As a young child, my mother told me a story of a person leading prayers. The prayers were so powerful that the building shook. I wanted my prayers to have such power and I made every effort to memorise the Arabic prayers of the Ismaili Muslim community and to understand the meaning. After a while I realised that such power doesn’t come from me.
When called upon to lead prayers, I would say a silent prayer, “Lord, you lead the prayers through me, you take over. Only let those words be said by me, which are liked by you oh Lord.” Often, I had the experience of observing what was happening, following the meaning of the Arabic words that were tumbling out of my mouth with no awareness of anything else. And then the prayers would end, it was like a cloud lifting and I would be left crying, my experience was of longing.
No one could explain my experience but some people would say they felt something. For an esoteric community, that was strange.
I believe that in those times the Holy Spirit, God’s Spirit, Ruwh Alquds, was upon me and when the prayer ended, God’s Spirit left me. You see, I was praying, like all Muslims, to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Ishmael.
On Friday the 26th January 2001, I woke up, put the radio on and started to get ready for work. The radio said there had been a massive earthquake in Western India. My Mum lived in a small town in Western India however Western India is a big area. I made a mental note to check the internet when I got to work to see where the earthquake was. By the time I got to work, I had forgotten about the earthquake. At around 11 am one of my colleagues asked if I had heard from my Mum. I promptly checked the internet. “Are you OK?” my colleague asked. I was silent.
Picture courtesy of https://www.memphis.edu/ceri/wgdc/gujarat.php
There on the screen was a map of the earthquake with my Mum’s village at the epicentre. I quickly tried to call her but there was no connection. I pinged out an e-mail to everyone I knew to find out if anyone had heard from her. There were no positive responses. As the day went on the news grew worse till eventually at around 2pm I told my boss who graciously sent me home. I went straight to the Ismaili Centre and prayed on my hands and knees in the prayer hall, pleading for the safety of my Mum. I don’t know how long I prayed, but when I finished I went downstairs to the cloak area where I found my Dad and two of my best friends. It was too early to arrive for evening prayers but there they were. “How is your Mum?” my Dad asked.
“She’s fine. She’s lost her home, but she’s fine.” I said with absolute certainty. My friends took me out and we had a great weekend. On Sunday my sister called to tell me, “We got an e-mail from Mum. She’s fine, but she’s lost her home.”
“I know.” I replied, again with absolute certainty.
A couple of days later my sister called me again, “I’m really worried about Mum, it’s cold at night and she’s got nowhere to sleep.”
“No, she’s fine.” I replied. “She’s got a warm bed to sleep in, she’s a qualified nurse she speaks fluent English and is running around helping the aid organisations. She’s where she’s meant to be.”
“Is that what you feel?” asked my sister.
“No, that’s what I know.”
A day later my sister let me know that our uncle had a call from our Mum. Mum’s best friend’s house hadn’t been damaged and our Mum was staying there. She had her car and was running around helping the aid organisations. It’s what I knew.
For the next few weeks I was fielding calls from my uncles who were asking me to call my Mum home. I knew that she was where God wanted her, that her whole life had lead to that time. It was no coincidence that she was a qualified State Registered Nurse and that after over 30 years of working in England, God sent her to India, to Bhuj. She was where she was meant to be.
About three weeks after the earthquake, for some complete unknown reason, I couldn’t get out of bed I was so tired. I didn’t go into work. That morning my Mum called my home number. “Mum, it’s you.” I said. Well of course it was her who else would it be?
“No, Mum you need to come home.” She started giving me a whole ream of reasons why she couldn’t and I pulled the best card any child has.
“Mum, I’m ill, you need to come home.”
Within 24 hours she was home. I picked her up from Heathrow and drove her to her brother’s house in Leicester. We sat and listened while she told us, in detail, what she had been through, often breaking down in tears. We drove back to London and the next day Mum couldn’t get out of bed. I took her to the doctors and she collapsed in the doctor’s surgery. She was in hospital for a week and said that if I hadn’t called her back, she’d have died in India.
My sister, Mum and I in Vancouver 2004
So what’s the difference now I’m a Christian? I don’t have the feeling of loss. The Holy Spirit is with me. There are times when I feel the presence lift and when I do, I look for where my relationship is off, who I need to forgive, which areas in my life I am harbouring bitterness and resentment. If we consider that God’s Spirit is Holy, it’s set apart, and why would the Holy Spirit share a space with bitterness and resentment or anything else that we don’t associate with a loving God?
As a Christian there is an explanation to my experiences and an understanding of how to cultivate those experiences so they’re not just one-off experiences. Some people find it difficult to believe that non-Christians can encounter the Holy Spirit without accepting Jesus into their lives. This belief system is narrow because people can’t come to Christ without encountering the Holy Spirit. It is the Holy Spirit that convicts us, nothing else.
If you disagree please leave a comment below, it is good to challenge each other’s beliefs in a gracious and generous way. This is how we grow in relationship with each other and with God.
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