The Songs Of A Saint

Part of our ministry here in Nsoko involves doing home visits in the surrounding community. Yesterday, we were asked to pay a visit to a homestead nearby the central care point. A young woman had come to the care point while we were picking up our ministry team to head out for the morning to do ministry at one of the outlying care points. She flagged down our vehicle as we were pulling out onto the dirt road. Her mother, one of the widows who faithfully attend the church here, was feeling very weak and ill. I explained that we were heading out for the day, but would visit later on in the afternoon.

As we drove up to the homestead last evening, the young woman who had requested the visit met us at the door. Scott and Marcia Borg, AIM staff from the States who have spent a lot of time serving on the ground in Swaziland, happened to be in town to see us. Marcia is a nurse, so I asked if she would be willing to accompany me inside. The two of us entered the dwelling and sat down on the bed where the old woman was resting. Her eyes lit up, just a bit, when she realized we had come to see her. Even in the dim light of the small room, the twinkle was unmistakable.

As her daughter translated, the woman told how she had woken up in the night feeling ill. All day, she had been feeling nauseous and dizzy. Also she described how she had a weight in her chest and felt as though her heart was very weak. We asked if she had been able to eat and take fluids. She answered that she had, but was still feeling very bad. The daughter informed us that her mother used to take medicine for blood pressure, but had discontinued. It didn’t seem as though she was in any acute medical danger. As my grandma would say: “Just feeling like an old lady.”

Marcia and I asked if we could lay hands on her and pray for her. She smiled and agreed. After a time of prayer, we shared some Scripture reading. Marcia read out of her English Bible and then the woman read the same verses in her Zulu Bible. Her countenance and spirit seemed to lift in the short time we ministered to her. It never ceases to amaze me how healing and powerful the ministry of presence can be. As we collected our things and prepared to leave, the woman took my hand and said “Where is Pastor Eric?”

“He is outside; would you like to see him?” (Eric and Scott had waited outside, not wanting to overwhelm her with so many visitors!)

“My mother wants to sing a hymn!”

A hush fell over the room, as she paged through the small and worn pages. As the setting sun cast rays sideways into the small window, the woman’s voice began to sing a melody so rich and deep, it took my breath away. As she sang, each of us listening, one by one, found ourselves bowing our heads or closing our eyes. This was a holy moment. I looked over at Eric, and saw he had his hands open in front of him, cupped to receive the blessing that was pouring out of this precious saint. Heaven invaded earth, without a doubt. I could feel it running down my face in the form of my own salty tears!

Somewhere, between the prayers being spoken and the song rising from her mouth, the Holy Spirit was ushered into that room. Whatever was ailing that dear woman physically seemed to be pushed aside, at least for a time, to allow for spiritual healing and grace to dwell.

She covered her face with her hands, as we told her how we had come to minister to her and she ended up ministering to us. We left her home changed. How is it, that sharing life with the “least of these”; the “poorest of the poor”; the “forgotten” can bring so much abundance and riches? When did the gift of a song, become more valuable and precious then any material thing? Who are we to be so honored to bear witness to the miracle? May we never miss it…Oh, God, may we never miss it! Thank you, Father, for this life…Siyabonga, Baba…Ngiyakutsandza…