God likes making bigots into brothers

or

Remembering when Sammy Davis Junior kissed Archie Bunker

 

He had been a career Navy man. A crusty-mouthed sailor who saw the world and mingled with people from every tribe, tongue and nation. He liked most, got along with many. All except one.

“I hated black people.”

So he told me that first and only time I ever met him, as we sat at his dining room table in a Senior trailer park, ala Lakewood NJ. A town with a good mix of races for him to mingle with. And hate.

Across the table from me sat a Pretty Young Lady. Within the next hour Jesus would shock me, speaking through this man about the cross-table PYL marring me, and the Lord would immediately speak to me about what this man spoke. But that’s a connubial-raising story soon to be printed elsewhere.

He had gotten older, thus the Senior trailer park. His wife had passed away. His legs had gotten crippled to where he could only walk with two crutches, and not very far, due to the pain.

Then a couple asked him if he would go somewhere with them, and promise not to ask any questions. Just promise to go quietly and do what they ask. Just once. His sailor crustitude raised caution flags on his hearts halyard. But he agreed. These were his friends.

Until they pulled into a church. He did the church parking lot protest dance that many of us have perfected. “Just once” his friends said, “you promised.” He sighed, death-gripped his crutches and hobbled inside.

Where a black man was preaching. He glared at his ex-friends. “Just once” they mouthed. He sat. “I figured as long as he was up there far away from me, it would be okay,” he told me across his trailer table. Until the sermon ended.

The minister asked if there was anyone who needed healing, to come forward for prayer. The sailor wouldn’t look at his enemies, who were already standing to help him go forward. Just once.

He found himself sitting at the altar, holding his crutches. The minister laid hands on him. “I never heard a word he said”, the twice-crippled sailor told me. “All I could think was ‘a black man has his hands on my head!’” We all laughed at the table.

When the minister finished and moved on, the sailor quickly stood to get away from him. Then noticed he had quickly stood. For the first time in a long time. He cautiously took some steps without leaning on his crutches. The pain was gone!

A voice in the church yelled “run, man!” He ran. Around the church perimeter. Holding his crutches. The crowd went wild.

When he came around to the front again, he saw the minister watching him with a smile. And his ex-enemies standing there. He walked up the altar, handed his crutches to the minister, began to cry, thanked him. And for the first time he could remember, he willingly gave a black man a big hug.

Because it doesn’t take much for God to heal a crippled body or a crippled heart. All it takes is one touch from Jesus. Just once.

I can’t wait to see that ex-crippled sailor again in Heaven, where he’s probably hugged everyone by now.

****************************************

So, does your body need to be healed? Your heart? Your family? Jesus can do it with just one touch. All you have to do is hobble up to Him in your heart, humble yourself and ask Him to put His hands on whatever is damaged. After He touches your life, would you send me the video of you running free, laying down your heart and body crutches at His feet? And if you want, write your story below, I really want to hear it. Because I’m not sure when me and that PYL I married will get a chance to sit at your table with you.