"Please Pray for Me"

Barry Babcook, the senior pastor at Gospel Mission, uses two expressions about The Lord's Rain -- sort of a mission statement (pun not intended -- oh, OK, maybe it was): "soft evangelism" and "Jesus with the skin on". Translation: while it's all-Jesus-all-the-time upstairs in Gospel Mission, we don't push our faith onto the people who come into The Lord's Rain. And yet ...
 

There's a list of "simple rules" posted on the cork board in The Lord's Rain. One of them states, "Prayer given when asked" -- the implication being that if you don't ask, we won't jump all over you; but if you do ask, we're there, with all the faith and fervor we possess. I'm constantly amazed at the way people have absolutely no reservation about asking us to pray over them -- and it doesn't seem to matter what their background happens to be.
 

Jeet, for example, comes from a Sikh family, which has basically disowned him. Drugs, gambling and women have landed him on the Downtown East Side; being over 60 makes it a strong possibility that he will stay there. He's asked me several times about the possibility of getting a job where I work, but as soon as the zero-tolerance policy on drug use comes up, he cools off on the idea. "You can tell 'em I'm OK," he's suggested. "NO," I've replied. "I like the drugs too much," he's said on other occasions.
 

At times, he's asked for prayer -- "A quick one-minuter for all issues" -- until one day, I did what I've never done before: I refused. "Look," I said, "I'm not a sooth-sayer; I'm not a shaman. God needs to hear from you directly, and Jesus Christ came so you could have access through Him to the Father. I can agree with you, I can lift you up, but until you make the move and stick with it, the only one this is benefiting is me."
 

I don't often play the bad cop, but this was a case where I felt it was necessary: a wake-up call of sorts, making the point that he can't talk about turning his life around, continue with his lifestyle and then expect someone else to ask God to heal him. Fortunately, John Sharp, who has exponentially more patience than I do, is very capable as the good cop, and has hung in with Jeet as a friend and a friendly face, putting up with his talk of drugs and horses -- half braggadocio, half pleading for someone to condemn him. It's almost like he's saying, "I make no apologies for my life, but won't someone please kick me in the rear?" So Jeet keeps coming around ... and doggone it if there haven't been changes coming over his life. He's a bit calmer, more sociable with others; and when I pray for him, he responds with a simple prayer of his own -- usually along the lines of "O Lord, bless John and Drew". Perhaps my mild rebuke -- if you can call it that -- had a positive effect.
 

And there are others who ask for prayer: you wonder, too, how much they're willing or able to take their own steps to break out of their situations, but you hear distinctly from the Lord, "that's not your call: just pray with them". Poco is depressed because her friends and family are dying off; Robert is trying to beat his alcohol addiction but a lack of funds is keeping him from getting into the treatment he needs. (Both are part of what John calls the "Listerine Gang", hanging out in Pigeon Park, slugging back Listerine cut with rubbing alcohol -- "the taste people hate twice a day", but the third or fourth time, you barely notice it.)
 

For Poco, the prayer is what I believe is one of the most encouraging things you can say to a person in that area: "God is keeping you around for a reason, so we pray that He will protect her and reveal to her what that reason is". With Robert, we pray healing for the problem -- which is not the lack of funding or even the booze, but the deep-down reason that has led Robert to that point. And we declare that God has broken down the barriers -- real and perceived -- between Robert and recovery. We might not know what the root problem is and we might not know what to do if we did, but God knows, can address it, and will address it when we call Him into the situation.
 

There is an intimacy about one-on-one prayer. The person asking for it has humbled himself (or herself) by admitting that the problems he has are way too big for him to handle, and that they're also out of reach of anything The Man can do: programs, handouts, whatever. Then, he humbles himself even further by admitting that to another person. Consider: isn't it when we are vulnerable that Jesus comes into our lives? When we think we have all our stuff together and we don't need Him, He'll stand back. Of course, that Pride leaves an opening that, as Howie Meeker would say, you could drive a truck through.
 

James -- Jesus' half-brother -- writes that we are to pray for one another, that we may be healed. Praying for Poco and Robert plants seeds of faith and love: the much-needed reminder that God doesn't make junk and that they're worthy of His attention. It's really easy to lose sight of that on the Downtown East Side. How and when that seed will blossom into a physical manifestation remains to be seen, but I'm confident that something will happen; the timing and nature of that "something" are up to God.
 

So a couple of weeks ago, Jeet asks me for a prayer again. We're standing outside The Lord's Rain, and I speak healing over him for his bronchitis and also that God will dig down to the roots of Jeet's difficulties and wash them clean in the Blood of Jesus. Jeet responds with a very touching, fervent prayer of his own, and as we're standing there, a fellow I'd never seen before comes up to us and stands there, expectantly. Jeet finishes his prayer and says, "I think this fellow wants you, too."
 

"I need prayer," the new fellow says. "Anything in particular?" I ask. He shakes his head, "just ... just ... " and his sentence tails off. So I pray over him for healing -- symptoms and cause, whether we know the cause or not -- and for God to reveal Himself to ... to ... "what's your name, brother?"
 

"Mohammed."
 

INNER VOICE: "no kidding ..."
 

And we continue the prayer. He is evidently grateful: he hugs me and we go separate ways. Seeds planted, indeed.