The following article is an excerpt from The Eleventh Hour by Michael Phillips.

“I don’t know… I guess the same things everybody knows.”

“Why did he come to earth?”

Matthew thought a moment.

“To die, I guess.”

“Why to die?”

“To save the world from its sins?”

“You sound like you are asking me,” said the baron. “Your tone is uncertain.”

“I guess I don’t know what answer you mean.”

“But you think he came to save us from our sins?”

“That’s what they taught us in Sunday school—when I used to go, that is.”

“Well, that is why most people think Jesus came.”

“And you don’t?”

“No, I don’t. Jesus did die, and he did save us from our sins. Such was an intrinsic part of God’s purpose. But that is not primarily why he came.”

“Why then?”

The baron was thoughtful a minute, thinking of the best way to convey his meaning.

“Picture this, Matthew,” he said. “Imagine that you had to come here, to this estate, and you knew you had to spend a week here. But you had heard that the owner of the estate was a giant ogre intent on killing any trespassers. Now if you had to come, you might think of bringing with you a good giant, someone powerful enough to keep the ogre from killing you, to stay with you at all times, and to protect you. Wouldn’t you say that was prudent of you to do?”

Matthew nodded.

“And that, sadly, is exactly how most people view Jesus’ mission to earth, acting the part of the good giant, protecting us from the ogre waiting to kill us. That is how most people view the Atonement and why Jesus died on the cross. They see Jesus as saving us from God as much as from our sins. They see Jesus as protecting us from God. They say, ‘God is love,’ but deep in their heart they are afraid of him like they would be of an ogre, and they take refuge in Jesus as the protecting good giant. Now, do you see what’s wrong with that?”

“That God couldn’t be both loving and an ogre at the same time.”

“Exactly! Now, picture a different situation. Imagine that you had to come here and had heard of the ogre, but imagine that when you arrived at the gate, you were met by someone who told you that the rumors were all wrong, and that the owner of the estate was really good and loving and kind, in fact the most wonderful being imaginable. This guide took you in hand, showed you all about the estate, and finally introduced you to the owner, who turned out to be exactly as he said. Do you see my point?”

“I think so.”

“Jesus came to show us his Father, to tell us about him, to reveal his nature to us, to show us all the wrong things we had thought about him all this time. Jesus didn’t come primarily to save us from the punishment for our sins at the hand of an avenging God. Jesus came to say, ‘Your sins are going to result in your death. But your Father loves you so much that he has sent me to take you to him. And he alone, your tender and loving Father, can save you from them. Come, take my hand, let me show you your wonderful and loving Father.’

“That was Jesus’ purpose in coming to earth! To reveal God’s personality and character to us and to lead us into a friendship with our Father, so that Jesus and the Father together might help us to be saved from our sins.”

They had nearly reached the top of the garden now, and they walked out and through the arch in silence.

“Everything you say about God is so different from what I’ve always heard and thought,” said Matthew as they slowly walked toward the steps.

“Because most people have never realized the most basic truth in all the universe—I mean truly apprehended what a huge truth it is, the truth that is the foundation of the kingdom of God . . . that God really is just what the Bible says of him—he is love. It is just too good to be true. People cannot bring themselves to believe that the Father really is good. Yet if God is God, how could he be other than good?”

They reached the courtyard and slowly walked across the lawn to the door of the house.

“Thank you, Herr von Dortmann,” said Matthew. “I’ve never had such an interesting conversation with anyone in my whole life. I won’t forget what you’ve said.”

“It’s a pathway, Matthew,” the baron added, “a lifelong pathway of continuous discovery.”

Little did seventeen-year-old Matthew McCallum realize how prophetic his words were. For in after years, this day in the garden of Lebenshaus and this conversation with Baron von Dortmann would always come back to him as the time—though he had no foreshadowing inkling of it at this moment—when he first began walking through the door into the house and presence of his Father.

– Excerpted from pages 154-156 of The Eleventh Hour by Michael Phillips