My name is Pastor Samuel Adibio.

I’m 42 years old and on March 15th, 2019, I died for exactly seven minutes.

That night, radical extremist set me on fire for preaching the gospel in northern Nigeria, but Jesus Christ pulled me back from the flames and from death itself.

This is my testimony of supernatural deliverance.

I was born into a Christian family in Lagos, raised by parents who taught me that Jesus was not just a Sunday story, but a daily reality.

My father was a deacon.

My mother led the women’s ministry, and our home was filled with hymns and Bible verses.

But it wasn’t until I turned 16 that I truly understood what it meant to surrender everything to Christ.

I remember that night like it was yesterday.

I was kneeling in my small bedroom, tears streaming down my face as God spoke directly to my heart.

The call was unmistakable, overwhelming, and terrifying all at once.

He wanted me to preach his gospel, to shepherd his people, to lay down my life for the sake of the kingdom.

I thought I understood what dying to self meant back then.

I had no idea how literal that calling would become.

After completing my theological training at Lagos Baptist Seminary, I spent several years pastoring small congregations in southern Nigeria.

The work was rewarding but comfortable.

I preached to people who already believed, baptized children from Christian families, and conducted wedding ceremonies for couples who had grown up in the church.

I was content, but God had different plans.

In early 2015, during my morning prayers, the Lord spoke to me about Northern Nigeria, specifically about Kaduna State, where religious tensions ran high and Christian persecution was becoming increasingly common.

My wife Sarah begged me not to go.

She would wake up in the middle of the night, shaking from nightmares about that place.

She saw flames in her dreams.

Though neither of us understood the prophetic nature of those visions at the time.

Despite her fears and my own reservations, I knew God’s voice when I heard it.

We packed our belongings, said goodbye to our comfortable life in Lagos, and moved to a small town outside Kaduna City.

Within 6 months, we had established New Life Gospel Church in a rented building that could seat about 200 people.

By 2018, we had a faithful congregation of 150 believers, many of whom were former Muslims who had given their lives to Christ.

But growth came with a price.

The first threats began appearing in late 2018.

Anonymous notes were left at the church entrance written in both houseser and broken English.

They called me the Christian deceiver and warned me to stop corrupting the youth with foreign religion.

The local imam began denouncing our church activities during his Friday sermons, claiming that we were agents of western imperialism disguised as men of God.

Have you ever felt God calling you to do something that terrified you? That place where fear and fate collide? Where your human instincts scream retreats, but your spirit knows you must advance.

That was my daily reality in northern Nigeria.

Three Christian families in our community were forced to flee after the shops were burned and the children threatened at school.

The local police, while not openly hostile, advised me repeatedly to tone down our evangelism efforts.

But how do you tone down the gospel? How do you whisper about Jesus when he commands us to proclaim his name from the rooftops? I thought I understood persecution.

I was completely unprepared for what was coming.

March 15th, 2019 started like any other Friday.

I woke up at 5:00 in the morning for my usual prayer time, spent an hour reading from the book of John, and prepared for what I thought would be another normal day of ministry.

We had finished our evening Bible study at 8:30 that night.

And ironically, we had just completed our study of John chapter 15 verse 20.

If they persecuted me, they would persecute you also.

Those words would echo in my mind for the rest of my life.

I said good night to Mrs.

Adoney, the last church member to leave the building.

She was an elderly widow who always stayed late to help clean up after our services.

As I locked the church doors, I remember feeling an unusual sense of peace wash over me.

The night air was cool for March, and the stars seemed brighter than usual.

I was humming Amazing Grace as I began my familiar 10-minute walk home to Sarah and the children.

The path from our church to my house wound through the heart of our small community.

I passed Mrs.

Kem’s provision shop already closed for the night and nodded to a few neighbors sitting outside their homes enjoying the evening breeze.

Everything felt normal, peaceful even.

I remember thinking how blessed we were to serve God in this place despite the occasional tensions.

But then I heard them footsteps behind me trying to match my pace but not quite succeeding.

At first, I thought it might be a late church member wanting to ask a question.

So, I slowed down slightly and glanced over my shoulder.

What I saw made my blood run cold.

Eight men were following me, their faces covered with dark cloth, moving with the calculated precision of hunters stalking their prey.

I quickened my pace, my heart beginning to race as I realized this was not a coincidental encounter.

They quickened theirs as well.

By the time I reached the old baobob tree that marked the halfway point to my house, they had surrounded me completely.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no one close enough to hear if I screamed.

One of them stepped forward.

The apparent leader of the group, he spoken how his voice filled with hatred and disgust.

So you are the one poisoning our children with your Jesus lies.

You corrupt our youth with your foreign religion and turn them against their families and their true faith.

The others murmured their agreements, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent in the moonlight.

I tried to remain calm, to respond with the love of Christ even in that terrifying moment.

I told them that Jesus loved them, that he had died for their sins just as he had died for mine.

I explained that I had not come to destroy their culture, but to offer them eternal life through the only true savior.

My words only seem to inflame their anger.

Father, what would you say if you had 30 seconds to defend your faith? If you knew that your next words might be your last, how would you choose to represent the gospel of Jesus Christ? Their leader spat on the ground at my feet and delivered their ultimatum.

We give you one chance, Christian dog.

Renounce your Jesus publicly here and now, and we will let you leave.

Deny him before us and you can return to your family tonight.

Refuse and you will face the consequences of your stubbornness.

The choice was simple, though not easy.

I looked into their hatefilled eyes and spoke the words that would seal my fate.

I cannot deny the one who died for me.

Jesus Christ is Lord and he is the only way to salvation.

I will not renounce my savior no matter what you do to me.

Their leader’s eyes filled with rage as he shouted orders to the others.

Then you will burn like your false prophet should have burned.

You will learn what happens to those who reject the truth and follow lies.

They grabbed my arms and began dragging me toward an open field about 200 m away.

I could smell gasoline on their clothes and see containers in their hands.

They had come prepared for this moment, planned for this exact scenario.

As we walked through the darkness, I prayed silently, asking God for strength and courage to face whatever was coming.

The smell of gasoline grew stronger as they forced me to kneel in the dirt of that empty field.

I looked up at the stars one last time and thought of Sarah sleeping peacefully at home, of my children safe in their beds, of my congregation who would wake up tomorrow to discover their pastor was gone.

I offered one final prayer as a normal man.

Jesus, into your hands, I commit my spirit.

I could hear them arguing about who would have the honor of lighting the match.

The gasoline was cold as they poured it over my head and clothes, soaking through to my skin.

The liquid burned my eyes and filled my nostrils with its acrid smell.

I knew the fire would be much worse.

The match struck with a tiny scratch that sounded like thunder in the silence of that field.

I heard the scratch of the match against the rough surface.

saw that tiny flame flickerings in the darkness like a demon’s eye.

Time seemed to slow as the small fire touched the gasoline soaked fabric of my shirt.

The flames erupted instantly, raising across my body with a hunger that defied description.

Within seconds, I was completely engulfed in fire from head to toe.

The pain was beyond anything I had ever imagined possible.

Every nerve in my body screamed at once as the flames consumed my clothes, my hair, my skin.

I fell to the ground, rising in agony as the fire ate away at my flesh like a living thing with an insatiable appetite.

My hair disappeared in seconds, leaving my scalp exposed to the merciless heat.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air and I realized with horror that it was my own body creating that nauseating odor.

I could not breathe.

The fire was consuming all the oxygen around me, creating a vacuum of heat and death.

My lungs burned from the inside as I gasped for air that was no longer there.

I felt my skin melting, peeling away from muscle and bone like wax near a furnace.

The agony was so intense that my mind began to fragment, struggling to process pain that was simply too overwhelming for human consciousness to bear.

My clothes had completely burned away.

And now the flames were walking directly on my exposed flesh.

I could feel my skin bubbling and charring.

Could sense the fat beneath beginning to render in the intense heat.

The fire had a sound of its own, a crackling, hissing noise that mixed with my own screams to create a symphony of destruction.

I thought about the martyrs I had read about in church history.

Men and women who had died for their faith in flames just like these.

Now I understood the final moments on a way no book could ever teach.

But even as my body was being destroyed, something extraordinary was happening to my spirit.

While my flesh screamed in torment, my soul felt more alive and aware than it had ever been.

I could sense a presence approaching through the flames.

Someone walking toward me through the fire that was consuming my life.

The physical agony continued, but alongside it came a supernatural peace that made no earthly sense.

Have you ever experienced God’s presence in your darkest hour? That moment when everything natural says you should despair, but something divine whispers that you are not alone.

My attackers had stepped back from the intensity of the fire, but I could hear them talking among themselves.

One of them later told me they had expected me to die quickly.

But I kept moving, kept praying, even as the flames devoured my body.

Neighbors had been awakened by the smell and the light of the fire, and they began gathering at a safe distance to witness what they assumed would be my final moments.

At exactly 9:47 that night, according to medical records that would be filed later, my heart stopped beating.

The pain that had dominated every second suddenly vanished, replaced by an otherworldly silence.

I could no longer feel my burning body.

Could no longer sense the flames that continued to consume what remained of my physical form.

My breathing ceased.

My pulse disappeared.

And for 7 minutes, I was clinically dead while my body continued to burn like a human torch in that field.

The moment my soul separated from my physical body was unlike anything I could have prepared for.

I felt myself rising above the flames, looking down at the charred remains of what had been passed to Samuel Adibio just moments before.

My attackers were still standing around the fire, some of them backing away further as they realized something supernatural was taking place.

The flames burned higher and brighter than any normal fire should have, reaching toward the sky like fingers of judgment.

But I was no longer afraid.

Death had no sting because I knew where I was going and who was waiting for me there.

Suddenly, I was not alone in those flames.

Through the fire that had consumed my body, I saw a figure walking toward me with steps that made the very ground tremble with divine authority.

He was unburned, untouched by the fire that had destroyed my flesh, radiating a light that made the flames around us seem like deemed candles.

His presence filled the entire field with a power that caused even the fire to bow in submission.

His voice came to me like thunder and whisper combined, penetrating every fiber of my separated soul.

Samuel, it is not your time.

The words carried such weights that I felt the universe itself paused to listen.

This was Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, standing in the middle of the fire that should have been my tomb.

His eyes held all the love and compassion I had preached about for years.

But now I was experiencing it directly, personally, overwhelmingly.

He reached out his hand toward me, the same hand that had been pierced for my sins.

And as his fingers touched what remained of my soul, everything changed.

The fire that had been my destroyer suddenly became a protector.

As his hand pulled me up from the burning ground, I felt my spirit being drawn back into my charred body.

But something miraculous was happening to my flesh.

The flames continued to burn around me, but they were no longer consuming my skin.

Instead, they seemed to dance across my body like gentle servants, warming but not destroying.

It was exactly like the account of Shadrach, Mach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace, except now I was experiencing it firsthand.

I was in the fire with the fourth man, the son of God himself, and his presence transformed everything.

My skin began to regenerate even as the fire still covered my body.

Where moments before there had been charred bone and exposed muscle, new flesh began to grow with supernatural speed.

The pain that had dominated my final conscious moments was replaced by a tingling sensation like blood returning to a limb that had fallen asleep.

I could feel hair sprouting from my scalp.

Could sense my eyebrows and eyelashes returning to their proper places.

Then the impossible happened.

Rain began to fall from a completely clear sky.

In March, during the height of the dry season in northern Nigeria, torrential rain suddenly poured from heaven like God had opened the floodgates of his mercy.

The witnesses later confirmed that there had been no clouds visible before that moment.

No indication that rain was even possible.

Weather reports for that day have predicted continued drought conditions.

When was the last time you saw God defy the laws of nature? When did you witness him bend the rules of physics to demonstrate his power and love? The rain fell so hard it was like standing under a waterfall.

Each drop that hit my body brought healing and restoration.

The fire that had burned for nearly 10 minutes was extinguished in less than 60 seconds.

Steam rising from the ground as water met flame.

My attackers, who had been watching in growing amazement, now fell prostrate on the muddy ground in absolute terror.

At exactly 9:54 that night, my heart began to beat again.

The first breath I took felt like being born again.

Literally, I gasped for air like a newborn baby taking his first breath.

My lungs feeling with the sweet oxygen that had been denied to me during those seven minutes of death.

My eyes open to see my attackers flat on their faces in the mud.

Some of them weeping uncontrollably as they realized they had witnessed the power of the living God.

I stood up slowly, testing limbs that should have been destroyed, touching skin that should have been ash.

My born clothes hung in tatters around me, but underneath my body was completely restored.

where thirdderee burns should have covered every inch of my flesh.

I found skin that was smoother and more perfect than it had been before the attack.

My hair had grown back fuller and thicker.

My voice returned stronger and clearer than ever.

Looking at my hands in the dim light, I saw the same hands that had been skeletal just minutes before, now covered with new flesh that looked like it belonged to a much younger man.

Even my attackers could see what had happened.

They recognized that they had not just witnessed a medical anomaly, but a divine intervention that proved beyond any doubt that the God I served was real, powerful, and present.

The resurrection had happened again, and this time I was the one who had been raised from the dead.

All eight of my attackers remained flat on their faces in the muddy field, some weeping uncontrollably as they grappled with what they had just witnessed.

The man who had been the leader, Muhammad, was crawling toward me on his hands and knees, his face stre with tears and mud.

When he reached my feet, he grabbed them with shaking hands and began begging for forgiveness in broken English mixed with hower.

He kept repeating that he had seen Allah’s power in the Christians God, that he now understood he had been fighting against the true creator.

Three of them accepted Jesus Christ as their personal savior right there in that muddy field.

Still surrounded by the smell of extinguished fire and the evidence of God’s supernatural intervention.

The man who had actually struck the match, a young farmer named Ysef, wept as he confessed his sins and asked Jesus to come into his heart.

Within two years, he would become one of our most faithful deacons.

His testimony of transformation reaching throughout the entire region.

The others fled in terror, running into the darkness as fast as the legs could carry them, but they could not run from what they had seen.

And within days, the story of the pastor who could not burn was spreading like wildfire throughout northern Nigeria.

Even those who had run away became unwilling evangelists, telling everyone they met about the supernatural power they had witnessed.

The neighbors who had gathered to watch what they expected to be my execution were now crowding around me, touching my skin to confirm that what their eyes were telling them was real.

Mrs.

Fatima, a Muslim woman who lived nearby, kept running her fingers over my arms and face, declaring in house that this was the work of a mighty God.

Children who had been kept at a distance by their parents broke free and ran to me, amazed that the man they had seen burning was now standing before them completely whole.

Someone had called for medical assistance during the fire.

And by the time the ambulance arrived from Kaduna General Hospital, I was sitting calmly on a rock, surrounded by witnesses who were all talking at once, trying to explain to the paramedics what had happened.

The medical team was initially skeptical, assuming that reports of my death had been greatly exaggerated until they saw my burned clothes and heard the consistent testimonies from multiple witnesses.

Dr.

Ibraim Yakubu, the Muslim doctor who examined me at the hospital, spent over 3 hours looking for burn marks that simply were not there.

He had treated many fire victims during his career and knew exactly what damage should have been present on my body.

He examined every inch of my skin with a magnifying glass, took x-rays, ran blood tests, and conducted every diagnostic procedure available to him.

This defies every medical principle I know, he told me as he completed his examination.

According to these witnesses, you were completely consumed by fire for nearly 10 minutes.

You should be dead or at minimum scarred beyond recognition for the rest of your life.

Yet, I cannot find even the slightest evidence that fire ever touched your skin.

How would your community react to an undeniable miracle in their midst? What would it take to convince skeptics that God still performs supernatural interventions in our modern world? The medical report that Dr.

Yakubu filed with the hospital administration was classified as unexplained complete recovery from fatal burns.

He had no medical category for resurrection from clinical death combined with supernatural healing.

So he simply documented what he had observed and left the interpretation to others.

When I walked through the front door of my house later that night, Sarah fainted at the sight of me.

She had received word about the attack and had been praying with the children, preparing for the worst possible news.

Seeing her husband, whom she thought was dead, standing in their living room was more than her mind could initially process.

When she regained consciousness, she spent the next hour touching my face and hands, weeping with joy and praising God for his mercy.

Our children could not understand why the father smelled like smoke, but looked perfectly fine.

They kept asking why everyone was crying if daddy was safe.

Neighbors began gathering at our house within the hour.

What’s spreading faster than we could have imagined.

By midnight, our small living room was packed with people who wanted to hear the story firsthand and see the evidence of God’s power with their own eyes.

The Sunday service following the miracle was unlike anything our church had ever experienced.

Our usual attendance of 150 people swelled to over 800 with Muslims, Christians, traditional believers, and curious skeptics all crowding into our building and spilling out into the street.

People had traveled from neighboring towns just to see the pastor who could not born and to hear his testimony of resurrection.

In the first month after the miracle, over 200 people gave their lives to Jesus Christ.

Many of them former Muslims who could not deny the power they had witnessed or heard about from reliable sources.

New Life Gospel Church had to schedule three services each Sunday to accommodate the crowds and we began construction on a larger building within 6 months.

Six years have passed since that night in the field and my perspective on persecution has been completely transformed.

I no longer fear those who can kill the body but cannot touch the soul.

Every threat, every hostile glare, every whispered warning now seems insignificant compared to what I have already survived through God’s power.

The boldness that flows through me now is not my own courage, but the confidence that comes from knowing personally that Jesus Christ has authority over life and death itself.

My preaching has taken on a supernatural authority that I never possessed before.

When I stand behind the pulpit and declare that God performs miracles, the congregation knows they are hearing from someone who has experienced resurrection firsthand.

Every sermon now carries the weight of personal testimony, not just theological theory.

When I speak about God’s protection, people lean forward because they know I am sharing from lived experience, not borrowed faith.

The invitations to speak have come from across Africa and beyond.

I have shared this testimony in 12 countries, from Ghana to Kenya, from South Africa to Egypt.

In every location, souls are saved as people hear about the God who still intervenes supernaturally in human affairs.

The story translates across cultural barriers because resurrection speaks a universal language that every human heart understands.

We established fire survivors ministry within a year of the miracle.

Specifically designed to support Christians facing persecution in high-risk areas.

We provide training resources and spiritual encouragement to pastors and believers who daily risk their lives for the gospel.

I travel regularly to remote regions where Christians are under threat.

teaching them that God’s protection does not always prevent the trial but provides supernatural strength to endure through it.

Sometimes God delivers us from the fire and sometimes he joins us in it.

Both are expressions of his love and power.

The three Hebrew boys in Babylon teach us that our God is able to deliver us from the furnace.

But even if he chooses not to, we will not bow down to false gods.

My experience proves that this ancient faith is still relevant today.

What impossible situation in your life needs God’s miraculous intervention right now? What circumstance seems so overwhelming that only supernatural power could provide a solution? To my brothers and sisters facing persecution around the world, I want you to know that you are not forgotten.

The same Jesus who walked with me through those flames is walking with you through your trials.

Your suffering is not meaningless and your faithfulness is creating a testimony that will outlast your lifetime.

When you feel abandoned and alone, remember that the fourth man in the fire is always present, even when you cannot see him.

But I also have a message for Christians living in comfort and safety.

If God can save me from literal fire, what excuse do we have for not sharing his gospel boldly? If he can raise the dead, why do we live as though his power is limited to ancient history? The same supernatural power that operated through the apostles is available to believers today who are willing to risk everything for the kingdom of God.

I’m asking you right now, are you willing to burn for Jesus? Are you prepared to face opposition, rejection, even persecution for the sake of the gospel? Or have you become so comfortable in your faith that you have forgotten what it means to take up your cross daily and follow him? Look inside your own heart right now and identify where you need God’s resurrection power.

Perhaps it is not physical death you are facing, but the death of a marriage, a dream, a relationship, or a vision.

Maybe you feel like your ministry is dead.

Your hope is gone.

Your future is destroyed.

The same God who breathed life back into my charred body wants to breathe new life into whatever area of your existence feels beyond repair.

I stand before you today as living proof that Jesus Christ is still performing miracles in the 21st century.

The same God who saved me from those flames wants to save you from whatever threatens to destroy you.

He’s not limited by medical science, natural law, or human logic.

When doctors say impossible, God says, “Watch this.

” When circumstances say hopeless, heaven says, “Not yet.

” Remember that no weapon formed against you shall prosper.

Because I am living proof of that promise.

The fires of persecution, the flames of trial, the heat of opposition cannot consume what God has chosen to preserve.

Your enemies may like the match, but Jesus controls the fire.

The same Jesus who saved me from certain death is reaching out his hand to you right now.

Will you take