Six or seven years ago, I was in a remote village in Sudan with a few other clergy, doing various kinds of ministry with both laity and local clergy. One night about 9 o’clock the Bishop there told me that there were two people, both a man and a women were there for me to pray for them. We had been ministering all day and I was whipped. There was no electricity, so it was dark, except for a few lanterns and flash lights. My hut was still full of people, so I suggested that we pray for them the next day. Bishop Kakayni then proceeded to explain to me that they both had Aids and were dying, and that they had traveled for for several days, a good bit by foot, to get there. They had heard that we were going to be there and we’re convinced if they could get to us, God would touch them, and they would be healed. They were from Uganda, and one was a widow of a priest whose husband had died of Aids he got from a blood transfusion, and now she had the disease. The other was a priest who got Aids from a transfusion. They were extremely poor, beyond imagination. Of course I prayed for them. I have to confess that I didn’t feel a lot of faith simply because I was so tired, and it was so dark I could hardly see them. The result was that they were healed, and to this day they have no trace of Aids, and are living active and productive lives. Here is the story line, God honored there desperate faith. They were willing to pay any price to get to God. They had no back up plan. Jesus was their hope and they were desperate for Him. This story isn’t about healing, but about the faith of the poor that is so desperate for Jesus that it always moves His heart to respond. May God stir our passive hearts to become full of passion and desperation for Him and to encounter Him. May God give us the spirit of the poor in our seeking Him.
