Brother Word (32 page)
Authors: Derek Jackson
“Hmmph. But why you? Why you, huh? If all this healin’ stuff is true, why God usin’ you?”
“I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times. I don’t know why. It just is. Why does anyone question the cards we’re dealt with in life? Didn’t you used to tell me you have to play the hand you’re dealt?”
“Reckon I did.”
“Well, then, that’s what I’m doing. It was a lousy hand at first—losing Nina—but now, I don’t know. Now it’s not so bad.”
“How do it work?”
“What?”
“This healin’ stuff. How do it work?”
“It works by faith, Pop.”
T
HREE DAYS LATER,
Chance remembered something Lynn had said to him—Faith Community Church conducted healing services every Sunday night. And with that recollection, a vision appeared to his mind. He was standing at the altar of the church, speaking before thousands of people. He sensed there were more people, too numerous to be counted, because of the television cameras.
I’m reaching a worldwide audience with the words of healing . . .
One by one the people came down the aisle, forming a line that would pass before him.
Lay hands on them,
Chance heard the voice of the Lord say.
I have healed them through the blood of My Son.
As the first person in line, an elderly woman walking with a cane, approached him, the vision blurred and his mind came back to the present. But he needed no more prompting to grasp the urgency of the vision—the Spirit of the Lord was still speaking to him.
I have healed them through the blood of My Son . . .
Taking a garment bag from his closet, he stuffed a week’s worth of clothes inside, then went to the bathroom and filled his shaving bag with all the essential items. Two years of living in motels, hotels, and the great outdoors had taught him how to get by with only the bare minimums.
Neither bus nor train would get him there by tomorrow evening, so he called the airport for flights leaving to South Carolina. The airport in Monroe didn’t have a departing flight until ten the following morning, but Shreveport Regional had a midnight flight to IAH Houston, where he could then catch a connecting flight to Atlanta, and then on to Columbia.
“That’s perfect,” he told the airline agent. “Book it.” Setting his bag aside, he walked down the hallway to the living room, where Pop sat in his easy chair, watching a fishing tournament on one of the secondary ESPN channels.
“You never tire of this fishing stuff, do you, Pop?”
“Fishin’ is the perfect metaphor—”
“For life,” Chance finished, taking a seat next to his father on the couch. “I know, I know. Listen, I’m going back to South Carolina for a few days.”
The statement alone was enough to take Pop’s attention from the TV. “You what? You going back . . . again? You gon’ leave me . . . again?”
“Pop, I’m not leaving you. I just need to get some things in order.”
“You can get things in order here.”
Chance shook his head. “I’ve just been doing some thinking and some praying. This healing gift God gave me should be made available to more people, but I don’t know the first thing about starting a healing ministry. But the churches I visited in South Carolina—they already have an outreach system in place. The seeds for believers to operate in divine healing have already been planted there, and from what I hear, are already producing.”
Pop turned his attention back to the fishing tournament. “Sound like you already got your mind set, then. Ain’t no need in you tellin’ me.”
“Well, my mind would be set, if I could leave without worrying about you starting drinking again.”
“I told you. I ain’t no—”
“Pop, listen. We’re not going to argue about this. There’s a problem and it won’t do any good for us to act like there’s not. We’re just going to take it one day at a time, alright? I’ve left some brochures for some rehab centers on the kitchen table . . . and I want you to know that I’m behind you in this all the way. You and me—we’re going to make it, you hear?”
Pop made no attempt to answer, but Chance knew his father had heard everything he’d just said.
“Because when I get back,” Chance continued, “you and me got a lot of fishing to do. But as much as I love you, I can’t be around you if you’re still throwing your life away to that bottle.”
A minute went by before Pop spoke. “When you coming back?” he asked softly.
“Real soon, Pop. And who knows? I might even take you to South Carolina with me. I’m told they got fish off the Atlantic coast that are twice the size of fish here in Louisiana.”
At that, a wide smile spread across Pop’s face. “You don’ lost your mind, boy. This here’s Cajun country—ain’t
nobody
got fish bigger than we do.”
“Well, then, you’ll just have to prove me wrong.”
“I will, Chance.” He glanced over at his son and Chance got the feeling Pop wasn’t just talking about the fish. “I will.”
L
YNN LOVED THE LARGE
stained-glass windows adorning the east and west walls of Faith Community Church. She always looked to them as soon as she stepped inside the sanctuary on Sunday mornings, captivated by how the simple beveled glass planes reflected sunlight with such majestic beauty.
The window on the west wall depicted a small group of worshippers bowing down before a golden cross. The theme was simple, yet so profound: the center of Christianity revolved around Jesus’s work on Calvary’s cross. To that end, believers would forever recognize the cross as the place of ultimate worship.
The window on the east wall depicted Jesus’s ascension into heaven, surrounded by the heavenly host of angels. It was a scene of ultimate triumph, one that always lifted Lynn’s spirits whenever she saw it.
Because You got up, that means I can get up, too . . .
“Good morning, Sister Lynn,” Arlene called out from her perch at the piano.
Lynn shook her head, smiled, and walked over to the piano. “Will there ever be a Sunday that I’ll get here
before
you do?”
Arlene gave her a look that implied there would not. “I just love coming here early, spending time with Him,” she said, as she started to play the beginning chords to “How Great Thou Art.”
Lynn sat next to the music minister on the piano bench. “I think we must both be cut from the same cloth. I agree that there’s
nothing
like quality, quiet time with the Father.”
Arlene nodded, softly beginning to sing the words to the hymn in her rich alto voice.
You have such a beautiful voice, sis . . .
Lynn closed her eyes and reflected once more on God’s goodness in her life—her miraculous healing from pneumonia at age two, having a wonderful human angel like Sister Imogene patiently teach her about God’s love in Sunday school, hearing the strong call of God to the ministry during her teenage years (which subsequently kept her from succumbing to peer pressure), being placed as outreach director for one of the largest churches in the Carolinas, God protecting her during a horrific car accident that had killed the other driver involved, God using Chance Howard to heal her eyes from certain blindness . . .
The list went on and on, and by the time Arlene had finished the first verse, Lynn had slid off the piano bench and fallen to her knees, lost in worship.
“Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee . . . how great Thou art . . .”
“I WAS GLAD WHEN THEY SAID
to me, let us go into the house of the Lord
,” Pastor Gentry proclaimed, reciting from memory the first verse of Psalm 122. “God has blessed us to see another Sunday morning, not because we deserved to see it, but because His grace allowed it.” He paused. “You know about grace and mercy, right? Many of you in here can testify that if it had not been for the Lord on your side . . .” He paused again, smiling as the congregation finished his exhortation in their own words.
Sister Arlene played a few chords on the Hammond B-3 organ, alert and ready in case her pastor needed any musical assistance. But Gentry looked at her with a slight shake of his head, indicating he wasn’t yet ready for the assistance.
“I thank those of you who came out last Monday night to our special Bible study. May God bless all of you real good. I believe that when the body of Christ becomes unified and gets on one accord in our efforts to win souls for the Kingdom, great things happen. When we don’t let denominational differences become bigger than our desire to fulfill the Great Commission, then
real
revival will break out all over the world.
“I was reading the praise reports from area churches’ healing services on this week alone. Three cases of cancer, sugar diabetes, carpal tunnel syndrome, back pain, lupus, and a severe migraine headache case—all
healed
for the glory of God. Let’s give Him a shout of praise for His wonderful works!”
Sister Arlene now played a looping chord in B-flat, soon joined by choir members beating tambourines and congregants clapping their hands and stomping their feet in spiritual praise.
“Church, what we’re seeing happen here is not some watered-down, out-of-date religion that has no relevance to everyday life,” Gentry continued, tuning up the treble to his voice. He was now ready to preach.
“What we’re seeing happen is the manifestation of God’s Word. Where are my Bible scholars? The Bible says that if My people, who are called by My name, shall humble themselves and pray, seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, what will God do?”
“God will
heal
our land!” a member shouted.
“Say it again?”
“God will
heal
our land!”
“One more time, in Jesus’s name . . .”
“God will
heal
our land!”
“MY GOD, YOU REALLY PREACHED
today,” Lynn remarked, passing by Pastor Gentry’s office. The morning service had ended forty minutes earlier, but after either staying to pray for people at the altar, welcoming new members, or fulfilling other administrative duties, it was only now that most of the staff members at Faith Community could
pause
to catch their respective breaths.
“No, the
Holy Spirit
preached today,” Pastor Gentry gently corrected her. “It had nothing to do with me—I knew God was going to show out today . . . I could feel it in my spirit early this morning when I woke up to pray.”
Lynn leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. “This revival . . . it’s so awesome. I’m so excited about what God is doing. Every day, we’re hearing more and more reports of healings, salvations, baptisms in the Holy Spirit.”
Pastor Gentry nodded. “Acts 2:17—
‘And
it shall come to pass in the last days, says God, that I will pour out of My Spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your young men shall see visions, your old men shall dream dreams.’
These are the last days, Sister Lynn. We should feel so honored, and yet so
humbled
to be chosen by God to live in this dispensation of His Spirit. God could have chosen us to live during any time period—during the persecution of the early church, during the Crusades, during the Reformation after Martin Luther nailed his ninety-five theses on the door of the church, or during the Azusa Street revival in Los Angeles. But He chose us to live
now
, in the twenty-first century, right when I believe that Jesus is preparing His church as the bride, ready to meet the bridegroom.”
“It’s what we always prayed for,” Lynn continued. “And we’re seeing the fruit of those prayers coming to pass.”
“And that’s the key—prayer. I’ve been experiencing spiritual warfare on a completely different level over the past months, and I know others have, too. It’s vital that we continue praying for the success of this revival. God is going to do exceedingly, abundantly above all we ask or think, but only according to the power working within us.”
“Which is the Word of God in us, mixed with faith,” Lynn said.
“Absolutely.”
“Lynn?”
Lynn turned at the voice to see Arlene at the end of the hallway. Arlene, among other things, was the quintessential church worker—first to arrive, last to leave.
“Lynn, there’s a telephone call for you. It just came in on the main line.”
“Oh, okay. Forward it to my desk in ten seconds.” She turned back to Pastor Gentry. “You know I could stay here all day and talk about the end-time revival, but it’s been a long day.”
“Sundays always are.”
“And you need to take your wife, Shanice, out to dinner. Someplace real nice.”
Pastor Gentry started chuckling. “Oh I do, do I?”
“Absolutely. Tell her I said hello and that I’ll see her tonight.” Lynn walked back to her office, wondering why someone was calling her on the church’s main line. Most everyone who needed to contact her had her direct number.
“Faith Community Church, Lynn Harper speaking,” she answered, once Arlene had forwarded the call.
“Hello, Lynn.”
She instantly recognized the voice as Chance’s, and for a few seconds she went speechless. Of course, she’d told him to call her anytime, but she really hadn’t expected that he would.
“Chance. H-hello. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing real good, thanks. Listen, Faith Community is having a healing service tonight, right?”
“Yes. It starts at seven. Intercessory prayer begins at six. Why?”
“Well, it’s just that I would like to come, if that would be alright.”
“If that would be
alright
? Of course it would! As I’ve said, our altar workers and intercessors would be so inspired to have you minister alongside them. But you’re still in Ruston, right? I mean, you can’t possibly make it here in time for the service unless . . . unless . . .”
“Unless I’m
already
here,” he finished. “Which I am. I just landed at Columbia Metropolitan.”
“Y-you’re here?” Lynn still could not fathom what Chance had just said. She was as surprised as he’d been a few weeks earlier, when she’d called him to tell him she was in
his
hometown.