Sovereignty Burning a Hole in My Pocket

Every two or three months, my church replaces its usual script for a Sunday gathering. Instead of a sermon from the stage or group Bible study at our tables, the service is designed around introspection and worship. These services typically include interactive stations, journaling prompts, communion elements, and directions for prayer alone or with a trusted friend. Oh, and lots of singing—twice the number of songs of a typical Sunday.

This past Sunday held the first of these services for 2024. I folded my umbrella and peeled off the reflective vest and my rain jacket from the past hour in the parking lot. I sat down as one of our pastors explained the various stations available to anyone in the room. He said throughout the rest of the service a group of people would be standing at the back of the room, available to pray with anyone with a burdened heart. That’s when I remembered an email from a week or two ago, where I agreed to be one of those standing prayer partners.

I hadn’t mentally or spiritually prepared for the moment, but I slid over to take my position minutes after sitting down. I had no idea how misaligned my heart was with the moment about to happen.

A woman I’d not previously met chose—for an undisclosed reason—not to engage my friend, the female prayer warrior to my left. She timidly walked up to me and handed me a folded 3×5 card with her prayer request inside: “I pray to feel Jesus presence in my heart”

I was blown away by the profound beauty transcribed with a cheap, ballpoint pen.

I wrapped my arm around the stranger and asked Jesus to wrap his hands around her heart. I prayed for him to make himself known in an almost tangible way that she couldn’t escape. I claimed the red-letter promise from Jesus’ biographies that guaranteed that anyone who seeks him wholeheartedly will find him. I can’t remember the other words that fell out of my mouth during the short prayer, but her shoulders seemed to relax. I looked up to see her earnest eyes freshly washed by tears.

It was a holy moment. I struggled to feel worthy of the assignment. A beautiful soul trusted me with a vulnerable, passionate request. She was all of the parents in the Gospels who beseeched Jesus to heal their children. She was the thief on the cross who asked Jesus to remember him in his next kingdom. She was the exasperated man who cried out to Jesus, “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.”

And all of that was tucked into my shoulder.

She thanked me for the prayer, and I asked her if she wanted her card back. She declined, inadvertently asking me to keep it. Then she slipped into the crowd, and I didn’t see her the rest of the morning. Three more people came to me for prayer during the service—two with poignant confessions and soul-level enigmas joined by tears—but that stiff piece of paper was burning a hole in my pocket.

I had dawdled to enter the auditorium. I had forgotten a serving assignment I had accepted out of a desire to appear spiritual to observers. I had jumped at the opportunity to stand in the back of the room so I could skip the challenging assignments everyone else had been given. I was standing in that spot for the wrong reasons, but Jesus still gave me words to pray over an earnest soul.

That card in my pocket reminded me that I hadn’t prayed that prayer for myself that morning. I’d requested something adjacent to this sentiment over my parking team an hour earlier, but I hadn’t privately sought Jesus’ presence to pervade my heart as my most important request. I had things to do after church and before the Super Bowl—good things. I was ready to finish checking my Sunday morning boxes and walk out without an encounter I should’ve sought—part of the reason for gathering with other saints in the first place.

And then my self-importance was interrupted. I now feel like that unfamiliar parishioner was sent to me for me.

I don’t wonder if this woman will find what she seeks, because I know Jesus wants to answer her prayer. He wants to be close to her more than she wants to feel him close to her. Thanks to her, I was reminded that Jesus would love for me to pray that same prayer for the same reason.