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The Power I Pray For

"Murderers."

The word seemed to linger on the line, leaving me to listen to the horribly haunting sound.

"Who is this?" I shouted into the phone. "What do you want?"

"This is Ken," he replied. "I just thought you should hear what those kids heard last week."

"Ken?" I wondered aloud.

"Yeah. You know. Poure." As in Ken Poure, then the Executive Director of Hume Lake Christian Camps.

I've known Ken for years. He's one of the most skillful youth communicators I've ever heard. He possesses an unstoppable, endearing sense of humor. But this "murderers" bit was a little over the top.

That's what I thought...until it hit me.

Just the week before, in one of my talks at the camp, I touched upon the topic of abortion. To punctuate my point, I leveled an accusing finger at the hundreds of high school students who were seated in front of me, lowered the pitch of my voice for dramatic effect, stared them down, and declared for all the world to hear, "Any of you who have gone to the clinic to have the doctor cut that little life out of you, you are murderers." I let the word linger on my lips in order to allow it to fill the cavernous chapel with its unsettling echo, and I actually felt good inside when I saw some of the girls break down and cry.

Make no mistake about it. In that moment, on that platform, I possessed power—power that I misused in an irresponsible manner. As my phone-call friend demonstrated to me in dramatic fashion, I possessed the power to destroy a student, the power to heap upon a hurting heart even more pain, the power to inflict upon someone in distress more shame and guilt than God ever intended, the power to destroy the very life I'd dedicated my life to help.

Kenny couldn't see it. But as I held the phone to my ear, I hung my head in shame. Even now, twenty-some years later, I ask, "How could I have been so callous, so cold, so careless with my power?" That's not what those dear students needed to hear. That's not what God had intended for me to say. That's not how Jesus would have used his power. That's not how I want to use mine. That's not the power I pray for.

True Confessions

I only wish that this fiasco was a one-of-akind mess-up, a momentary glitch in my system software. But unfortunately, it wasn't. Truth be told, I've hurt a lot of kids, especially early on in my ministry. More often than I'd care to admit, in ways that I never intended, with a caustic accusation, a withering stare, a condemning tone, a passion devoid of compassion, I've caused harm to kids who looked to me for guidance, turned to me for answers, trusted me with their stories, and opened their lives up to me. In my zeal to be "right," too many times I failed to speak "the truth in love" (Ephesians 4:15)—even to the point of calling guilt-ridden young ladies who, in the grip of an unexpected crisis, made a regrettable but abundantly forgivable choice, "murderers." (Not to mention that I totally ignored the responsibility of the boys in those tragedies.)

Over the years I've helped a lot of young people, but the memory of those I've hurt prompts me to pray for a totally different kind of power from what I wielded in the past—the kind of power that Jesus had, the kind of power that he displayed every day of his ministry, just like the power he showed to a certain woman in distress.

The Power to Give a Life Back

She approached him sheepishly, no doubt fearing that he'd turn her away, just like so many others had done for 12 long, excruciatingly painful years. It wasn't her fault that she had what the biblical writer discreetly describes as "a flow of blood" or "hemorrhages" (Matthew 9:20). But for two years past a decade, the unwelcome ailment defined her troubled existence.

Despite the press of the crowds, she slowly worked her way toward Jesus to get up close and personal enough to touch him. Knowing that this man held in his hands power, a power on which no doctor could call, she touched the hem of his garment.

But he possessed even more power than that.

For 12 years this woman had been treated as an outcast of her society. According to Old Testament Law, her flow of blood rendered her ceremonially unclean (Leviticus 15:25-27). And as such, any woman in her condition could have no contact with her parents, husband, children, extended family, friends, or neighbors. She couldn't go to the synagogue for worship. She would be utterly cut off from society, shunned by all who knew her just as if she'd been a leper. She was cut off from all human contact. She was financially impoverished after spending all she had on doctors in a fruitless search for a cure (Luke 8:43). This was a woman of broken dreams and dashed hopes, devastated by disappointment at how her life had turned out. She told herself, "If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well" (Matthew 9:21), and reached out her empty hand.

Anyone else would've condemned her for defiling the person she touched, but not Jesus. He called her "daughter," a tender term of loving acceptance, music to the ears of one who for 12 years had been ostracized by all. He not only gave her health, he gave her life back to her.

I'll never have the power to give someone her health back. But I can give someone her life back.

That's the power I pray for.

The Power to Give a Heart Back

Speaking of lepers, Jesus passed one on the street. He rushed up to Jesus, dropped to his knees in humble submission. According to the New King James Version, the man was "imploring" Jesus (Mark 1:40)—a word that signifies the anguished cry from someone desperate for help. "If You are willing, You can make me clean."

To say that this man was hurting would be the height of understatement. Leprosy is a degenerative, disfiguring disease that over time results in the disintegration of not only one's body, but also one's mind. "Unclean! Unclean!" (Leviticus 13:45) was to be the leper's cry. So severe was this disease that when the biblical writer wanted to impress upon his readers the seriousness of sin, he equated the ravages of leprosy on one's body with the devastation that sin can inflict upon one's soul.

The phrase, "the walking wounded," has no relevance to a leper. He was a walking dead man. Even as he begged Jesus for his help, sores were spreading throughout his body. His hands and feet were being turned into useless stumps. The stench of his decaying flesh permeated the air around him. Consigned to a colony, many would have considered death for this man to be the ultimate act of mercy.

Without a doubt, Jesus could've instantly healed the man with a mere spoken word. But with Jesus, miracles were never mechanical displays of his heaven-sent power. Jesus was motivated by something far more compelling than simply displaying his power before a watchful world. Jesus saw the man and was instantly "moved with pity." He gave the man exactly what he needed most: not just the removal of a spreading sore but the removal of a societal stigma that had rendered the man an unloved outcast. Jesus did something that no one else was willing to do: He touched him. He offered him the warmth of human contact. Before he healed the man's tormented body from the outside in, Jesus touched the man and healed him from the inside out. Yes, Jesus gave the leper his body back. But more than that, he gave this precious person his heart back.

I'll never have the power to give someone his body back. But I can give someone his heart back.

That's the power I pray for.

The Power to Give Some Hope Back

The leper may have been a walking dead man, but what about the man who couldn't walk at all? Fortunately, he had friends, some very good friends—friends who cared enough about this guy that they literally tore a roof apart and lowered him to the floor in the midst of a room packed to overflowing with people, interrupting one of Jesus' Bible studies in the process.

Here was a guy who had no future. Crippled by a paralysis of his legs, life must have seemed pretty dark. At least the bleeding woman and disintegrating man were mobile and could get to Jesus when they had the opportunity to do so. Not this guy. He had to depend upon his friends to make a way for him. And make a way, they did.

"When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven.'" (Mark 2:5) The religious leaders shot out of their sanctimonious seats and came unglued. They accused Jesus of blasphemy, shouting "Who can forgive sins but God alone?" (Mark 2:7), which, of course, was the point. They didn't get it, because they didn't want to.

But in calling their bluff, Jesus asked this thought-provoking question: "‘Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,' or to say, ‘Stand up and take your mat and walk'?" Naturally, to tell someone that his sins are forgiven is the easier option since there is no way to verify that they were. But to say to someone, "Arise and walk," raises the stakes to an entirely new level. It quickly becomes a classic case of "put up or shut up." If the paralyzed man could not walk, Jesus would be shown to be a fake, a phony, another in a long line of wannabe messiahs. We can only imagine what went through the religious leaders' minds when this guy stood up and began to strut his stuff.

Here was a guy who awoke that morning to a dismally dark future, unable to walk, confined to his bed. That night he walked home on his own two legs to an eternally bright future, knowing that his sins were forgiven. Jesus gave him his legs back. That was the easy part. But he did something far more profound than that. He gave him his hope back.

I'll never have the power to give a paralyzed man his legs back. But I can share with students the Gospel, "the power of God for salvation" (Romans 1:16), the promise of sins forgiven, the assurance of an eternally bright future. Yes, I can give students their hope back.

That's the power I pray for.

Dewey Bertolini is Director of the National Institute for the Development of Ministries to Youth for the Grace Brethren Churches of North America. He's a Bible teacher, conference speaker, and author of articles, books, and radio broadcasts. He's a 30-year youth ministry veteran, and is also the pastor to college students at Bethel Baptist Church in McMinnville, Oreg.