Let the Doctors Handle the Case: Go and Preach the Gospel!
“Excuse me Sir these seats are reserved for elders.”
I reluctantly let go of the chair I was about to lower my 200 pound on and turned around to meet the smiling face of a woman in a wheel chair. She was bloated, apparently due to inactivity. The tag pinned on her chest told me she was an usher. I returned the smile and moved down the aisle to look for another empty chair. I eventually found one close to one of the entrances. As I sat there, I could still see the wheel chair woman keeping an eye on the reserved seats. Somehow, I couldn’t get her off my mind.
Frankly, I was surprised to see someone with such obvious disability serving in the church. I was less perturbed about the ugliness of disabilities. I had seen much of them during my short stint in the navy when my unit was deployed to evacuate Haitians buffeted by Hurricane Jane. I must confess that encountering that woman in the church unnerved me.
My name is Finn Huber, originally from Heisten but now resident in Stuttgart. I was born into a family that did not think too much of God and His ways. My father in particular hated religion with passion. He said pastors were leeches that fed on poor and ignorant folks. His aversion to religion strained his relationship with his two siblings that both of them tagged him ‘devil’s incarnate’.
My mum was no better. She spent most of her waking moments feeding her favorite pastimes- smoking and drinking alcoholic beverages. She was also a consummate liar. Mum could lie about anything including the weather! Do not get me wrong. I loved my parents and they adored me.
My sister Brigitte could not stand the sight of me though. I always thought she was jealous of me. We never saw eye to eye until our parents were killed in a plane crash in 2004. It was at the funeral that we embraced for the first time.
After the burial, I left home and joined the navy. I could have made a career out of it but an injury during a North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) reconnaissance exercise off the Baltic coast closed that door. It was traumatic since I could think of nothing to do for a living. In fact, I had no skill to market. Through determination borne out of fear of ending up on the street, I expanded the garage of the four-bedroom bungalow I inherited from my paternal grandfather into a shop, from where I became a major distributor of canned Heineken beer in Stuttgart. I thought I had finally 'arrived'.
Although I knew nothing about God’s ways, I was attracted to a number of Christians. I felt at ease in their company and could do business with them without fear. However, in my interaction with these folks, I heard some of them talk about Him with the familiarity that seemed to suggest that He actually existed and cared about people like me. Despite my hardness of heart, I allowed myself to be persuaded by a friend, Engel Kraus to attend service at his church, the Light House Inc.
My foray into the religious world was almost marred by what I thought was an act of betrayal by Engel. No sooner did we take our seats than the pastor, a portly looking man in a dark pin stripped suit looked directly in our direction and said, "God has given me a message for you young man. Your parents hated Him and chose to spend eternity in hell. You do not have to tow their path. Today God is reaching out to you in love. He wants to break the bondage over your family. He loves you but the choice is yours."
As the pastor walked towards the podium, I stared at Engel, with anger playing havoc in my mind. He did not seem to take any notice of my discomfort. It was then it dawned on me that poor Engel had no way of knowing about my family history since we never got around to discussing issues of that nature. I was non-plus. Suddenly, I felt a tug in my heart, a softening of my resolve not to get involved with religion.
I knew I had to run for dear life. I did not want to be a party to what I saw as a suffocating religious web and lose my rationality. I had seen some people that were emotional wrecks after giving their all to the pursuit of such fantasy. My parents had warned my sibling and me to avoid religion in order not to be sucked into what they described as tissues of lies. They encouraged us to think for ourselves and not allow fantasies becloud our reasoning.
When I got home, I made up my mind to give Engel and his likes a wide berth. I was not ready for their religious hype. However, despite my apathy to religion, I had respect for God. Somehow, I felt I knew enough about what was wrong or right to keep me in His good books. Having taken my decision, I took my dinner and settled down with a book by Goldie Brown titled, ‘The Waiting Game’ in which he warned of an impending global financial crisis. I didn’t go beyond the preface when sleep overcame me.
While I slept, I had a dream in which I saw myself ministering to crowd of people in strange towns. It was like a video slide show. Many people testified of being healed of all sorts of illnesses and deformities. I woke up with the shouts of ‘hallelujah’ ringing in my ears. I could not make head or tail out of the dream. No one had ever taught me how to pray so the idea of seeking God’s face for answers didn’t arise. I stayed awake for about an hour before another bout of sleep descended on me. This time, I slept like a baby.
At my shop the following morning, my thoughts were dominated by the dream. I felt I should share it with Engel but I restrained myself. I knew he would try to make a capital out of it. Eventually, I resolved to keep the matter to myself. I was just about to leave the shop for lunch when Engel walked in. Against by better judgment, I related the experience of the previous night.
He looked at me with a smile playing around his eyes and said, “Finn, I was wondering how long it would take you to acknowledge the supremacy of God over your life. The decision is yours. I believe God through that dream, revealed the magnitude your ministry if you accept his call. Need I say more?”
Engel’s terse response did more to unnerve me. I had never imagined myself in the preacher’s garb. Even with my lack of professional skills, I felt I was “too good” to end up a minister of the gospel. Why was God interested in a person like me? Engel as I saw it had better credentials. Why would God not call him into ministry?
It took me a year and six months to realize that God were serious. Within that time, he used several people including highly anointed ministers to validate His call upon my life. I even received three unsolicited e-mails from Australia, Bahrain and Japan in which the authors said the Holy Spirit showed them visions of my ministry. I was flattered that God showed so much interest in me. One day while watching Benny Hinn’s ‘This Is Your Day’ on Trinity Broadcasting Network, I eventually said yes to God. It was then my preparation for the ministry started.
The next morning found me at a bookshop in my neighbourhood. One of the sales clerks patiently took me round the two floors of the building filled with Christian literature of all description. I was too confused on what I thought was essential to prepare me for God’s ‘big assignment’. I eventually left with fifteen books.
Finding the ‘right church’ was the next item on my agenda. I wasn’t keen on returning to Engel’s church. It was not anything personal though. I felt it did not fit my idea of a vibrant ministry. In my discussion with the sales clerk at the bookshop, she mentioned that Christ the Redeemer Ministries was the only ‘happening’ church in Stuttgart.
She expressed surprise that I had not heard of the exploits of its senior pastor, Bishop Kursk Hegel. When I assured her I would atone for my ignorance, she offered to take me to the mid-week service held on Wednesdays. However, on the eve of the service, she called to apologize for her inability to fulfil her promise.
Not wanting to postpone the inevitable, I found my way to Heidelberg Road where the church is located. I tried to mask my apprehension by walking with all the confidence I could muster. That must have fooled the ushers as no one stopped me until I got to the area reserved for Elders where I had the encounter with the wheel chair woman.
In the course of the service, the Bishop invited first timers to join him at the altar for special blessing. I reluctantly left my seat and joined other folks streaming towards the altar. After we were prayed for, some church officials took us down to a nearby office where we were documented. Some of us were led to Christ before we returned to our seats.
At the end of the ministration, I decided to see the presiding Bishop for counselling. An usher I approached for assistance advised me to book appointment at the church office within the complex. He said I could only see the Bishop on Tuesdays and Thursdays, reserved for counselling. He reached out and collected one of the newsletters we were given during the documentation process and opened to a page containing names and telephone numbers of the Bishop and his team of pastors. He said I could call the Bishop and book the appointment. I thanked him for the information and left for home.
Later that day, I put a call through to the Bishop. He expressed delight that I found his ministry useful, but said he was on his way to Britain. Would I mind seeing his Associate Pastor Paul Kahn? I promised I would try it. When he signed off, I dialled Kahn’s number and he agreed to see me on Tuesday of the same week. To my delight, we hit it off at our first meeting.
After listening to my story, he advised me to enrol in the church’s Bible College. When I told him about my line of business, he said I would’ve to trust God to open another door for me. He explained that though the Bible doesn’t explicitly condemn sale and consumption of alcoholic beverages, my involvement in the trade could harm my ministry. He prayed with me and encouraged me to ask God for a clear directive on the matter.
Giving up trading in beer was a tough decision for me. I thought I could cut a deal with God. I promised to donate my earnings to charity if He would accept me just the way I was. When my conscience refused to see reason, I decided the best bet was to sell the building along with all my business stuff to a friend of mine, David Mayer. I promptly put a call through to him.
He said he was interested but could I give him sometime to mobilize funds? I told him that was okay with me. It felt like I was handing my heirloom to someone in the family. David and I were close. With that wrapped up, I gave a sigh of relief. I thought I would at least salvage what remained of my past, but God had other ideas.
About 1700 hours, I had the urge to go for a walk. It was a little bit windy. I almost changed my mind but something drew me out of the house. Forty minutes later, I was on a bridge linking my part of the town with Linericker District when I heard the unmistakable sound of a fire engine roaring to God knows where.
I said a silent prayer for whoever had the misfortune of playing host to an inferno. Involuntarily, I quickened my steps and broke into a trot. It was exhilarating with the cold wind whipping my face. As I turned the corner to my house, I almost fainted. The entire building was razed to its foundation.
Like one in a trance, I walked over to one of the fire fighters and enquired if the cause of the fire had been ascertained. He looked at me quizzically. The pains in my eyes and voice obviously told him I was not a casual observer. He turned and beckoned to a colleague who had a thermos flask and asked him to give me a cup of coffee. I took the coffee with trembling hands and gulped down the content.
I thanked them for their kindness and explained that I had left the premises barely forty minutes before the fire broke out. I assured them I had not handled any incendiary material nor left any lying about the house that could’ve ignited the fire. They sympathized with me and between themselves mustered five hundred Euros to enable me sort out a few things. I was thinking of the next step to take when my cell phone rang. It was Khan. I told him about my predicament and he asked for direction to my burnt property. He arrived in less than ten minutes.
I thanked the fire fighters and drove off with my newfound brother and benefactor. Never in my wildest imagination did I link God with my calamity. I was grateful to have escaped with my life. I reasoned that the fire could have started in the night when I was fast asleep. That could have sealed my fate.
I lived with Khan for six months before the Lord opened the door for me to enrol at the Bible School. The program was hectic but I enjoyed every minute of it. While at the school, a visiting minister laid hands on me and said the Lord would have me minister health to ailing bodies. His words were more of a confirmation considering the dream I shared with Engel.
After the graduation ceremony, I went back to Khan’s house and continued with him for a year before God miraculously provided a furnished apartment for me in one of the highbrow areas of Stuttgart. It came as a surprise because I had not met its owner until the day Khan handed me the key to the apartment. He said God ministered to a member of the church to let me have the house for as long as I lived in Stuttgart.
With a joy-filled heart, I threw myself into the work of God. He had indeed lifted me from the miry clay and set my feet upon the rock. My euphoria at finding my niche in God’s house was short-lived when the Bishop frustrated the next step I took towards fulfilling my ministry. When I told him I felt led to hold meetings after church service on Sundays to pray for the sick, he said contemptuously, “Cut out this melodramatics young man. When God wants this ministry to move in that direction, He will not need to convey the message through an upstart like you. Humble yourself and learn the ropes first. If you try to run without learning to walk, you will not go far. Be forewarned, you will not go far.”
As he walked away with his usual swagger, I hurried into the Associate Pastor’s office to find the much needed succour. I had discussed my intention to start the prayer meeting with him and he encouraged me to live out my dream. I could not fathom why Khan and the Bishop operated at different realms. I was disconcerted and felt like calling it quits with God.
I tried the pastor’s door but it was locked. I was about leaving for home when I sighted him chatting with Louis Goldberg, the Youth Pastor. I waved and they beckoned on me to join them. The moment I got within earshot, I told them I was ready to throw in the towel. Both of them roared with laughter and admonished me to face life’s issues with maturity.
When I related my encounter with the Bishop, Khan said with a wry smile, “I’m certain that the man of God is not anti-divine healing, at least I have seen him praying for people with some maladies.”
Goldberg interjected, “That is the snack. I know a number of ministers who believe Jesus can heal headaches, stomach upsets and the like. They do not just have the guts to expect the kind of spectacular and creative miracle of healings recorded in the Bible.
Somehow, I believe our generation has accepted mediocrity as its standard. You need to read one of the new versions of the Bible I saw at a bookshop yesterday. I was flipping through some pages and something caught my attention in Mathew chapter ten verse one. Do you know how its author rendered Jesus’ command to his disciples to ‘heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease’? His translation of that verse reads, ‘Tenderly care for the bruised and hurt lives’!
Initially, I was pained that the author, a minister I admired so much could water down the word of God to the point of irreverence. On second thought, I realized that he vividly captured the state of the apostate church, not the church triumphant-the bride of Christ. I know that out of necessity, the two must operate side by side until the day of reckoning. That is when Jesus will separate the sheep from the goats.”
As I glanced at Goldberg, I saw a teardrop on his face. It was obvious that he cared for the church of Christ. His heaviness of spirit was infectious and I prayed for courage to stand for the truth no matter the cost.
I was thinking of a fitting response when Khan said, “Louis, I understand how you feel. Sometimes, I’m so disenchanted with the entire religious system that I cry to God to take me home. I know that is childish but how else can one let out steam without facing the wrath of those who feel they have God’s permission to recreate us in their own image?
I too read the verse in the version of the Bible you mentioned. Believe me that might be just a tip of the iceberg of what to expect as the apostasy intensifies. One of the signs of the end times given by the Lord is desolation in the temple of God; signifying the consummation of the marriage between the false church and the world. The signs are clear for those with eyes to see. The truth is that the world only applauds what it can relate with. When we present Jesus as the great Physician, the world mocks us if we do not have the anointing to make a difference in the lives of those under the power of the spirit of infirmity.
Perhaps, the translator of that version of the Bible struggled with the dilemma of having to preach a Christ who could heal the sick, but sometimes chooses not to. I can relate with him if the translation is from this perspective. It is as if he is saying to Jesus, “This is the only way I can communicate your love to this generation.
You have moved through people like Mother Theresa to care for the bruised and hurt lives; you have given us doctors who can perform medical feats with their scalpels and wonder drugs; you have blessed us with well-equipped hospitals and hospices; Lord, this is the side of you I know. How can I as a pastor and Bible translator present a Jesus I do not know?”
Let us not crucify that Bible translator. I am sure he loves Jesus with passion. Maybe, just maybe such candour would challenge the Lord to pour out his Spirit afresh and roll away the reproach of his church.”
Turning to me Khan said, “Finn, the frustrations you are going through in the ministry can be a channel of blessing if you do not allow bitterness dictate your response to them. None of the ministers in this church has had it easy under its leadership, especially those with discernible gift of healing. I remember my early days in ministry when I felt led to pray for the sick after one of our evening services on a Wednesday. Actually, I invited a church member, a woman to my office when she solicited prayer for healing. She had an unsightly growth on the nape of her neck. We were reading Isaiah chapter fifty-three together to build up her faith when the Bishop walked into my office unannounced.
In deference to him, I explained that the woman needed God’s intervention to remove the growth. Frankly, I thought he would gladly join his faith with ours to glorify God, but the Bishop thundered, “Khan, God has called me to win souls. Stop fooling around pretending you possess what you do not. Go and preach the gospel to the lost and let the doctors do their work. Do I make myself clear?”
I wished the earth would open up and swallow me. Shame washed over me. What made the situation so awful was the fact that the poor woman was a new convert from Christian Science. She said her younger sister who led her to the Lord assured her that her health would be restored. Now that you have heard my story do you still wish to throw in the towel?”
I looked at the two of them and shook my head. I knew I had placed my hand on the plough. There was no turning back. I had burnt my bridges for the sake of the gospel. What else was there to return to?