The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me,
for the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted
and to proclaim that captives will be released
and prisoners will be freed.
Isaiah 61:1
I memorized this verse and began praying it over myself about two years ago. This month I truly saw it come into fruition in my life. Be careful what you pray for, eh?
In this blog, I want to highlight the first story that has to do with this verse. I was able to live out the verse above and share love, hope, prayer and service to the brokenhearted, the poor and the sick.
In my next blog, I will share how this verse went even further and I was able to go into the Lusaka Prison and share the Good News with prisoners.
***
For month five of the World Race, our ministry consisted of several tasks, but our main job was to visit clinics in the various village districts of Lusaka, Zambia.
The staff, dressed in skirts, pantyhose, aprons and caps, were not the only aspects that appeared to be stuck in the 1940s.
These were the types of clinics where people line up for hours, waiting to see a doctor. Short-staffed and under-equipped, they could hardly handle the influx of needy patients. These were the types of clinics that you see in movies that are filmed in 3rd world countries. These were the types of clinics that would never be allowed to operate in the States. These were the types of clinics, that honestly, I would not want to receive treatment in.
When many of the 14 million people living in Zambia, live on less than $1 a day, these underfunded government and mission clinics are their only chance of healthcare.
There were so many people waiting to be seen, not a chair, bench or hallway was left empty on the premises of the clinics we visited. People who had been waiting for a long time, took naps on the ground outside.
Sometimes there wasn’t even electricity in these clinics. We witnessed one person in need of an x-ray get turned away, because there was no power to operate the machine at the moment.
The rooms and halls were dimly lit from the natural light shining in through the windows. There was no air conditioning. There were no vending machines, coffee bars, shops or free wifi to energize and entertain your long wait.
When you get that many people crammed into a tight space, in hot weather conditions, everyone sweats; bodily fluids and smells quickly fill the area.
HIPPA is nonexistent. Patient info, nurse schedules, needles, supplies, medicine and records were hardly secured, if secured at all.
Our job in these clinics was to clean and share the love of Christ.
We swept, picked up trash and disinfected walls and other surfaces. The only protective gear we wore was a pair of latex gloves. There was nowhere to wash our hands when we were done.
So, there we were, highly untrained foreign volunteers, cleaning hazardous surfaces with unofficial cleaning supplies bought by the church members at the corner store.
I carried my soapy bucket and small rag from wall, to wall, and night-stand, to night-stand. I wondered what the lives of the patients who used to inhabit these beds, were like. I wondered what types of sicknesses were treated in these spots. I wondered what types of bacteria were left behind, as dirty water splashed onto my skin.
In addition to cleaning, we ministered to those who were in the clinics. We preached in the group treatment rooms, waiting rooms and hallways; anywhere we could, basically. We hung out with the sick and prayed with them and their families.
On one particular clinic visit, I found myself in the Women and Infants building. The room was packed with desperate and worried women holding their sickly newborns. The room and hallways were so full, that I could hardly make my way to the center of the room to find a good enough clearing to speak from.
As I shuffled around looking for a place to stand, I prayed. I told the Holy Spirit that I needed him to speak through me, that I didn’t have a word good enough for these women and that I couldn’t do it on my own.
I told him that I desperately needed him to show up in a mighty way.
The room was dim and warm, as the sun disappeared behind huge rain clouds. There was a constant pounding noise as rain hit the metal roof, the only layer providing protection from the outside to the inside.
Once Pastor Brian (our Zambian host) and I established ground, I introduced myself. I told them who I was, what I was doing in their country and that I had encouragement for them. I used portions from Romans 5 to teach from and Pastor Brian translated.
As I spoke, I was in awe, because I saw women getting up from the far corners of the room and drawing closer. While holding their babies wrapped in blankets and fabrics, they intently leaned in to catch every word I said.
My teammate Jami, who was present during this time, said that even with the loud noise of the rain pounding on the roof, you could have heard a pin drop. She said the Holy Spirit was moving in such a powerful way, that she had tears in her eyes and found herself following along with the message, drawing something from it herself.
In this moment I was reminded of Jesus and the disciples. They would preach from anywhere and people would gather around them, pressing in, trying to get closer. They were always subjecting themselves to the needy; that was their territory.
And now it was mine.
When I was done preaching, I asked for those who wanted to receive Christ, to raise their hands. And one-by-one, an overwhelming response ensued. I can confidentially say 95% of the room, raised their hand. In fact, so many women raised their hand, that it would have been easier to count the hands of those who didn’t!
This obviously, was not my doing. It was not by my own might or works. I am not worthy enough or knowledgeable enough to be a part of such a powerful moment.
But it was the Spirit of the Sovereign Lord who was on me.
He anointed me.
He sent me.
Just like it says in Isaiah 61:1.
