Carried by Faith

(another small narrative from Uganda)

During one of our visits to a rural village, we met the pastor of a small congregation. He was in his upper twenties and was a recent convert to the faith from Islam. Much of his family had disowned him, but the joy that swept over his features expressed a deeper source that was indeed, sufficient. His father, due to health problems, was the only one of his family who had not disowned him. The young man requested that we go see his father and led us into a little mud-and- thatch hut that stood in the center of the village. Our group, comprised of only four people, could not fit in the room, so a couple of us stood in the doorway. “Pray with my father,” the young pastor urged. As our eyes adjusted to the dimly-lit space, they landed upon a shell of a man who was lying on a cot, dressed in traditional Islamic attire. “He’s paralyzed,” the son explained. “And has cancer – we are behind in paying for treatments, so he cannot have more treatments until we are caught up.” Mr. Harold, our group leader, hands the son twenty dollars – a small figure that both paid for the previous month’s treatment and the current month’s treatment. We ask the frail, old man if we can pray for him and he does not refuse us. We leave the hut, determined to do more, though unsure what “more” entails.

As we turn to leave, one of the elders of the church says to us, “Your presence here shows the ridiculers in our village that Christ is real.”

“How?” we wonder aloud.

“Because you have come from so far away. It shows them that we have not made up this faith. We are so different, yet we are from the same family. You have given credibility to what we have been preaching.”

We walk away in tears. Because they have given credibility to the message we’ve been preaching.

That afternoon, we return to Jinja, which is about four hours away from the village with the young pastor and his paralyzed father. Our intent is to buy Bibles in Luganda, the native tongue of most Ugandans. As we turn to leave the shop, I nearly trip over a used wheelchair that they have sitting out, for sale. A wheelchair. In a book store.  (After praising God aloud and dancing around a bit,) we pay the small price for the amazing find, and send it back to the village with a taxi driver. Word comes to us later that week that not only had the man regained some mobility, but he found freedom in Christ and put his trust in Him as Savior and Lord.

Last week, I was told that the old man had passed away. And just like the paralytic in Mark 2, this pillar in the community was both forgiven and no longer bound by physical limitations.

‘But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—He said to the paralytic, “I say to you, get up, pick up your pallet and go home.”And he got up and immediately picked up the pallet and went out in the sight of everyone, so that they were all amazed and were glorifying God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this.”’