Many of my life changing moments have come in India, a nation which breeds spiritual forces, both good and bad. Nothing is “normal” in India for someone like me who is fully Americanized. The different sights and sounds and smells and spirits create a soul-searching experience every time I go there. Our first adventure to India was 1989, so we now have over three decades of wonderful memories.
One of the earliest of those memories is 1993 in a south India CampMeeting organized by our friend Ghuna Kumar.
I was invited to ‘preach’ by Ghuna. He didn’t fully realize that I was not really a professional ‘preacher’. He told me I would speak six times over two days. That was a stretch for a lawyer with plenty of stories to tell but only two real sermons in my briefcase.
My friend John Ott was on the trip and was even less prepared. John and I met when I was a lawyer in his divorce case. He was a home builder and handy man, going along for the ride on this ‘mission trip’ to the ends of the earth. John had met the Lord through my brother at our Methodist church and was just beginning his own spiritual journey.
As for the preaching, it helped to know that these people were simple poor people in search of a Savior. They didn’t need our brand of religion or even Christianity. They needed Jesus. So, we kept it simple, knowing that if we messed it up, godly Ghuna would bail us out with his God-inspired translation!
As the first night of the CampMeeting ended, Ghuna invited the hundreds of people to an old-fashioned make-shift altar for prayer. Ghuna told us we should just pray for those who came forward. So, John and I did as we were told and sat on the edge of a small platform for at least an hour praying with dozens of people who literally stood in line for prayer. They perceived John and me as holy men, which made us both quite uncomfortable. No one understood a word of our English prayers, and we understood nothing from these poor people except their tears of both sorrow and joy.
The next morning, Ghuna started the gathering with a request for “testimonies” from anyone who was healed or touched by God the night before. Dozens of people stood to their feet to speak. Ghuna whispered translations for John and me as the people offered stirring words of God’s grace and mercy.
As the testimonies died down, and it seemed time for me to go into another “sermon”, a little boy near the front raised his hand to speak. He did not stand like the others. His voice was soft but audible. Ghuna was whispering the translation of the boy’s Tamil words into my left ear, “My name is Rajendran. I love Jesus. But I would like to walk.”
I looked at the boy. Sure enough, his legs were withered. It was hard not to remember the story when Peter and John saw a crippled man and said, “In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, get up and walk!” (Acts 3:6).
I was absolutely ripped in my soul about this little boy. Ghuna told me that they called him Raji and he was a twelve-year-old orphan, if I remember the story right. To this day I am not sure of the details of his background.
And so, we returned to the routine of the day, if you can call anything routine at Mt. Zion. Songs were sung, sermons were preached, testimonies were spoken. Evening approached and it was time again for the invitation to the altar. But I could not forget Raji.
He sat on the front row. He sat while others stood. He smiled while others cried. He raised his arms to praise his Lord. He had nothing but Jesus and that seemed enough.
And then I heard a silent Voice. “Pray for Raji. Hold him in your arms and pray for him to walk. Just say what Peter boldly said, ‘In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, get up and walk.’”
At that time, I was a 42-year-old Kentucky state Senator. I was a lawyer with lots of clients. And with those professional titles came an arrogance that was undoubtedly disturbing to the Jesus that Raji loved. God was getting my attention. Would I obey the Voice?
If this was a test, I might have passed it. I am not sure even now. I whispered to Ghuna to bring Raji to the platform for all to see. Two men lifted the little boy onto the platform and into my arms. It was the most out-of-body experience of my life. I wanted to be invisible.
This moment confirmed for me that faith-healers who do this with much fanfare and white suits and huge offerings in stadiums cannot possibly be legit. That’s just my personal bias, even today. Because for me in that moment (indeed may I say that holy moment) I wanted to be unseen. I didn’t want attention or an offering. I wished I was anywhere but in the middle of the ‘healing show’. I heard myself asking this crowd to join me in prayer for Raji’s healing. I sensed a humility that I had never experienced. This was all new to me. I knew that it would be impossible for Raji to walk unless God Himself did a miracle unlike anything I had personally ever seen.
I also realized that IF he walked on his withered legs, my days as a lawyer and politician were over. I prayed boldly and fervently for the boy. I thanked the Lord for the child-like faith of Raji. I brazenly asked Jesus to heal him completely.
I opened my eyes of faith but nothing appeared to have happened. Raji was carried off the platform by the same two men who brought him up. John Ott and I went back to sit and pray with many more people- just like the night before. I was conflicted in my spirit. Was this a failure since Raji was still the same crippled twelve-year-old boy? Or was this success because I had obeyed the Voice?
Should I be embarrassed at my failure or satisfied at my obedience?
With nearly thirty years of hindsight, I am pretty sure it was the latter. I did not change Raji- but he changed me! His picture has been in my wallet for decades because I did not want to forget him. That moment of bold action, inspired by the Voice, was a life changer. For me.
Now, fast forward with me to more recent days. John Ott quit his business to become a full-time missionary. He has been in Costa Rica for over 25 years, doing God’s work among poor people who love his broken Spanish and broken heart, in love with Jesus and the people he serves.
And in 2018, as I was planning a return to India, I asked Ghuna, “What ever happened to Raji?” I had not seen him in 25 years. Ghuna reported that he could locate him. And sure enough, it happened.
We met at a small school not too far from Mt. Zion, the place where we met in 1993. He worked as a teacher’s aide, making very little money. His legs were still withered. He walks on his hands. But he is quite mobile thanks to a scooter that he rides from place to place.
I discovered he still loves Jesus. His main prayer request in 2018 was not to be healed but to be married. What an honor again to pray for Raji. And again, just like before, my prayers seem to have gone unanswered. He still has no wife.
But he does have a cell phone. We became WhatsApp partners. Thanks to modern technology, we stay in touch. In fact, CLICK HERE just to see one of the spiritual messages he sent me this year. Raji has become one of my primary sources of spiritual insight and inspiration.
Raji and me
In May of this year (2022), Sue and I returned to India for two weeks. I saw Raji again. He drove his scooter to Mt. Zion, where Ghuna has founded a Bible college, a school for village and orphan children, and a nursing school…all on the same property where I first met Raji.
And…not to mention possibly the largest VBS (Vacation Bible School) in the world, with 5,000+ children coming every May before COVID shut them down. The 1993 CampMeeting was the beginning of Ghuna’s dreams for such a place where souls could be rescued, young people could be trained, and children could be nurtured in the ways of the Lord.
This time Raji pulled up on his scooter, walked inside on his hands and we hugged in a small private room. His upper body is like a rock, hardened from walking on his hands for decades. No public stage. No prayers for healing of withered legs. Just thankfulness for God’s amazing plan for Raji that includes a glowing smile and bold witness for Jesus, despite his crippled condition. His English is sparse but a thousand times better than my Tamil. It was difficult to know if we were really communicating or not. I know he asked me about John Ott. He remembered so well that day, even though he now is 41 years old.
I offered a goodbye prayer for Raji, and then he surprised me. Without hesitation, he began to pray for me. I had my phone out, ready to snap a picture, so I hit the red button on my Voice Memos. He prayed in Tamil so the only word I recognized was Jesus. To hear his prayer, CLICK HERE FOR A 2 MINUTE VOICE MEMO.
Just this morning I found myself in Genesis 15. This passage includes God’s promise to Abram that he would have a son. It all seemed impossible based on Abram’s age and circumstances. Passages like this give me pause since I too have no children. This can bring a brief sense of sadness, but then I remember people like Raji. I close with one more Raji story.
On August 24, 2021 (a year ago), I sent Raji the simplest of WhatsApp texts. I had a new phone number, so I simply said, “Raji, this is my new number- God bless you, brother. TimP.”
His answer was a bit of a shock. He said, “Ok daddy”, and then offered Psalms 103:5- “He satisfies you with good as long as you live, so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.” Apparently, Raji thinks of me as his old daddy, a title which I gladly accept.
So, turns out I do indeed have a son. And he now prays for me.