Stories of Faith - Adam

Here are some true stories told by people living in Cornwall. In some cases some of the names have been changed, at their request. If you have a story which you would like to share, which speaks of the reality of God, please contact the Communications Officer.

Adam
As a young teacher I went regularly to what these days would seem to be quite a ‘high' church. Bells, smells, sung mass, the lot. It was all very well done, in a rather operatic sort of way. I enjoyed the worship, joined the choir and it was all a good way, in a new town, of becoming part of the place, and accepted, quite quickly.

Then the old priest retired; a new young one turned up; he hadn't been a priest very long and he had lots of new ideas which meant doing church related things in the week. My work commitments meant there were things I couldn't do, but he was keen to start a healing group, and that appealed to me. Don't ask me why: I just felt that was something I wanted to be involved in.

There were eight of us I remember. David, that's the priest, said that the trouble with so much of what passed as Christianity was pretty insipid really. We prayed, but didn't really expect that prayer would be answered. Let alone thinking about how any answer might be heard, or interpreted. So he taught us to pray in the expectation that God was listening, and that He would act. That was very different from any praying I had ever done, and I came to look forward to those weekly evening meetings. A bit of a ‘social' first; then a bit of quiet teaching from David about what we were going to concentrate on that evening. Very basic things really: like posture - how you sit or kneel; how you open not just your mind but your whole body to God. How to breathe; how to relax. How in fact to let go, and let God. That was the expression - let go and let God.

I remember asking once, ‘Let God what?' But David never answered. He just smiled, so I think probably the answer was meant to be different for each of us. So those prayer sessions went, I suppose maybe six, eight weeks. We really got very close to each other, very supportive of each other, and there is no doubt at all that we were learning to pray as I suppose the early Church might have prayed - expecting Christ, somehow.

And then one morning David rang me, quite early. He wanted all the Prayer Group to meet at the Rectory in half an hour if we could. Something had come up. He was quietly urgent I remember. And all of us were there; except one. The one who hadn't come was Angela. She was a teacher too, in her early twenties, married, one little girl. And said David, in the last ten days she had become alarmed because she was seeing very indistinctly. Went to the doctor. Referred on quickly to the Eye Hospital in Exeter. Double cataracts, plus some complication which I can't remember now. And now her sight was almost gone, and nothing could be done to save it.

David said: "She's worried about her life, her job, her daughter, her husband. She has so much on her plate; and she wants us to pray with her. And I hope we will feel we can." She was through in David's sitting room, on a little stool. We felt awkward somehow, as we grouped around her. Nobody said anything. Then David asked her if we might pray with her, ‘hold her up to God' he said. And she nodded. And David laid both his hands on her head, and although no instruction was given, each of us put one hand on her head too. It was very still, and you were conscious of her breathing, like a pulse through your hand, through all our hands. And David used words, which I cannot now remember, but I know that the thread of them was simple "We bring her Lord, to the foot of your Cross, and leave her here." And again, though no instruction was given we all began to join in those words.

And there was a warmth in my hand, on the hand, on the hand on the head that I will never forget. And it brings tears to my eyes as I write today. For that warmth had little to do with us, and everything to do with God. And it was, for me, marvellous.

I could stop there; but there is a little more to tell. Angela said thank you, and we left her and David together and went our ways. We did not speak to each other. Nothing needed to be said. And ten days later David called us all together again. "Angela has been to the Eye Hospital again today," he said, "and the surgeons have examined her again. Her consultant says that he cannot understand what he is seeing. There are no signs whatever of cataract, and the eyes are both without blemish of any kind. He says there is only one word for what he finds - miraculous."

And then he said "I don't think we should talk about this. It might be misunderstood, sensationalised perhaps." So we didn't. And Angela's sight, twenty six years on is still that of a young woman, and a dedicated brilliant teacher. And I have never forgotten, and have lived the rest of my life knowing that it is always better to pray expecting God to act. Even if not in the way that you can possibly imagine.

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