The Moments Between

August 2008

by Sally Klein O'Connor

I was only doing a couple songs at the congregation in Tel Aviv. Avi Mizrachi, who led Adonai Roi, was a friend who had invited me to share. It was January of 2004 and our church team was just winding up our first visit to Israel. I had brought copies of one of our albums to give away. An Irish couple who heard me that night, picked up a copy. Fifteen days later Rodney Stafford e-mailed me from Ireland and invited me to come and minister in Dublin.

Sometimes the things that happen between what we think of as the main events end up mattering the most. I had a lot of hopes and plans for my trip to Ireland earlier this year. Before I left Los Angeles there were 11 or 12 concerts scheduled for the tour, with very little space between. In some ways I was apprehensive, just recovering from an in-patient surgery I had at the end of March, I wasn’t sure how much energy I would have. But as it turned out, four concerts were canceled and one other was added. The effect was to open up some space in my schedule so I could rest and actually get a chance to see Ireland a little more than on previous trips.

One of those “main events” I was really looking forward to was the opportunity to share at a friend’s church on the Shankill, in Belfast. A couple years before, Jack and his wife Kathleen, had come to L.A. and ministered at another friend’s church in Lynwood. They stayed that night at our house and we hit it off pretty well. Michael and I gave them some of our music to take back and share with their church, where it was very well received. When I mentioned I would be touring in Ireland at the end of May they immediately extended an invitation to minister at New Life Church. But things did not turn out the way I thought they would.

The first concert of the tour was on a Saturday afternoon, in the expansive backyard of a friend. It was a beautiful setting and our time with the Lord was sweet. After the concert my friend Donna, announced on the microphone, more as an after-thought than anything else, that if anyone wanted prayer we would be available. Apparently almost everyone wanted prayer. We prayed for the next five hours.

Many people were touched and met by the Lord. Among some of the people asking for prayer was a woman going through intense turmoil in her life, losing her marriage, her house, her kids’ love, and feeling utterly abandoned There was another woman who was ridiculed most of her life about her face and body. She lived with a lot of shame and she too, felt very alone. These were believers who were struggling. One man who just radiated the light of Jesus was an ex-IRA member. It was a real blessing to meet and pray for him, as it was to minister to all those who shared their needs with us. God was very present.

I awoke on Sunday, the morning after, struggling with green stuff in my throat and sinuses. I know that in my weakness, God is strong—and He is! But I sure dislike the process. Yet this is part of how we are fashioned, to rely upon the One who made us.

I was fretting because I was supposed to sing two songs in the morning service and I wondered, when I opened my mouth, if anything musical would actually emerge? It was one of those mornings. Lots of praying and pleading ensued.

During the worship, which was awesome, I alternated between giving myself entirely over to God and His purposes for the service and lapsing into whining, only to surrender my voice to Him yet again. What can I say? I am definitely a work in progress. Mercifully, the Lord spoke into my heart and said, “Will you humble yourself and do only one song?” Of course I was grateful God spoke to me, but I immediately started wondering why I couldn’t sing two songs. After all, Pastor Jack said I could. The fact that my voice might not even respond for the length of one song was not something that even crossed my mind in that moment. But pride isn’t rational.

I sang one song—and it was good. People were blessed. After lunch I went back to my flat to rest, hoping God would restore me before the concert that night.

He didn’t. It is a very vulnerable thing, to be a singer without a voice—or almost without a voice. It has happened to me on several occasions, all of them I still remember. Here I was at this church where I so wanted to make an impact, feeling this was a large part of the reason I had come back to Ireland, and I couldn’t sing. In my mind’s eye I can still feel my stumbling and struggling to make the notes in each song, and how what I thought I would share was not what I ended up speaking about. I felt powerless—yet He was there. As I was singing At The Cross, I could feel the weight of His presence, and the sweetness of His love. Sometimes I think I live for that! He was touching people, blessing them, speaking to them through me, around me--and in spite of me. All my abilities collapsed like a scattered house of cards and still the Lord spoke and moved and had His way—as if I didn’t know that He would.

During our time in worship there were two girls I happened to notice. They were sitting on the edge of the crowd. After the concert, Pastor Jack invited people up for prayer. A few came to receive, but again my gaze was drawn to the girls sitting near the front, off to the side. I just kept seeing them for some reason, and I knew I should ask if they wanted prayer.

They were friends. Both of them had come from the Catholic community and were still new to the church. The first girl asked for prayer for her back, for healing. But it was the second girl I prayed for who I connected with more. Her name was Deniece. She had come to New Life some time before but had stopped because she was hurt by what some of the people had said to her. Yet, there was such a deep hunger in her to be there—in the presence of God—she was crying. It was clear God was wooing her but she was still hurting. As I prayed more tears came and a lifting of her heart as the Lord touched her.

It is not an easy thing to reconcile two communities that have been at war for ages. The Lord has raised up New Life and other churches, to reach out to both sides of “The Peace Wall” (the wall that divides the Catholic community from the Protestant in Belfast.) As the Lord leads you, keep New Life Church and all of its leadership in prayer. God wants to heal the brokenness in these communities and bring a lasting peace.

Because I had a concert my last night in Belfast, usually I would not have accepted an invitation to adventure out of the local surroundings for the day, but I did. A pastor and his wife were informally watching over the guest apartments for New life and we had a chance to connect a little bit. He invited me for a drive up the Antrim coast, which is renowned for its beauty.

Unfortunately, we didn’t get very far when we received a text message that my friend Donna would be picking me up early for the concert that night. As we were driving back we were flagged down by three women and a guy. Their car had stopped working—for whatever reason—and they needed a ride back into Belfast. Without a second’s hesitation Marvin invited them to pile into the back seat.

They were from West Belfast, and they were Catholic. It was not a coincidence Marvin and Gloria had just started a church plant in West Belfast. Marvin immediately began talking to them about the Lord. Brenda appeared to be their self-appointed spokesperson and she did most of the talking. She was quite intoxicated and feeling very free. It was funny watching Brenda talking a blue-streak, as if she had known us forever, while right next to her, Teresa looked like she wished she could disappear entirely. I tried to reassure Teresa but she seemed very uncomfortable.

Brenda claimed she could heal people and without so much as a “do you mind if I—" she put her hands on each side of Marvin’s head while he was driving.

Now it’s a two lane highway—not very wide where we were, and I told Brenda, “He’s driving!”

Oblivious to my concerns she said, “Can you feel it?”

Marvin said, “I feel your hands.”

“That’s all?”

Brenda was not easily deterred. She demanded I give her my hand so she could prove herself. I warily extended a pinkie. She wrapped both hands around it, “Do you feel that?”

Driving back to Belfast, Marvin and I shared about being “born again,” how flesh births flesh and spirit can only issue from  spirit, and how much God loves us all. In response Brenda put forth her theories on evolution, how we are all God’s children, and on more than one occasion, yelled out the window, “Kill the Brits!” Then, knowing I was Jewish, she asked me if I thought God loved Hitler. It is one of those questions that reveals the truth of everything you believe in, the moment it is asked. I am still thinking about it.

She offered to sing the Lord’s prayer in Gaelic and then proceeded to recite it. She excused herself saying, she was not really a singer. I told her I was, and they asked if I would sing a song. Even Teresa appeared a tiny bit interested. I said, “Hebrew or English?” For whatever reason, I sang Baruch HaBa (Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord).

After the song there was a lull in the conversation--a stillness. Then Brenda started talking in another direction. She shared that her husband has lupus and she takes care of him and also works in the cancer ward at the hospital. She felt in some way that she played a part in how people got healed.

Brenda also shared about her dad who passed away. I could see her struggle with some emotion as she spoke and I extended my hand and asked if I could pray for her. And for just an instant there was a tiny window—for her and for me—into the kingdom of God as we prayed. She was still and thoughtful. 

But it was only a moment. When we came to the Shankill she started yelling out the window again and Marvin had to tell her to be quiet.

Brenda was loud and drunk and vulgar. At the same time she was terribly vulnerable and wounded, and genuinely curious. Sometimes it is hard to see past our own filters and fears to find the people hiding behind their walls. God gave Marvin and me grace that day, to see a little past Brenda’s façade so we could touch her soul. My prayer is a seed got planted, not only in Brenda, but also in Teresa and her friends. It is His kindness, after all, that leads us to repentance…

There are so many things to tell about my time in Ireland. I had the privilege of singing at Stormont—where the parliament buildings are for Northern Ireland’s government. It was an incredible honor, and the Lord really used me there. And my time in Dublin with my friends, Rodney and Katherine, was a blessing as well! But in looking back I see  more clearly how God invited me into what He was doing in the moments between the moments I had so carefully planned out in advance.

At the airport gate there were three Muslim women, hair covered with scarves. The Lord spoke to my heart, “Tell them they are beautiful and precious to Me.” No sooner had His word gone into my heart than I became excruciatingly aware that I was wearing my ISRAEL t-shirt, with my silver star of David in plain view. I checked, “Is this You, God?”

As I write this now, all I can think is “Duh, who else could it possibly be? Me? I don’t think so!” Nervously I made my way over to where they were standing, their backs to me. A last ditch effort, “God, help me know this is You, let them turn around.” Asking for a fleece from the Lord has never worked for me. It has never been how He does business with me, but it hasn’t stopped me from asking in the more difficult moments of my life.

No one moved. Another 5-10 minutes went by. I finally moved and tapped her on the shoulder—the one closest to me. She turned. “Where are you from?” spilled out of my mouth before I even had a chance to think through what I was going to say.

“Ireland,” she said.

I pointed to her head covering, “Are you Muslim?”

She nodded.

“Well, I was sitting over there and I felt like God put it on my heart to tell you that you are beautiful and precious to Him. He loves you.”

She blushed and smiled beautifully and I smiled back.

“Wow God! You are amazing!” I thought.

I

n the queue to get on board a man bumped me by accident and apologized.

“It’s Ok,” I said, but he didn’t seem to think so.

“I hate when people bump me and don’t apologize,” he responded, “I get angry and want to take revenge.”

“It’s too small to get angry about. Sometimes people bump you and don’t even know they did it,” suddenly aware I was participating in yet another moment God had already prepared.

“Where are you from?”

“L.A.”

“Oh,” he said, “that explains it. People from L.A. are so laid back, not like New York.”

“We have our share of violence,” I informed him.

I hoisted my bag up the back flight of the stairs to the Aer Lingus plane. As I entered I saw the two Muslim girls with their grandma (I’m guessing), sitting in the very back row. The older girl smiled her very beautiful smile again at me. This time, without a pause for thought (which was probably a good thing at this point) I turned as I passed by, looking at them I said again, to all three this time, “You are beautiful and precious to God. God bless you!” And then I turned up the aisle to find my seat.

Often I teeter on the edge of obedience and blessing, but I realize in order to obey I have to step off the precipice of self and fall into the space and grace of God. There are still too many times I am not certain God will catch me when I fall, although He has never failed to do just that. There is no real basis for that fear in terms of my experience with God, and though I know that in my mind, my heart still hesitates much of the time.

As I stood looking into the face of that young Muslim girl the Holy Spirit blew into me like a wind into a sail on a sunny day, and the love of God filled me beyond the reach of my hands and words to touch her. In that place of obedience I experience Him who is invisible, and once again I am amazed and chastened at the same time. Why on earth do I ever hesitate when He calls?

All of us have a part to play in God’s outreach to His creation Sometimes it is a more obvious part, drawing attention. Other times it is a simpler smaller role, but no less important. God help us respond quickly and with less reluctance when the Holy Spirit speaks to our hearts. Help us overcome our fear of rejection and people, and not let the world’s protocol quench the Spirit’s fire! Praise the Lord!

© Copyright 2008 Improbable People Ministries

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