Fernando's Father

“Before you leave, would you please come and pray for my father…he is very sick, and I want you to pray for God to heal him.” These were the words spoken to us from our friend, Fernando, as we were getting ready to fly back to the USA.

          “Sure we will.” Actually, I don’t remember if it was me or my partner that answered him, but it was a familiar request, and one we rarely ever turned down. It made no difference what our schedule was when a request like this came. We were committed to go and pray for this man that we had never met, and knew nothing about.

          Let me back up a bit. We were in Mazatlan, Sinaloa, Mexico, to meet with a group of Mexican pastors that looked to us for leadership and pastoral training. Dennis Bourns had initiated this effort a few years previously in response to a supernatural calling to go to Mazatlan.  That was all he knew at the time…go to Mazatlan. As a result of what we call a “divine appointment,” Dennis made contacts that led to many trips and many years of wonderful training and ministry in that beautiful city that sits on the Pacific ocean. To the best of my recollection, I think this was a trip to make plans and organize for a large team we would be leading to Mazatlan a few months later.

We were familiar with the city, having been there many times, and we also had met and networked with quite a number of local church pastors. Fernando was one of them. Fernando had a small, very Pentecostal, church. They loved to sing, dance and carry on for hours out of the joy they had in their hearts for Jesus.  This was not exactly our tribe, but we had learned to love Fernando, including his enthusiasm and faith.

We had eaten lunch with him that day in a little one room restaurant which, in reality, was just the front room of a home that opened right onto the sidewalk. A mother and daughter cooked traditional food and served it on a daily basis as part of their livelihood.  We have no such equivalent places here in the United States. While Fernando, Dennis and I were getting our food, we were chatting with the mother and daughter. We told them we were here to tell people about Jesus and asked if they had invited Jesus into their heart.  They replied that they had not, but wanted to, so we prayed for them right then and there. It was an amazing time.  After we had prayed with the owners, others in the restaurant asked us to pray for them as well…that Jesus would live in their heart.  We prayed for everyone in the place, with the exception of one man.  Upon leaving, Dennis and I had exited onto the sidewalk and Fernando had stayed back, we were amazed at the openness of people to have us pray for them. In a few minutes Fernando came outside and said, “the man, he gonna take Jesus now.”  So, we went back in and prayed with him as well. It was a clean sweep. Every person in that little room who had come to eat lunch left with Jesus in their heart. It remains one of the most amazing days I have experienced in forty-five years of ministry.  The Holy Spirit was so real and present you could feel him.  Humanly speaking, it was also due to the compassion and zeal of Fernando.  We could not help but love him!

From there, we went with Fernando to pray for his sick father.  Even after the little restaurant ministry we had just experienced, we were not prepared for what was about to take place. 

Dennis and I were led right off the street through a doorway and into a small private home. The room was similar to the one we had just been in, except this one was much smaller and had very little light. We followed Fernando through the room, out another door, and along a semi-covered walkway into an attached building in the rear.  We would most likely call it an attached shed.  This room was darker and was filled with odds and ends. It was not furnished as a room in the main house might be. It looked like a place where you might repair lawnmowers, or something similar. There were cracks between the weathered boards of this room that allowed some light to enter. You could see dust particles dancing in the sunlight rays that made their way into this dark, dingy room. On the side of the room, next to the outer wall was an old, metal bed frame with what passed for a mattress and some coverings. In many areas of the world where poverty is rampant and basic survival needs are minimally met, there is an ominous, hopeless feeling in the air. This place had that feel. It was palpable.

Fernando’s father was lying on the bed.  This man was sick…very, very sick. There was no greeting, no “hola,” or “como estas?”  He simply lay there, motionless with a fixed stare at the ceiling. His face was totally sunken, his eyes were hollow, and his breathing was extremely shallow. I thought I could detect a bit of what is called the “death rattle,” coming from him.  In my unprofessional, but somewhat experienced, opinion, he looked to be in his sixties, though impossible to tell for sure. I was sure he was at the end of a lingering illness in which his body had wasted away to almost nothing. Dennis and I looked at each other as if to say, “go ahead...take charge here, if you want to.”  If ever I have looked at a person who was knocking on death’s door, and I have seen a number of them, this man was just about to move through the veil of death and into eternity beyond.  I knew it.  I have watched it happen. I seriously wondered if we were going to finish praying before he made his final journey.  Exactly how we prayed, or which one of us prayed is fuzzy.  We were both under the heavy despair of the moment and the faith we had experience in the restaurant shortly before had vanished. The Bible talks about having faith the size of a mustard seed. That would have been an improvement for what we felt at this moment. We said we would pray for him, and we did. I have very little recall of that specific prayer, but I am quite sure it sounded like one of those you “mail in” when put on the spot. I know we did our best…we always did.  I do remember that after praying for this deathly sick man, I told Fernando, “you know, sometimes our prayers are not always answered like we want them to be,” and “God’s ways are higher than our ways.” You know...exactly what you would do in that situation.  I was trying to help God keep his credibility in this hopeless encounter.  We were acting more like God’s PR agents than men of faith and compassion.

We left that room as quickly and as politely as we could. I know we went to the airport and flew home without talking much about what we had just gone through. The experience in the restaurant occupied our thoughts and was what we could not wait to share with folks (and our congregations) back home in Arizona.  It had been an amazing time.  Truthfully, I kind of forgot about Fernando’s father. I think I subconsciously put it out of my mind. That was not a ministry experience that I wanted to keep fresh in my memory. We said we would pray for him.  We did pray for him.  We saw nothing but death on that man, and we left knowing what the outcome was going to be.

Some months later, Dennis and I were back in Mazatlan. Again, it is fuzzy, because we made many trips and I can’t recall the exact mission of each one.  However, we did see Fernando. Remembering our previous visit, and praying for his father, I vividly remember asking him, “Fernando, when did your father die, and how are you doing?” 

Fernando looked at Dennis and I with a puzzled expression, and said in his broken English, “Oh…he no die.  You heal him.  He working now.” 

I cannot overstate the mixture of what we felt in that moment. Confusion, surprise, joy and shame are just a few of the emotions that flooded us. We could not believe it. Never have I seen a human being in that condition that did not die…NEVER.  Not before, and not since.  It was more than just a healing. It was a miracle.  To me, it was like being raised from the dead. I could not have been more amazed. Those broken words have stayed with me, and I have often re-played that tape in my mind when faced with what seemed to be a particularly difficult situation; “he no die.  you heal him.”  I have told this story many, many times, around the world, and never do I recall it without being completely awestruck again and again, by the mystery of prayer and the compassion of God.

I am sure faith was present that afternoon in that dingy room with a nearly dead man, but it wasn’t my faith.  It wasn’t the faith of my partner, Dennis.  All we could do in that moment was simply fulfill our promise to pray for Fernando’s father. We attended a graduate course in ministry that day.  We learned in our hearts and in experience what we had often taught when training people to pray for the sick. It isn’t about us. It is always about Him. We cannot always know, and we certainly cannot promise outcomes when we pray the prayer of faith for healing. The best we bring is our obedience to pray.  Healing, miracles and outcomes often vary. They are optional. Obedience is not.