Like a bleary eyed Tin Man, I was being pulled to a morning prayer meeting by the magnetic personality of a man I knew only by reputation, Pastor Vincent. I’m really not a Wednesday morning prayer meeting kind of guy. I’m more a Sunday morning Catholic.
The 8 am weekday meeting was taking place at the workplace of Joe T., my daughter Laura’s father-in-law. Joe had extended an open invitation to me to join these weekly prayer meetings at his factory which manufactures chairs. As I entered the warehouse by a side entrance, I was dazzled by a panorama of chair making equipment as well as long rows of completed chairs waiting like stoic soldiers for their new assignments. Joe was waving at me to join Pastor Vincent and a small group of his employees at the far end of the building. After a few brief introductions, I settled into one of 8 or 9 lumpy chairs, obviously ones that had flunked their physicals.
The meeting began with a song and although I knew most of the lyrics, it’s hard to sing when your heart isn’t into it. I began to wonder what I was doing there, amidst this tiny group of believers which soon included the belated arrival of another familiar and smiling face, Joe P. If Joe T. reminds me that God is a loving Father, then Joe P. reminds me that God also has a great sense of humour.
Pastor Vincent, a Pentecostal minister, took centre stage and for 30 minutes spoke with a passion and clarity that was breathtaking. A Sri Lankan powerhouse, the pastor’s light was only exceeded by the brilliance of his smile. I don’t recall exactly what he preached but it did give me more confidence to join in the closing song.
After the meeting, Joe T invited me for coffee in the employee lunch room along with
Joe P. Pastor Vincent entered and asked if he could pray over me. I readily agreed, realizing now that there was a reason I hadn’t needed an alarm clock this morning. The two Joes assumed the position, hands on my left and right shoulders. As the good pastor began, I hoped the Joes had coordinated how to catch me as I hit the deck. As it turned out, I did remain vertical and in fact, after some initial turbulence, a real calm came over me.
After few moments of praise, Pastor Vincent claimed the immediate cure of my cancer and promised, in Jesus’ name, that I would live to see my great grandchildren. Though the discomfort that I had been feeling in my chest for the past month was still there, I clung to the second part of his message. You see, my oldest grandchild Noah is just three years old.
As I drove home, I pondered Pastor Vincent’s message wondering when the cure would actually occur. If God was indeed driving my car, I guess we belonged in the HOV lane.
Mark 9:24
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