An Unlikely Conversion
The Testimony of Pastor John Hoffmaster

“Jesus loves you.” That’s what our Korean teacher Mr. Yang said to us that November
evening in 1984. That simple phrase triggered a sequence of events that led me to possessing a
new and fulfilled life…
I was twenty-seven and for three years had been diligently training in the Korean forms
of the martial arts Tae Kwon Do and Hapkido. Our school was called the Chicago Mudo Center,
and we were located in Des Plaines, not far from O’Hare airport. The 2000 sq. ft. dojo was
situated on the second floor of a 2-story building; below us was a busy Mexican food store.
Our class was large, 20-35 strong on any given day. We were a mixed bunch, mostly
white, Korean and Hispanic. Some of our Mexican students couldn’t speak English. Some of us
had money; some didn’t. Most of us were there training for basically the same reasons. We
wanted to be tough and physically strong; we wanted to have discipline in our lives; we wanted
to lose weight and not be bored doing so. A few of us were attracted to Eastern culture and
philosophy. I suspect that we all liked Bruce Lee. I was there for some of the above, but mostly,
I was looking for help in my life.
I was married to a wonderful wife, living in a nice upscale neighborhood in suburban
Arlington Heights, with plans, means and ambition to move up the socio-economic ladder. But I
was unhappy. Nothing that I had, nothing that I did was fulfilling to me. All my pursuits
seemed empty. Pointless. I often questioned myself, “Why am I doing this?” “Why am I
pursuing these things?” “Where is this all going?” “Is this truly life?” Furthermore, I knew full
well that I was a selfish, self-centered man. And my thoughts often shamed me; all too regularly
they were impure. Day after day I felt a relentless, troublesome, unshakable sense of guilt. I did
not like looking in the mirror. Most others thought well of me – “He’s a really good guy.”
“He’s got a lot going for himself.” But I saw in the reflection a shallow man. I was disappointed
with the image. It wasn’t always that way.
As a boy growing up, for as long as I could remember, I had an awareness of God, and I
thought I loved him. I liked talking with him anywhere and everywhere. But I especially loved
being alone with him, walking with him on trails, camping, fishing, enjoying the beauty of his
creation. Just God and me. But as I grew older, in my mid-teens, I became increasingly aware
of a barrier in my life, a barrier between me and God. Something was wrong with me.

Somehow, I knew that the barrier was sin. And I couldn’t get rid of it. Sin. It was in me and it
distressed me. It grieved me. I wanted God. I wanted ‘My Father, who art in heaven.’ I wanted
to enjoy all of life with him. I wanted to know that he was pleased with me, that he loved me. I
wanted the guilt gone.
In my junior year in High School, I tried going to church. In catechism classes I learned
a lot about Jesus – his virgin birth; his life; his death on the cross; his resurrection. He was
supposed to be the Son of God. Equal with God. I had a hard time with that thought. He was
supposed to have saved us from our sin. I learned many precious truths, but to my great
disappointment, the sin remained, and the power of sin in my life grew greater. I felt helpless in
its grip. In the midst of my senior year, I quit going to church.
So, there I was, ten years later at a martial arts school, still trying to get rid of sin, trying
to have victory over its power. After three years of all-out, hard training, I was physically
stronger and faster, and mentally tough. But nothing that I was accomplishing could touch my
heart. The sin remained. Its power was greater than ever; the guilt was still there. The barrier
remained. Immovable. The martial arts hadn’t worked. I couldn’t reach God. I was unhappy
and almost out of hope, resigned to the ‘fate of all men’ and ‘the way of all flesh’.
One evening, at the completion of a vigorous training session, our class was, as usual,
lined up in a straight line. We were facing the front, kneeling and practicing our breathing
control. Mr. Yang took up his customary spot in front of us, facing us and also kneeling. But
this time, oddly, he had a black book open in front of him, lying upon the canvass mat, at his
knees.
Mr. Yang, with an uncharacteristically quiet, polite voice, asked if he could read to us.
No one said anything. He bent his head down and began to read. It was the Bible. He was
reading from Mark. His voice coming from his chest was deep. The folds of his gi were open,
revealing his powerful, muscular torso. But Mr. Yang’s English was very poor, stammering. He
didn’t get very far. After a couple of fitful minutes, he quit reading. He lifted his head and
looked at all of us. He was blinking, trying to compose himself, keeping tears at bay. And then
he said those shocking words, “Jesus loves you.”
This martial art setting, this powerful man (Mr. Yang), those words. It all struck me.
Especially those words. “Jesus loves you.” I had never heard anyone say that before. Jesus
loves me? Why did this sound so strange? Almost as soon as those words came out of my
teacher’s mouth, my mind was startled out of its spiritual lethargy. I was instantly struck with an
inspiration of hope. And my heart was stirred and awakened. Even excited. But by what? This
was so strange. Mr. Yang had never done this before 1 . The gospel. Kneeling there on the mat, I
listened for more, but Mr. Yang didn’t say anything more. His presentation was so simple, so
pitiful. But it didn’t matter. His words, like a well-aimed arrow, had hit its mark.
Mr. Yang asked us to go home and read the Book of Mark. I went home and read it.
Mark. And as I read, I became convinced that Jesus was alive. In fact, I knew that he was alive.

Whether it was that very night, or a few nights later, I now can’t remember, but kneeling
at my bedside, I prayed. With my head bowed and fingers clasped together, I said words that I
had never uttered before, “Lord Jesus, if you can, save me from my sin.” That was it. It was
such a pitiful prayer. But I had never talked to Jesus before, and surely had never called him
Lord. I was afraid to pray this prayer; I was afraid to talk to him. What if I remained the same?
What if nothing happened? Yet, I knew he was there. And something did happen. Jesus heard
me. And he answered me. In a literal instant, I knew I was forgiven. My sins were forgiven.
And moments later (was it only moments?), I also became aware that the power of sin was
broken in my life. I was no longer a slave to sin. I was free. Jesus had set me free.
I really don’t know how long I was there in the night, kneeling by my bed, but during that
time a wonderful sense of peace and rest had settled into my mind and soul. Sin was gone. Guilt
was gone and so was the barrier. The relationship was restored. I had God. I had my heavenly
Father. He had me. We had each other. Jesus had brought me to the Father.
When I rose from my bedside, I knew that I was loved by God, and I felt his pleasure. I
stood on my feet a different man, a new man. I had met Jesus. I had God my Father with me
and I had Jesus Christ in me. I had eternal life. I had everything. I was fulfilled.
35 years ago. November 1984. A pitifully simple gospel presentation. A pitiful, little
prayer by a helpless man. A changed life. But somewhere Jesus said, “If you have faith like a
grain of mustard seed…”
For thirty years now, I have been the director of a Christian Community Center in the
Black Oak neighborhood of Gary, Indiana. And in that 2000 sq. ft. building, over a span of 24
years, I taught over 5500 Tae Kwon Do and Hapkido lessons to roughly 1300 students. Every
lesson ended with a time in the Word of God, ending with a prayer. Many a day, as the students
were leaving the mat and exiting the building, they would hear me say to them, “Jesus loves
you.”
I have since retired from teaching martial arts and am now into my seventh year as the
pastor of a local church in the same Gary neighborhood. I still love walking alone with God on
trails, alongside rivers, and in the woods and mountains. God is with me. Christ is in me, and no
barrier will ever come between us again.

Pastor John Hoffmaster
- Written on November 2, 2019 (Autumn) at the Ramsey Cascades Trailhead in The Great Smoky
Mountains, 35 years after an unlikely conversion.

11 Prior to this event, for one entire year, unbeknownst to the rest of us, Jaime, a Chicago university professor from the Dominican Republic, had been discipling Mr. Yang in the Christian faith. It took a whole year for Mr. Yang, a new believer in Christ, to finally share his newfound faith with his martial arts class.