There was a shift in the atmosphere when they carried him in. The festivities of a community meal where food made for 50 fed over 100, came to an awkward halt and it seemed like even the air didn’t know what to do. And then the wailing began.
His name was Urelo. Our team had sent this 16 year-old boy only a day earlier to the city to be treated for a tooth infection. He died in the hospital.
As the woman wept over his body I found myself moving forward to kneel, grasping his feet I began to pray. Why? Less than a week earlier I had learned that my Grandma passed away from cancer. I was torn being away from home. I was confused to share in a grief that wasn’t my family’s. I was doubtful, despite seeing the deaf hear and the lame walk that this boy would be raised from the dead. So why did I shuffle forward and begin to pray?
I prayed because of what I would see in the next few hours. A group of young men and women from the States, who have been raised society that values only what you can see and hold, also step forward to pray. In the flickering candlelight as the community center became an overnight veil, families spread out blankets and passed around sweaters, they prayed, cried and prophesied over Urelo.
After eight years of knowing Christ for the first time I really understood what it meant to have faith that moves mountains.
We didn’t see Urelo raised that night. Our team had spent the day receiving words from the Lord that he would be, and have since tackled questions to which there are no concrete answers. I myself have none; but I do know this. I have never been so honored to lead a group of people as I was that night. I know that this is the generation that will be given the title as “ministers of reconciliation.” God will use their faith in the coming years to heal the sick, comfort the lost and, yes, raise the dead. My prayer is that they never forget the grace, love and authority that has been handed to them this summer; because the world needs it.
