Jeff Adams

It seems I hit a nerve last night with the posting on Zak’s story. Sincere thanks to those of you who shared your thoughts and comments here and on FaceBook. I especially loved these poignant words by Vickie, who commented on her sister’s loss of her young husband to cancer: [her ministry to her husband] has shown me the inhumanity of cancer and the humanity of the ones that love the stricken. Thanks for that, Vickie.

Recently, we lost a beloved staff member to cancer way before we were ready to turn loose of her. I was just on FaceBook following the story of some distant cousins of mine whose infant son is fighting for his life. Every Monday our staff meets for prayer, and not a time goes but what we are asking God to intervene in the lives of those who are ill. Sometimes God chooses to heal miraculously and at other times he uses illness to accomplish his purposes in other ways. I think I’ll make some comments about that maybe tomorrow.

Right now, Vickie’s words remind me of how important it is for us to offer a touch of humanity to those who are hurting. Last night two Muslim men confined to wheelchairs, recent immigrants,  came to our prayer ministry. A wonderful couple in our church is mentoring them through their adjustment to life in our culture. I met them recently in a lunch we sponsored for a number of such folks that are being mentored by volunteers from our church in cooperation with the Jewish Vocational Services. Others prayed with them throughout the course of the evening. At the conclusion, I thought it important that I reach out to them, too. I went first to one, then the other, and asked if I might pray a blessing over them. As I prayed, each gripped my hand tightly and began to weep. They couldn’t even understand everything I said. They simply felt the human touch. As I concluded my prayer, one of the men, still weeping cried out to Isa (Jesus) and then kissed my hand.

I was leaving the office in a hurry this afternoon and greeted a couple sitting in the waiting area as I walked by. I was briefly detained by a staff member asking a question. Continuing my walk, the man from the waiting area was now beside me asking if he could talk as I walked.

“Sure,” I said as I continued my pace.

“My daughter was the one killed in that car crash Sunday at (he gave me the intersection).  She wasn’t officially a member here, nor are we. But we  attend from time to time and wanted to see about having her service here. Her sisters attend here also.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“I saw you and thought maybe you could put in a good word for us.”

“Come with me,” I said, reversing my course and headed back into the office to personally connect them with the right party.

“I know you are a busy man and I don’t want to keep from what you have to do.”

“Look,” I said, “there is absolutely nothing in my life that is even as remotely important as what you are dealing with right now.”

He choked back tears; we continued our trajectory toward the office.

Nothing I mentioned above was a sacrifice or cost me anything, not even much time. The effect of a human touch in every case was priceless. I would like to say I have always been so sensitive to people in need. I’m ashamed to say that I have not.

I am learning, though, that people all around me are hurting. I used to worry that I would not know what to say. I still don’t know what to say. Most of the time it’s best not to say much at all, but it’s simply the human touch empowered by the Spirit of God that ministers to the hurting heart. To paraphrase the famous quotation from Francis of Assisi, “When people are hurting, preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.”