maternity oom at a beautiful sight. The deep blue waters of the Mediterranean were stretched to infinity.
But the heart of this small woman of Armenian descent was troubled. She was torn with bitterness, fear, and shame.Off in the distance she could see the black cluster of rocks in the sea, Andromeda's Rocks. Greek legend holds that the maiden Andromeda was chained to one of them when Perseus flew down on his winged horse, slew the sea monster, and rescued her.
Clemence wanted someone somehow to swoop down and save her from another year of humiliation and disgrace. She was a devout Greek Orthodox woman, but she didn't know much about the Lord. In that humble hospital room,however, she tried to make a bargain with Him.As she stood by the window, her eyes pierced the sky,and she spoke from her heart: "God, I have only one request.
If you'll give me a boy, I'll give him back to you." She repeated it again, "Please, Lord. If you'll give me a boy, I'll give him back to you." I was christened in the Greek Orthodox Church by the patriarch of Jerusalem, Benedict us. In fact, during the ceremony he gave me his name. Being born in the Holy Land meant being born in an atmosphere where religion casts an inescapably wide shadow. At the age of two I was enrolled in a Catholic preschool and was formally trained by nuns and later monks for fourteen years.To me, Jaffa was a beautiful city.
In fact, that is what the word itself means beautiful. Jaffa in Arabic, Joppa in ancient Greek, or Yafo in Hebrew. In every language the meaning is the same.As a boy I loved hearing the stories of history that surrounded me. Jaffa was founded back before recorded time. It is mentioned as a Canaanite city in the tribute lists of Pharaoh Thutmose III in the fifteenth century B.C., even before Joshua fought the battle of Jericho.
And it is where the Phoenician King Hiram of Tyre unloaded cedar logs for King Solomon's temple.Though it was fascinating, history had not been kind to my birthplace. Jaffa was invaded, captured, destroyed, and rebuilt again and again. Simon the Maccabee, Vespasian,the Mame lukes, Napoleon, and Allen by have all claimed her. Only six years before I was born, Jaffa found herself in a new nation, the prophetic state of Israel. But the community itself was not Jewish. Mayor Hinn , My father was the mayor of Jaffa during my childhood.
He was a strong man, about 6'2", 250 pounds, and a natural leader. He was strong in every way—physically, mentally,and in will. His family came from Greece to Egypt before settling in Palestine. But being "from somewhere else" was common. The Jaffa of my childhood was truly an international city.Walking down Raziel Street into Tower Square that contains the Abdul Hamid Jubilee Clock Tower, the stone-walled jail, and the Great Mosque, built in 1810, I could hear locals conversing in French, Bulgarian, Arabic,Yiddish, and other languages. And in the kiosks and open-air cafes, I could sample baklava, zlabiya, felafel, sum-sum,and dozens of other delights.So here I was, born in Israel, but not Jewish. Raised in an Arabic culture, but not of Arabic origin.
Attending a Catholic school, but raised as a Greek Orthodox.Languages come easy in that part of the world. I thought everyone was supposed to speak three or four.Arabic was spoken in our home, but at school the Catholic sisters taught in French, except for the Old Testament,which was studied in ancient Hebrew. During my childhood, the hundred thousand people of Jaffa had become engulfed by the exploding Jewish population of Tel Aviv to the north.
Today the metropolish as the official name of Tel Aviv- Jaffa. Over four hundred thousand live in the area. Actually, Tel Aviv began as a Jewish experiment in1909 when sixty families bought thirty-two acres of bares and dunes just north of Jaffa and marched out to the site.They were tired of the cramped conditions and noisy Arab quarters where they lived. The expansion continued untilTel Aviv became Israel's largest city.Even though my father was not Jewish, the Israelileaders trusted him.
And they were happy to have someone in Jaffa who could relate to such an international community. We were proud of his circle of friends, which included many national leaders. He was asked to be an ambassador for Israel in foreign nations, but chose to stayin Jaffa. But there was very little time for the family. In fact, I can't really say that I knew my father then. It seemed he was always attending an official function or an important meeting.He wasn't a demonstrative person, just strict and he seldom showed any physical signs of affection.
Mass was celebrated regularly. My parents didn't protest because a private Catholic school education was considered to be the best available.Weekdays I studied with the nuns, and on Sunday I went to the Greek Orthodox church with Mom and Dad.But that was not considered a major problem in polyglot Jaffa. Loyalty to one particular church did not seem that important.Was I a Catholic? Absolutely. Catholicism was my prayer life. It occupied my time and attention five days a week. It became my mentality.
I practically lived at the convent, and in that cocoon I become very detached from the world.I was also separated from the world in an unfortunate way. From earliest childhood I was afflicted with a severe stutter. The smallest amount of social pressure or nervousness triggered my stammering, and it was almost unbearable. I found it difficult to make friends. Some children made fun of me others just stayed away.I knew very little of world events only what my teachers wanted me to know. But I was an expert on the Catholic life.
As the schooling continued, I attended the College de Frere (College of Brothers) and was taught by monks.Even as a small boy, I was extremely religious. I prayed and I prayed probably more than some Christians pray today. But all I knew how to pray was the Hail Mary, the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and other prescribed prayers.Only rarely did I really talk to the Lord. When I had some specific request, I mentioned it. Otherwise my prayer life was all very organized. Very routine.
The one maxim seemed to be, "You should feel pain when you pray." And that was easy. There was practically nowhere to kneel except on the white Jerusalem rock that was everywhere. Most of the homes are made of it. And the schools I attended had no carpet, just plain white rock floors.I actually came to believe that if you didn't suffer with your supplication, the Lord wouldn't hear you, thatsuffering was the best way to gain God's favor.Even though virtually no spirituality accompanied the teaching, I still cherish the foundation I received in the Bible.
I often think, "How many kids are taught the Old Testament in Hebrew?" And our field trips literally made God's Word come to life.Once we traveled into the Negev where we stood next to the wells Abraham had dug and learned about him. That experience will stay with me forever.
I saw Jesus walk into my bedroom. He was wearing a robe that was whiter than white and a deepred mantle was draped over the robe.I saw His hair. I looked into His eyes. I saw the nail-prints in His hands. I saw everything. You must understand that I did not know Jesus. I had not asked Christ to come into my heart. But the moment I saw Him, I recognized Him. I knew it was the Lord. When it happened, I was asleep, but suddenly my little body was caught up in an incredible sensation that can only be described as "electric." It felt as if someone had plugged me into a wired socket.
There was a numbness that felt like needles a million of them—rushing through my body.And then the Lord stood before me while I was in adeep, deep sleep. He looked straight at me with the most beautiful eyes. He smiled, and His arms were open wide. I could feel His presence. It was marvelous and I'll never forget it. The Lord didn't say anything to me. He just looked at me. And then He disappeared.Immediately I was wide awake. At the time I could scarcely understand what was happening, but it wasn't a dream.
Those kinds of feelings don't happen in a dream.God allowed me to experience a vision that would create an indelible impression on my young life.As I awakened, the wondrous sensation was still there. I opened my eyes and looked all around, but this intense,powerful feeling was still in me. I felt totally paralyzed. I couldn't move a muscle. Not an eyelash. I was completely frozen there. Yet I was in control. This unusual feeling overtook me but didn't dominate me.In fact, I felt I could say, "No, I don't want this," and the experience would have lifted. But I didn't say anything.
While I lay there, awake, the feeling stayed with me, then slowly went away.In the morning I told my mother about the experience,and she still remembers her words. She said, "You must be a saint, then."Things like that didn't happen to people in Jaffa, whether they were Catholic or Greek Orthodox. Of course,I was certainly no "saint," but my mother believed that if Jesus came to me, He must be singling me out for a higher calling.While God was dealing with my life, other factors were at work that would forever change the future of our family.
escalating political tension. Arab raids into Israel occurred almost daily along the borders from Egypt to Jordan and Syria. And the Israeli army regularly retaliated with raids of their own.In May 1967 Israel and the three Arab countries all alerted their armed forces for a possible war.
At Egypt's demand the United Nations troops left the Gaza Strip and the Sinai Peninsula.Then, on June 5, 1967, Israeli planes attacked air fields in Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. It was called the Six-Day War.In less than one week, the Israelis destroyed the Arab air forces almost completely. Israeli troops occupied the Gaza Strip, the Sinai Peninsula, the West Bank, and Syria's Golan Heights.
Suddenly, Israel controlled Arab territory totaling more than three times the area of Israel itself.I'll never forget the day, early in 1968, that my father gathered the family together and told us that he was making plans for us to emigrate. He said, "Please don't discuss it with anyone because there may be some problems with our exit visas."In the beginning, the plan was to move to Belgium.Father had some relatives there, and the thought of moving to a French-speaking country sounded exciting.
\ After all,that was the language of my schooling. Then one evening an attache from the Canadian embassy came to our home and showed us a short movie on life in Canada. Toronto seemed like such a thriving city.Father had two brothers who lived there, but we doubted that they were financially qualified to be our official sponsor.The questions surrounding our leaving seemed to grow day by day. At one point my father told us we might not be ready to depart the country for five years.
Within weeks a young man from the Canadian embassy called my father to say, "Mister Hinn. We've worked everything out—don't ask me how. All of your paper work is in order, and you can leave whenever you're ready."It didn't take long. We sold almost all our possessions and prepared for a new life in North America. During those last days in the Holy Land, I had a keen sense that something great was about to happen. I knew I was leaving a special city, but I felt that the best was yet before me.It was from the harbor of the ancient city of Joppa my Jaffa that Jonah left. And the result was the salvation of Nineveh.
And how many times had I climbed to the Citadel, the high mount overlooking the harbor. Near the lighthouse is a Franciscan church built in 1654. Next to it is the site of the house of Simon the Tanner where the apostle Peter stayed for some time and had a vision that changed the world. Hearing the voice of God telling him to receive Gentiles as well as Jews into the church, Peter responded, "In truth I perceive that God shows no partiality. But in every nation whoever fears Him and works righteousness is accepted by Him" (Acts 10:34-35).
From that very moment, the message of Christ was spread from Joppa to Caesarea and on to the ends of the earth touching all of humankind. As we drove down Haganah Road to the Lod airport, I wondered, "Will I ever see this place again?" I thought about those Catholic nuns who so lovingly had taught me.Had I seen their faces for the last time?Out of the plane window I took one last look down at TelAviv, a huge expanse of gray-white cubes. Behind me were miles of deep green orange groves.
The Jude an hills gleamed faintly in the distance.And as we headed over the waters of the Mediterranean,I looked down and said one last good-bye to Jaffa. There was a lump in my throat. I was fourteen, and it was the only home I had ever known. ( Ice Cream at the Kiosk.) The Hinn family arrival in Toronto in July 1968 was an unheralded event. And that's just the way my father want edit. No welcoming committee met us. And he had no promise of a job.We arrived with the clothes on our backs, a few possessions in suitcases, and a little money from what we had sold in Jaffa.
It was enough to get by for a short time. Our new life began in a rented apartment.What a shock to land suddenly in a "foreign" culture. I could stutter in several languages, but English was not one of them. "One, two, three," was as far as it went. But Daddy had studied enough English to fill out a job application.And it worked. He accepted the challenge of becoming, of all things, an insurance salesman.I don't know whether it was the burden of having to raise a large family, or his natural confidence in dealing with people, but my dad became an immediate success in his newfound profession. And before too many months we moved into our own home.
We were all so proud of it. Life changed rapidly for me. Instead of attending a private Catholic school, I went to a public high school Georges Vanier Secondary School. And since most of the kids at school had part-time jobs, that's what I wanted to do.We lived in the North York section of Toronto, and not far from us the new Fair view Mall had opened. I applied at a little kiosk that sold hamburgers and ice cream. Even though I had no previous work experience, they hired me.
And every day after school I headed there.One Saturday, though, I walked into a grocery store and asked the manager, "Where can I find the olive oil? I need the largest jug or container of it you have." Sure enough, he found a big one.The next day, I walked proudly into the Greek Orthodox church and made good on my vow to God. I placed it at the front of the altar and quietly said, "Thank you, Lord. Thank you for bringing us safely to our new home."My heart was as full as that jug of oil.At the kiosk I did my work. Because of my stutter, I didn't get into many conversations, but I did become a whiz at packing the ice cream into those sugar cones.
I worked with a fellow named Bob. ( Had Bob Lost His Mind?) I'll never forget the day in 1970 when I came to work to find that Bob had done something quite strange. All over the walls of that little kiosk he had tacked little pieces of paper with Scripture verses written on them. I thought he'd lost his mind.I knew he was a Christian he told me so. But wasn't this going a bit too far? I said to myself, "Why is he doing this? Is it for me? I probably know the Bible better than he does.
"Finally I asked him, "What's the idea of all these pieces of paper?" Instantly, he began to witness to me. I though the would never quit. And when it was over, I was determined to stay as far away from this crazy fellow as I could. For the longest time I tried to avoid him. But it was nearly impossible. After all, we had to work together. Over and over, he brought up the topic of religion. But it was more than that. He wanted to talk about being "born again,"a phrase that was not in my limited vocabulary— nor in my view of Scripture.
Bob finally quit his job at the kiosk, but many of hisfriends were at my school. And for the next two years I did my best to avoid them. I thought, "They're a bunch of weirdos." They looked weird. They talked weird. They were complete opposites of the nuns who had taught me.During my senior year at Georges Vanier, for the second time in my life, I had an encounter with the Lord.He came into my room and visited me this time in the form of an unforgettable dream.In Jaffa when I was eleven, the vision of Jesus standing before me had left an indelible impression.
But now, in Toronto, I was not caught up in the study of Scripture. Oh, Is till attended church. But what was about to happen to me came out of left field. It was totally unexpected, and I was stunned by the experience.Let me tell you exactly what happened in my bed room that chilly night in February 1972.As the dream unfolded, I found myself descending along, dark stairway.
It was so steep I thought I would fall.And it was leading me into a deep, endless chasm.I was bound by a chain to a prisoner in front of me and a prisoner behind me. I was dressed in the clothing of a convict. There were chains on my feet and around my wrists.
As far as I could see ahead of me and behind me there was a never-ending line of captives.Then, in the eerie haze of that dimly lit shaft, I saw dozens of small people moving around. They were like imps with strange-shaped ears. I couldn't see their faces,and their forms were barely visible.
But we were obviously being pulled down the stairway by them, like a herd of cattle to a slaughterhouse or even worse.Suddenly, appearing out of nowhere, was the angel of the Lord. Oh, it was a wondrous thing to behold. The heavenly being hovered just ahead of me, just a few steps away.Never in my life had I seen such a sight not even in a dream. A bright and beautiful angel in the midst of that dark, black hole.
As I looked again, the angel motioned with his hand for me to come to him. Then he looked into my eyes and called me out. My eyes were riveted to his, and I began to walk toward him. Instantly those bonds fell off my hands and feet. I was no longer tied to my fellow prisoners. Hurriedly the angel led me through an open doorway,and the moment I walked into the light, the celestial being took me by the hand and dropped me on Don Mills Road right at the corner of Georges Vanier School.
He left me just inches from the wall of the school, right beside a window. In a second the angel was gone, and I woke up early and rushed off to school to study in the library before classes began. ( "I Could Hardly Blink") As I sat there, not even thinking about the dream, a small group of students walked over to my table. I recognized them immediately.
They were the ones who had been pestering me with all of this "Jesus" talk.They asked me to join in their morning prayer meeting.The room was just off the library. I thought, "Well, I'll get them off my back. One little prayer meeting isn't going to hurt me."I said, "All right," and they walked with me into the room.
It was a small group, just twelve or fifteen kids. And my chair was right in the middle.All of a sudden the entire group lifted their hands and began to pray in some funny foreign language. I didn't even close my eyes. I could hardly blink. Here were students seventeen, eighteen, nineteen years old—kids I had known in class praising God with unintelligible sounds.I had never heard of speaking in tongues, and I was dumbfounded.
To think that here was Benny, in a public school, on public property, sitting in the middle of a bunch of babbling fanatics. It was almost more than I could comprehend. I didn't pray. I just watched.What happened next was more than I could ever have imagined. I was startled by a sudden urge to pray. But I really didn't know what to say.
"Hail Mary" see me inappropriate for what I was feeling. I had never been taught the "sinner's prayer"—not in all of my religion classes. All I could remember of my encounters with the"Jesus people" was the phrase "You've got to meet Jesus."Those words seemed out of place to me because I thought I knew Him.
It was an awkward moment. No one was praying with me or even for me. Yet I was surrounded by the most intense spiritual atmosphere I had ever felt. Was I a sinner?I didn't think so. I was just a good little Catholic boy, who prayed every night and confessed sin whether I needed to or not.But at that moment I closed my eyes and said four words that changed my life forever. Right out loud I said,"Lord Jesus, come back.
"I don't know why I said it, but that's all that would come out of my mouth. I repeated those words again and again."Lord Jesus, come back. Lord Jesus, come back."Did I think He had left my house or departed from my life? I really did not know. But the moment I uttered those words a feeling came over me—it took me back to the numbness I felt at age eleven.
It was less intense, but I could feel the voltage of that same force. It went right through me.What I really felt, though, was that this surge of power was cleansing me instantly, from the inside out. I felt absolutely clean, immaculate, and pure. Suddenly I saw Jesus with my own eyes. It happened in a moment of time. There he was. Jesus.
It was one of my favorite subjects; we were studying the Chinese Revolution. But I couldn't even hear the teacher. I don't remember anything that was said. The feeling that began that morning would not leave me. Every time I closed my eyes, there He was Jesus. And when I opened my eyes, He was still there. The picture of the Lord's face would not leave me.All day I was wiping the tears from my eyes.
And the only thing I could say was, "Jesus, I love you .... Jesus, I love you."As I walked out of the door of the school and down the sidewalk to the corner, I looked at the window of the library. And the pieces began to fall into place.The angel. The dream. It all became real again.What was God trying to tell me?What was happening to Benny?
But the heart of this small woman of Armenian descent was troubled. She was torn with bitterness, fear, and shame.Off in the distance she could see the black cluster of rocks in the sea, Andromeda's Rocks. Greek legend holds that the maiden Andromeda was chained to one of them when Perseus flew down on his winged horse, slew the sea monster, and rescued her.
Clemence wanted someone somehow to swoop down and save her from another year of humiliation and disgrace. She was a devout Greek Orthodox woman, but she didn't know much about the Lord. In that humble hospital room,however, she tried to make a bargain with Him.As she stood by the window, her eyes pierced the sky,and she spoke from her heart: "God, I have only one request.
If you'll give me a boy, I'll give him back to you." She repeated it again, "Please, Lord. If you'll give me a boy, I'll give him back to you." I was christened in the Greek Orthodox Church by the patriarch of Jerusalem, Benedict us. In fact, during the ceremony he gave me his name. Being born in the Holy Land meant being born in an atmosphere where religion casts an inescapably wide shadow. At the age of two I was enrolled in a Catholic preschool and was formally trained by nuns and later monks for fourteen years.To me, Jaffa was a beautiful city.
In fact, that is what the word itself means beautiful. Jaffa in Arabic, Joppa in ancient Greek, or Yafo in Hebrew. In every language the meaning is the same.As a boy I loved hearing the stories of history that surrounded me. Jaffa was founded back before recorded time. It is mentioned as a Canaanite city in the tribute lists of Pharaoh Thutmose III in the fifteenth century B.C., even before Joshua fought the battle of Jericho.
And it is where the Phoenician King Hiram of Tyre unloaded cedar logs for King Solomon's temple.Though it was fascinating, history had not been kind to my birthplace. Jaffa was invaded, captured, destroyed, and rebuilt again and again. Simon the Maccabee, Vespasian,the Mame lukes, Napoleon, and Allen by have all claimed her. Only six years before I was born, Jaffa found herself in a new nation, the prophetic state of Israel. But the community itself was not Jewish. Mayor Hinn , My father was the mayor of Jaffa during my childhood.
He was a strong man, about 6'2", 250 pounds, and a natural leader. He was strong in every way—physically, mentally,and in will. His family came from Greece to Egypt before settling in Palestine. But being "from somewhere else" was common. The Jaffa of my childhood was truly an international city.Walking down Raziel Street into Tower Square that contains the Abdul Hamid Jubilee Clock Tower, the stone-walled jail, and the Great Mosque, built in 1810, I could hear locals conversing in French, Bulgarian, Arabic,Yiddish, and other languages. And in the kiosks and open-air cafes, I could sample baklava, zlabiya, felafel, sum-sum,and dozens of other delights.So here I was, born in Israel, but not Jewish. Raised in an Arabic culture, but not of Arabic origin.
Attending a Catholic school, but raised as a Greek Orthodox.Languages come easy in that part of the world. I thought everyone was supposed to speak three or four.Arabic was spoken in our home, but at school the Catholic sisters taught in French, except for the Old Testament,which was studied in ancient Hebrew. During my childhood, the hundred thousand people of Jaffa had become engulfed by the exploding Jewish population of Tel Aviv to the north.
Today the metropolish as the official name of Tel Aviv- Jaffa. Over four hundred thousand live in the area. Actually, Tel Aviv began as a Jewish experiment in1909 when sixty families bought thirty-two acres of bares and dunes just north of Jaffa and marched out to the site.They were tired of the cramped conditions and noisy Arab quarters where they lived. The expansion continued untilTel Aviv became Israel's largest city.Even though my father was not Jewish, the Israelileaders trusted him.
And they were happy to have someone in Jaffa who could relate to such an international community. We were proud of his circle of friends, which included many national leaders. He was asked to be an ambassador for Israel in foreign nations, but chose to stayin Jaffa. But there was very little time for the family. In fact, I can't really say that I knew my father then. It seemed he was always attending an official function or an important meeting.He wasn't a demonstrative person, just strict and he seldom showed any physical signs of affection.
(Mymother, however, made up for that.)
Again, part of that was the culture. Men were men!We lived comfortably. Dad's position in government made it possible for us to have a home in the suburbs. It was a wonderful home that had a wall around it with glass along the top for security. My mother was a homemaker in every sense of the word; raising that brood of little Hinns was more than a full-time job.
( A Catholic Cocoon )
As my education continued, I considered myself to be aCatholic. The process started very early. The preschool I attended was actually more like a convent.Mass was celebrated regularly. My parents didn't protest because a private Catholic school education was considered to be the best available.Weekdays I studied with the nuns, and on Sunday I went to the Greek Orthodox church with Mom and Dad.But that was not considered a major problem in polyglot Jaffa. Loyalty to one particular church did not seem that important.Was I a Catholic? Absolutely. Catholicism was my prayer life. It occupied my time and attention five days a week. It became my mentality.
I practically lived at the convent, and in that cocoon I become very detached from the world.I was also separated from the world in an unfortunate way. From earliest childhood I was afflicted with a severe stutter. The smallest amount of social pressure or nervousness triggered my stammering, and it was almost unbearable. I found it difficult to make friends. Some children made fun of me others just stayed away.I knew very little of world events only what my teachers wanted me to know. But I was an expert on the Catholic life.
As the schooling continued, I attended the College de Frere (College of Brothers) and was taught by monks.Even as a small boy, I was extremely religious. I prayed and I prayed probably more than some Christians pray today. But all I knew how to pray was the Hail Mary, the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and other prescribed prayers.Only rarely did I really talk to the Lord. When I had some specific request, I mentioned it. Otherwise my prayer life was all very organized. Very routine.
The one maxim seemed to be, "You should feel pain when you pray." And that was easy. There was practically nowhere to kneel except on the white Jerusalem rock that was everywhere. Most of the homes are made of it. And the schools I attended had no carpet, just plain white rock floors.I actually came to believe that if you didn't suffer with your supplication, the Lord wouldn't hear you, thatsuffering was the best way to gain God's favor.Even though virtually no spirituality accompanied the teaching, I still cherish the foundation I received in the Bible.
I often think, "How many kids are taught the Old Testament in Hebrew?" And our field trips literally made God's Word come to life.Once we traveled into the Negev where we stood next to the wells Abraham had dug and learned about him. That experience will stay with me forever.
( His Robe Was Whiter Than White )
Several times in my life God has spoken to me in a vision. It happened only once during my years in Jaffa,when I was just a boy of eleven.I really believe it was at that moment that God began moving in my life. I can remember the vision as if it happened yesterday.I saw Jesus walk into my bedroom. He was wearing a robe that was whiter than white and a deepred mantle was draped over the robe.I saw His hair. I looked into His eyes. I saw the nail-prints in His hands. I saw everything. You must understand that I did not know Jesus. I had not asked Christ to come into my heart. But the moment I saw Him, I recognized Him. I knew it was the Lord. When it happened, I was asleep, but suddenly my little body was caught up in an incredible sensation that can only be described as "electric." It felt as if someone had plugged me into a wired socket.
There was a numbness that felt like needles a million of them—rushing through my body.And then the Lord stood before me while I was in adeep, deep sleep. He looked straight at me with the most beautiful eyes. He smiled, and His arms were open wide. I could feel His presence. It was marvelous and I'll never forget it. The Lord didn't say anything to me. He just looked at me. And then He disappeared.Immediately I was wide awake. At the time I could scarcely understand what was happening, but it wasn't a dream.
Those kinds of feelings don't happen in a dream.God allowed me to experience a vision that would create an indelible impression on my young life.As I awakened, the wondrous sensation was still there. I opened my eyes and looked all around, but this intense,powerful feeling was still in me. I felt totally paralyzed. I couldn't move a muscle. Not an eyelash. I was completely frozen there. Yet I was in control. This unusual feeling overtook me but didn't dominate me.In fact, I felt I could say, "No, I don't want this," and the experience would have lifted. But I didn't say anything.
While I lay there, awake, the feeling stayed with me, then slowly went away.In the morning I told my mother about the experience,and she still remembers her words. She said, "You must be a saint, then."Things like that didn't happen to people in Jaffa, whether they were Catholic or Greek Orthodox. Of course,I was certainly no "saint," but my mother believed that if Jesus came to me, He must be singling me out for a higher calling.While God was dealing with my life, other factors were at work that would forever change the future of our family.
(THE ENDS OF THE EARTH)
From Gaza to the Golan Heights Living in Israel during the sixties, I could feel the escalating political tension. Arab raids into Israel occurred almost daily along the borders from Egypt to Jordan and Syria. And the Israeli army regularly retaliated with raids of their own.In May 1967 Israel and the three Arab countries all alerted their armed forces for a possible war.
At Egypt's demand the United Nations troops left the Gaza Strip and the Sinai Peninsula.Then, on June 5, 1967, Israeli planes attacked air fields in Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. It was called the Six-Day War.In less than one week, the Israelis destroyed the Arab air forces almost completely. Israeli troops occupied the Gaza Strip, the Sinai Peninsula, the West Bank, and Syria's Golan Heights.
Suddenly, Israel controlled Arab territory totaling more than three times the area of Israel itself.I'll never forget the day, early in 1968, that my father gathered the family together and told us that he was making plans for us to emigrate. He said, "Please don't discuss it with anyone because there may be some problems with our exit visas."In the beginning, the plan was to move to Belgium.Father had some relatives there, and the thought of moving to a French-speaking country sounded exciting.
\ After all,that was the language of my schooling. Then one evening an attache from the Canadian embassy came to our home and showed us a short movie on life in Canada. Toronto seemed like such a thriving city.Father had two brothers who lived there, but we doubted that they were financially qualified to be our official sponsor.The questions surrounding our leaving seemed to grow day by day. At one point my father told us we might not be ready to depart the country for five years.
( I Bargained with God.)
By that time we were all so anxious to leave that I got down on my knees—on that Jerusalem rock and made avow to God. "Lord," I prayed, "if you will get us out, I'll bring you the biggest jar of olive oil I can find." And Iadded, "When we get to Toronto, I'll bring it to church and present it to you in thanksgiving."In my up bringing, bar gaining with God wasn't unusual.And olive oil was a precious commodity. So I made the vow.Within weeks a young man from the Canadian embassy called my father to say, "Mister Hinn. We've worked everything out—don't ask me how. All of your paper work is in order, and you can leave whenever you're ready."It didn't take long. We sold almost all our possessions and prepared for a new life in North America. During those last days in the Holy Land, I had a keen sense that something great was about to happen. I knew I was leaving a special city, but I felt that the best was yet before me.It was from the harbor of the ancient city of Joppa my Jaffa that Jonah left. And the result was the salvation of Nineveh.
And how many times had I climbed to the Citadel, the high mount overlooking the harbor. Near the lighthouse is a Franciscan church built in 1654. Next to it is the site of the house of Simon the Tanner where the apostle Peter stayed for some time and had a vision that changed the world. Hearing the voice of God telling him to receive Gentiles as well as Jews into the church, Peter responded, "In truth I perceive that God shows no partiality. But in every nation whoever fears Him and works righteousness is accepted by Him" (Acts 10:34-35).
From that very moment, the message of Christ was spread from Joppa to Caesarea and on to the ends of the earth touching all of humankind. As we drove down Haganah Road to the Lod airport, I wondered, "Will I ever see this place again?" I thought about those Catholic nuns who so lovingly had taught me.Had I seen their faces for the last time?Out of the plane window I took one last look down at TelAviv, a huge expanse of gray-white cubes. Behind me were miles of deep green orange groves.
The Jude an hills gleamed faintly in the distance.And as we headed over the waters of the Mediterranean,I looked down and said one last good-bye to Jaffa. There was a lump in my throat. I was fourteen, and it was the only home I had ever known. ( Ice Cream at the Kiosk.) The Hinn family arrival in Toronto in July 1968 was an unheralded event. And that's just the way my father want edit. No welcoming committee met us. And he had no promise of a job.We arrived with the clothes on our backs, a few possessions in suitcases, and a little money from what we had sold in Jaffa.
It was enough to get by for a short time. Our new life began in a rented apartment.What a shock to land suddenly in a "foreign" culture. I could stutter in several languages, but English was not one of them. "One, two, three," was as far as it went. But Daddy had studied enough English to fill out a job application.And it worked. He accepted the challenge of becoming, of all things, an insurance salesman.I don't know whether it was the burden of having to raise a large family, or his natural confidence in dealing with people, but my dad became an immediate success in his newfound profession. And before too many months we moved into our own home.
We were all so proud of it. Life changed rapidly for me. Instead of attending a private Catholic school, I went to a public high school Georges Vanier Secondary School. And since most of the kids at school had part-time jobs, that's what I wanted to do.We lived in the North York section of Toronto, and not far from us the new Fair view Mall had opened. I applied at a little kiosk that sold hamburgers and ice cream. Even though I had no previous work experience, they hired me.
And every day after school I headed there.One Saturday, though, I walked into a grocery store and asked the manager, "Where can I find the olive oil? I need the largest jug or container of it you have." Sure enough, he found a big one.The next day, I walked proudly into the Greek Orthodox church and made good on my vow to God. I placed it at the front of the altar and quietly said, "Thank you, Lord. Thank you for bringing us safely to our new home."My heart was as full as that jug of oil.At the kiosk I did my work. Because of my stutter, I didn't get into many conversations, but I did become a whiz at packing the ice cream into those sugar cones.
I worked with a fellow named Bob. ( Had Bob Lost His Mind?) I'll never forget the day in 1970 when I came to work to find that Bob had done something quite strange. All over the walls of that little kiosk he had tacked little pieces of paper with Scripture verses written on them. I thought he'd lost his mind.I knew he was a Christian he told me so. But wasn't this going a bit too far? I said to myself, "Why is he doing this? Is it for me? I probably know the Bible better than he does.
"Finally I asked him, "What's the idea of all these pieces of paper?" Instantly, he began to witness to me. I though the would never quit. And when it was over, I was determined to stay as far away from this crazy fellow as I could. For the longest time I tried to avoid him. But it was nearly impossible. After all, we had to work together. Over and over, he brought up the topic of religion. But it was more than that. He wanted to talk about being "born again,"a phrase that was not in my limited vocabulary— nor in my view of Scripture.
Bob finally quit his job at the kiosk, but many of hisfriends were at my school. And for the next two years I did my best to avoid them. I thought, "They're a bunch of weirdos." They looked weird. They talked weird. They were complete opposites of the nuns who had taught me.During my senior year at Georges Vanier, for the second time in my life, I had an encounter with the Lord.He came into my room and visited me this time in the form of an unforgettable dream.In Jaffa when I was eleven, the vision of Jesus standing before me had left an indelible impression.
But now, in Toronto, I was not caught up in the study of Scripture. Oh, Is till attended church. But what was about to happen to me came out of left field. It was totally unexpected, and I was stunned by the experience.Let me tell you exactly what happened in my bed room that chilly night in February 1972.As the dream unfolded, I found myself descending along, dark stairway.
It was so steep I thought I would fall.And it was leading me into a deep, endless chasm.I was bound by a chain to a prisoner in front of me and a prisoner behind me. I was dressed in the clothing of a convict. There were chains on my feet and around my wrists.
As far as I could see ahead of me and behind me there was a never-ending line of captives.Then, in the eerie haze of that dimly lit shaft, I saw dozens of small people moving around. They were like imps with strange-shaped ears. I couldn't see their faces,and their forms were barely visible.
But we were obviously being pulled down the stairway by them, like a herd of cattle to a slaughterhouse or even worse.Suddenly, appearing out of nowhere, was the angel of the Lord. Oh, it was a wondrous thing to behold. The heavenly being hovered just ahead of me, just a few steps away.Never in my life had I seen such a sight not even in a dream. A bright and beautiful angel in the midst of that dark, black hole.
As I looked again, the angel motioned with his hand for me to come to him. Then he looked into my eyes and called me out. My eyes were riveted to his, and I began to walk toward him. Instantly those bonds fell off my hands and feet. I was no longer tied to my fellow prisoners. Hurriedly the angel led me through an open doorway,and the moment I walked into the light, the celestial being took me by the hand and dropped me on Don Mills Road right at the corner of Georges Vanier School.
He left me just inches from the wall of the school, right beside a window. In a second the angel was gone, and I woke up early and rushed off to school to study in the library before classes began. ( "I Could Hardly Blink") As I sat there, not even thinking about the dream, a small group of students walked over to my table. I recognized them immediately.
They were the ones who had been pestering me with all of this "Jesus" talk.They asked me to join in their morning prayer meeting.The room was just off the library. I thought, "Well, I'll get them off my back. One little prayer meeting isn't going to hurt me."I said, "All right," and they walked with me into the room.
It was a small group, just twelve or fifteen kids. And my chair was right in the middle.All of a sudden the entire group lifted their hands and began to pray in some funny foreign language. I didn't even close my eyes. I could hardly blink. Here were students seventeen, eighteen, nineteen years old—kids I had known in class praising God with unintelligible sounds.I had never heard of speaking in tongues, and I was dumbfounded.
To think that here was Benny, in a public school, on public property, sitting in the middle of a bunch of babbling fanatics. It was almost more than I could comprehend. I didn't pray. I just watched.What happened next was more than I could ever have imagined. I was startled by a sudden urge to pray. But I really didn't know what to say.
"Hail Mary" see me inappropriate for what I was feeling. I had never been taught the "sinner's prayer"—not in all of my religion classes. All I could remember of my encounters with the"Jesus people" was the phrase "You've got to meet Jesus."Those words seemed out of place to me because I thought I knew Him.
It was an awkward moment. No one was praying with me or even for me. Yet I was surrounded by the most intense spiritual atmosphere I had ever felt. Was I a sinner?I didn't think so. I was just a good little Catholic boy, who prayed every night and confessed sin whether I needed to or not.But at that moment I closed my eyes and said four words that changed my life forever. Right out loud I said,"Lord Jesus, come back.
"I don't know why I said it, but that's all that would come out of my mouth. I repeated those words again and again."Lord Jesus, come back. Lord Jesus, come back."Did I think He had left my house or departed from my life? I really did not know. But the moment I uttered those words a feeling came over me—it took me back to the numbness I felt at age eleven.
It was less intense, but I could feel the voltage of that same force. It went right through me.What I really felt, though, was that this surge of power was cleansing me instantly, from the inside out. I felt absolutely clean, immaculate, and pure. Suddenly I saw Jesus with my own eyes. It happened in a moment of time. There he was. Jesus.
( Five Minutes to Eight )
The students around me couldn't possibly know what was taking place in my life. They were all praying. Then,one by one, they began slipping out of the room and on to their classes.It was five minutes to eight o'clock in the morning. By this time I was just sitting there crying. I didn't know what to do or what to say.
At the time I didn't understand it, but Jesus became as real to me as the floor beneath my feet. I didn't really pray,except for those four words. But I knew beyond any doubt that something extraordinary had happened that February morning.I was almost late for history.It was one of my favorite subjects; we were studying the Chinese Revolution. But I couldn't even hear the teacher. I don't remember anything that was said. The feeling that began that morning would not leave me. Every time I closed my eyes, there He was Jesus. And when I opened my eyes, He was still there. The picture of the Lord's face would not leave me.All day I was wiping the tears from my eyes.
And the only thing I could say was, "Jesus, I love you .... Jesus, I love you."As I walked out of the door of the school and down the sidewalk to the corner, I looked at the window of the library. And the pieces began to fall into place.The angel. The dream. It all became real again.What was God trying to tell me?What was happening to Benny?
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