This month, we are going into villages surrounding the town we are saying in to preach and pray for the people there. Each village we walk into is vastly different from the other. Sometimes the kids run up to the tuk-tuk we ride in on with smiles beaming back at us, and sometimes it seams as if nobody even lives in the village we are visiting. Sometimes we arrive early enough to catch the golden hour, and sometimes we arrive in the darkness after sunset. Sometimes we go to the pastors house and the kids run up to us saying things we don’t understand, but we start teaching them sons and dances and everybody smiles. Sometimes we go straight to walking around to houses in the village, and we walk past so many ceramic monster masks used in the Hindu culture to ward off evil spirit it feels like they are alive and watching us.
We walk into houses, guided by the local pastor and pray for the needs of the people in his congregation. Often times we pray for back pain, or leg pain, we pray for their loved ones, and we pray for their needs. Every now and then we hear “I am perfect, just pray for blessings” as the person we are about to pray for grins from ear to ear. So we all circle up and lay hands on them, taking turns praying for miracles, blessings, and gifts. When we say amen they thank us with such gratitude that something feels off. Our translator finally explained to us that a lot of people worship us because we are white. They believe what we have to say because of the color of our skin, not because of who Jesus is. They know who Jesus is, but they believe that we as white people can heal them.
One woman in particular seamed to truly believe in the power of just us. She asked us to pray for healing in her right eye, so I rested my palm on her head and prayed with all the faith I could muster. Nothing happened, she wasn’t healed before our eyes, but when I said “amen” she did the infamous Indian head bobble (which means literally anything; yes, no, thank you, okay…) and then bent down and started to kiss my feet. Then she touched her hands to my feet, then up to hear eyes. My first thought was oh no, I stepped in cow poop yesterday… at least I hope it belonged to the cow across the street. But then I started to realize how useless her actions were. I have no power to do anything for her, I don’t even know her name. But Jesus, the man in who’s name we pray, knows how many hairs are on her head. Jesus is the guy that can save her and heal her. Jesus is the guy who sent the Holy Spirit down to give us the authority to heal people in his name – but she didn’t seam to understand that.
