The year was educational. I’ve learned a father’s love, the reality of
suffering, that the world is immense and miniature at the same time, and one
stubborn, undeniable truth: the years are starting to catch up with God. Google image ‘God’. Find pictures of wrinkled white men and thick,
gray beards and men that look powerful and wise but were once powerful and wise
and young. There’s something to
that. His love hasn’t faded, of course,
and he’s still my father. But, he has
lost a step or two.
Pain
patiently awaited prayer to begin. The
guys on the squad were spending the month together, twelve of us, and on this
particular night in the Western Thai Mountains we were celebrating Jeff’s
birthday. Songs were sung and cake was
eaten and other activities that take place on birthdays had taken place so we
finished by praying over him. Slowly and
deliberately, discomfort leaned into the inside of my right knee.
I ignored it quite easily at first and with
some difficulty soon after, so I quietly slipped out of the room to find some
Tylenol. It was late and unless you’re
lucky to have the moon full on a cloudless night then feeling and stumbling
your way through dark shadows to our tents is the best option. But I felt my knee grow in size as I walked
while pain overwhelmed me and even that option wasn’t available. I called for help and two of the guys carried
me to the table where we have dinner.
There’s a slight shame that accompanies how blessed I feel to have never
been really injured. No serious broken
bones or limbs removed, and where knees are concerned, scrapes are the greatest
wounds I recall. I found the surprise
from the sudden emergence of pain nearly greater than the pain itself and though
my knee was elevated so was my confusion.
By week two of the World Race we were
already mad at God for his old age. Or
maybe we built on sand. We prayed for
healing over children that hurt or felt nothing or there was a specific
12-year-old girl whose body was paralyzed from the stress of her parent’s
separation. They hurt and we
prayed. Then nothing happened while we
prayed and while they still hurt we began to in our hearts as well. But we were stubborn. We prayed more and claimed healing in the
name of the same God that parted the Red Sea, our God. I guess the reality is, though, that he isn’t
the same God as he was then. He said, ‘I
am who I am’. Just, older.
My knee grew
as pain grew and lying on the table I knew then that real pain doesn’t
laugh. In month four I had ran down an
active volcano and though I wish I could say it was because lava chased me, the
truth was I had stepped on the nest of
some-unidentifiable-latin-volcano-creature.
I stopped when I reached Chris and stings that began on my legs and arms
danced through my entire body. It hurt and
all I could do was laugh. Then, I
thought that’s when you know something hurts, when all there is left to do is
laugh. But that night my knee passed
laughing early and water gathered in my eyes like a bow taking on seawater,
then I approached yelling.
They prayed
while the pain increased and kept praying while the pain kept increasing and in
the mountains of Western Thailand it was about hospital time. ‘Maybe something practical, like the Tylenol
I never found,’ I thought. On the way to
his tent to go to bed, Joel (He’s going on a journey after the Race, check out his page on Facebook) came over to see what was going on. He saw my knee, and clearly thinking out
loud, mentioned something about God telling him early in the Race that someday
God would use him to heal knees. ‘Then
why are you standing there?’ I impatiently asked.
It’s not that God doesn’t desire to be as
great and powerful as he was when he turned water to blood. I think he does, kind of like that time my
dad went out with plans to re-live his high school football glory days during
the annual Thanksgiving Day touch-football game, when he hurt his shoulder
really bad trying to tackle my sister before the game started (Sorry, dad. You
still out-bench me by 200 lbs.). The
effort may still be there, he may still want to – to multiply the loaves, heal
the sick, walk on the water, bring down the wall and bring back the dead – but
the strength has left him, like it does to every man, and God. Or, maybe not. Maybe he just doesn’t want to.
Like a throb
so constant that by definition it’s not longer ‘throb’, the pain increased
until it couldn’t anymore, then it increased.
The night was sticky from afternoon showers and a few men prayed and
Joel laid his hand on my knee. Pain
increased. He paused to ask if it felt
any better and it didn’t. But before I
could lose sight of hope in a vast collage of confusion, suffering, and swear
words they prayed again with a likeness of soldiers in inevitable victory battling
an inferior adversary. Their words offered a renewed vigor.
Pain increased, and then as quietly as it came, it
didn’t. Rising to my feet I limped as
prayer continued and pain lessened and I knew there would be no hospital or
Tylenol necessary tonight. I eventually
walked to my tent with a slight limp, but slept peacefully that night. I generally ask questions to a fault and that
night I didn’t know why the pain had to come just so healing could follow, but
I didn’t need too.
I really don’t blame him, though. There was hope back then. Moses, David, Sampson, Paul. These guys were worth fighting for. Now, it’s a broken world. Yea, it’s been ‘broken’ since Adam, but now
it’s really broken, with glue-kids, pedophiles, comfortable Jesus-followers and
sex-slaves. Each day is worse than the
last and entire nations that prophets once declared would someday worship instead
turn their backs and the sons and daughters created to bring a Kingdom whimper
to call it being a nice person and love is weak. I wouldn’t want to pour my heart out to these
people any more, either, and I’d be tired of working miracles to a forgetful
world. The God that brought dry bones to
life may be tired of displaying his wonder.
I don’t blame him.
In between
mountains is a tin building crazy people visit on Sundays. They’re part of a movement that represents
less than 1% of Thailand and they love and crazy things are more likely to
happen in a building where crazy people are present. They sang worship songs to Jesus, I didn’t
understand but I’m pretty sure he speaks Thai, and they danced with the
wildness of African churches but remained distinctly Asian. They smile and laugh a lot when they worship,
more than most Christians, and I think it’s because the lack of normalcy, the 1%,
remember.
Worship ended and they invited
their pale-skinned guests to give testimonies, tell a story, preach, whatever, the
floor was ours. A couple guys talked, I didn’t have much to
say nor did I want too so I didn’t. But
then it got awkward and quiet and God got loud.
“But. I. Don’t. Wanna.” So eventually
I told the story of last night. The
congregation was small and the story was condensed, unlike it is here. There were chairs up front, near where I
spoke, and when I handed the microphone away I walked to my seat without a
limp. Without words, the chairs in front
began to fill up and they looked at me and Joel and the other guys. “They want the healing, too,” said the
translator.
I remember the first time I heard that God’s
still healing people or raising people from the dead. A man from Africa told the tale, with the
setting for it in Africa, of course. That’s
usually how it works. Hearing a story
that happens over there and never seeing a story that happens right here. Not sure I’m buying it. And wouldn’t I have heard about a guy getting
up after being pronounced dead? Like on
CNN or something? They would make a big
deal of it – after all, the God that created man from dust is semi-retired and
not doing these things anymore.
The
following two hours resembled a page taken out of the Old Testament. Or a not-yet-written page in the New Testament.
A man’s joints ached and we prayed
healing over his joints and his joints no longer ached, a woman’s back was sore
and we prayed and soreness left her back, an old woman had neck-pain and we
laid our hands on her neck and she was healed.
Muscles. Bones.
The guys that weren’t praying
worshipped. The church members that
weren’t in line for healing joined in dancing and singing. But as more people received healing, more
people believed for healing, so more people came up to receive healing. Backs.
Shoulders. Knees. Old women laughed and rejoiced in their pain-free
bodies. There was one more that needed
healing.
She was the smallest person in
the church and the first I had noticed and taken a liking too. During worship she grew two feet taller and
her smile was unmistakable passion. She
was not especially old but far from young.
She sat down gingerly and told us that years ago a truck hit her while
she crossed the street. Her knee never
healed and pain had followed her for years.
We prayed. She stood up and spoke
the translator and we waited. The
translator smiled. “She says, while you
prayed God gave her a vision. She was
back on the road where she was hit by the truck, and the truck was there. But this time, the truck drove right by
her. Her pain is gone.”
The events of that day spread amongst our
squad and I received an e-mail later from a close friend on another team. She reminded me of month one in the
Dominican, when I needed a miracle. Or
just needed to see a miracle. And the
next month, when I still needed to see a miracle in Ecuador. God was old and my faith was low. And the next month in Peru I needed to see a
miracle. And the next one. “Do you remember what you said?” she asked, “About
needing to see a miracle? I heard what
happened, and the one thing you wanted so badly to see this year, this one
thing you thought would finally make your faith real… it happened!” I thought about that, and those first few
months, and my old God who either can’t or doesn’t want to anymore. For so long, I needed to see something great
happen. It finally did, something truly
miraculous, in month ten of an eleven month trip when I no longer needed
it. A miracle – no, several miracles –
happened that day, and I didn’t think too much about it. It was a great day for sure, but had little
to do with my faith.
He said you
can do anything if you have faith, but I think it’s more than that. I think you have to have the kind of faith
that doesn’t have to have the kind of faith that has to have miracles, but more
than that. I think you have to have the
kind of faith that doesn’t give a damn whether it’s the kind of faith that’s
going to have miracles because you’ve fallen so deep into his love that the
miracles are a mere afterthought to what He’s truly about and one day you’re in
love in between mountains and before you crazy people dance because you serve a
lover that fight’s in strength and passion. That’s
my God, and He conquers the world, especially then. Especially today.
“I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith
in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than
these, because I am going to the Father.”
