When courage & compassion combine

We are heading rapidly towards the end of the year. It’s grey, drizzly and cold.

Advent is about to begin. The nights are almost as long as they’re going to get, and I’m yearning for the shortest day and the gradual dispelling of daytime darkness. The twinkly lights of Christmas are starting to appear in homes across my neighbourhood.

I’m working at home, and I have to drag myself out at lunchtime if I’m going to have half a chance of seeing some daylight. My destination is the local swimming pool, a short walk from my home, and the one I’ve been using for years.

***

As I leave the pool after my swim, my hair still wet despite being towelled dry, I pause at the reception desk to sign myself out. It’s a young lad on duty that day. He must be in his early 20s, with his chestnut brown hair worn long and trendy, made to look natural, but no doubt crafted at length in front of the mirror each morning. He’s an amiable chap, always greeting the people who want to use the pool with a friendly smile. Let’s call him Ed*.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

Instead of the usual, “I’m fine” response, I’m caught off guard as he proceeds to explain, in great detail, how he was involved in a car accident last week.

Apparently an HGV lorry driver failed to see him, cut him up on a dual carriageway and sent him catapulting into the central reservation. His car ended up in the fast lane, facing the wrong way. He’s injured his neck, back and leg, he tells me, but he’s grateful to be alive.

Out of politeness, I ask if he’s in pain. When he responds affirmatively, I gently chide him that he probably shouldn’t have returned to work so soon, and he shrugs his shoulders, saying he needs the money.

Everything within me wants to leave, but I feel a surge of both courage and compassion come over me, and I take a deep breath.

“Has anyone prayed for you?” I ask him.

“No,” he says, looking at my quizzically, “but I do believe in God, you know, and I’ve got a school friend who’s said he’s praying for me.”

Surprised, but strangely encouraged, by this response, I take another deep breath. “Would you like me to pray for you?” I offer.

“What? Like … right here, right now?” he asks, wide eyed, opening wide his arms and gesturing the reception area for the pool.

“Sure!” I reply, sounding more confident than I’m feeling inside, “Why not?”

There’s a pause, and then he looks at me quizzically. “Are you some kind of spiritual healer?” he asks.

“Not at all,” I reply. “I’m a Christian, and Christians sometimes see people healed when they pray for them in the name of Jesus.”

He’s totally unfazed by this and nods along, indicating that he’s happy for me to pray.

I ask him where he’s in pain and he points to a specific point on his neck. So I get his permission, put my hand on that spot and, out loud, pray a simple prayer, commanding the pain and the trauma to go in the name of Jesus.

“Wow!” he exclaims loudly. “What’s that tingling?” He pauses a moment. “Is that normal?” he continues.

“Yes,” I say. “That could be God healing you.”

“Wow!” he says again. “That’s the nicest feeling I’ve had since the accident.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, while he touches his neck, clearly astounded.

“OMG,” he says, visibly shaken, “OMG, the pain has gone. Wow!”

It’s hard to know which of us is more surprised, but I can’t stop grinning.

I tell him to say thank you to God, not me, and I mention the name of my church, in case he wants to visit.

I leave the pool, with a spring in my step.

***

Three days later, I have another lunchtime swim and it’s Ed who’s on reception when I arrive at the pool. Only this time he’s got company. A young female colleague, one of the beauticians who works in the spa, is standing next to him behind the desk.

He looks up, as I walk in, and greets me with a broad grin, telling me his neck is completely better. The pain has simply disappeared. His girlfriend can’t believe it, and neither can his doctor.

He also says he spoke to his school friend about what happened, and his friend told him that it wasn’t me who healed him, but Jesus, and that the tingling he felt was the Holy Spirit at work. He ends with an upward inflection in his voice, a statement of fact turning into a question, inviting me to confirm whether this is correct.

I tell him that his school friend is spot on, and he looks pleased.

Then, while I’m signing in for my swim, he asks me if I’ll pray for his leg, around the knee area, as it’s incredibly painful because he twisted it during the car accident.

“Jesus seems to listen to you,” he says, his voice trailing off, even as he says it. I look up from the signing in book and realise he’s being serious.

Before I know it, he’s out from behind the desk, hopping around the reception area, and telling me exactly what’s happened to his leg. Apparently, he’s torn his hamstring and a muscle, amongst other things, and it’s clearly hurting.

Without hesitation, I bend down so that my eyes are level with his knees. Looking up at his face, I get his permission, ask where it hurts, clasp my hands around his knee, and pray a simple prayer, out loud, commanding the pain and inflammation to go, in the name of Jesus.

It’s a matter of seconds but, before I’ve finished, his grimace has turned into a grin.

“OMG,” he says, “I can feel the tingling again.” He pauses for a moment. “Wow!” he continues. “OMG, that’s amazing. I can feel the pain and inflammation are going. Wow!”

His beautician colleague is still standing behind the desk, watching us, rooted to the spot, mouth wide open.

As he hops around the reception area, testing his knee to see what’s happened, I can hear him saying ‘Jesus‘ over and over under his breath.

“I’m not cussing,” he assures me, looking down to where I’m still kneeling, “My school friend told me that there’s power in the name of Jesus and that I should call it out if I’m in pain, so I’m just doing what he said.”

I can’t quite believe what I’m witnessing and a conversation follows, in which I explore whether he understands why the name of Jesus is powerful. It ends by me explaining that Jesus wants a relationship with him and suggesting he should go to church.

It turns out his school friend goes to a well-known church, full of young people, where the Bible is preached and the Holy Spirit is at work, and I encourage him to invite himself along. He tells me he will. He may even visit my church.

Either way, I leave the pool, once again, with a spring in my step,  feeling confident that miracles can happen when courage and compassion combine on a firm foundation of faith.

***

*Name changed to preserve anonymity.

[Photo by Jay Wennington on Unsplash]