Late last year, a vicar friend invited me to preach on the subject of ‘Miracles’, as part of a sermon series about the Biblical prophet, Elijah. Reluctantly, I agreed.
It didn’t take long to realise how huge a subject it was, especially as the miracle I was to preach about involved the resurrection of a young boy from the dead! So I dutifully poured all I could into prayer and preparation, and then did my best to deliver. At the end of the sermon, I felt wrung out, but there was a sense of expectation in the atmosphere, and a long line of people formed a queue for prayer ministry.
The last thing I expected, a little while later, was my vicar friend telling me that a woman from the congregation, easily 20 years my senior, wanted to make a concerted effort to seek me out. When we went on to meet, I could see she was clutching hold of a little parcel, crudely wrapped in crinkly brown paper and loosely tied up with string.
Before I could wonder at what it might contain, she thrust the package into my hands and proceeded to pour out her heart, with this moving explanation:
“It’s just a small something to say thank you for your sermon on miracles.
Over the years, I’ve stopped believing in miracles, but there was something about your sermon that made me change my mind. So when I got home that night, I asked God for fresh faith to believe for them again. Nothing seemed to change. But, ever since, I’ve been praying for two friends who are living with cancer.
Yesterday, one of them told me she’s in remission! I feel sure it’s a miracle, and so does she. Who knows whether my prayers actually made a difference? Maybe they did; maybe they didn’t. All I know is that your sermon gave me faith to believe for healing again. If you hadn’t preached, I wouldn’t have been prompted to pray.
I can’t thank you enough.”
What can I say? Thank you Lord!