Waiting for the Bus

We drive through a break in the curb, and our hatchback is dwarfed by large, air-conditioned Volvo buses.

After a brief search, we find the person we’re looking for. We’re told to wait half an hour before the bus to Pune arrives.

“You remember the time at the train station?”

An Indian man looks at me as I spin around. “Are you James?” I wasn’t expecting this. Having arrived at Madgaon station just minutes before, I was just about to pull out my mobile phone with a dying charge and call Michael Fernandas, the white Australian missionary. To think that this pastor had sent his driver to pick me up!

Michael bursts out laughing.

As it turned out, Michael Fernanadas was a Goan, a native Indian man. Born into an influential Roman Catholic family, and pastor of a small fellowship in Goa, Michael seems to be just another pastor – until you hear his stories.

“You really should write a book!” I remark.

Michael is ever ready to regale you with amazing stories of God getting involved in the lives of ordinary people. One of my favourites is the time when money ran out, and he and his family could not afford to buy food. Rice, oil, and cooking gas that should have lasted no more than a few months miraculously stretched out to almost a year – a modern day account of Elijah and the widow. He recounts one of the lowest points in his life, when the number of the people in his ministry dropped overnight from about 600 to 15. Having lost many leaders that he had painstakingly discipled over the years, he was brought to his knees in seeking God anew. Out of that personal crisis, many new things were birthed, among them, a greater and deeper reliance on God for his daily provision.

“Funny how little impact miracles have on the faith of people”

Miracles are nothing new to Michael. For him, it is part and parcel of trusting God, and obeying His voice. He wonders why God still chooses to heal people miraculously, even though they don’t make a stand for Him. He openly challenges the popular perception among faith healers that people who are healed have faith, and people who are not, lack faith. Out of his personal experience, he has often witnessed the opposite to be true.

Earlier today, we picked up a homeopathic preparation for Az’s cold, and I thought that was slightly strange, knowing that Michael has such faith in divine healing.

“We always go for the practical solution first, and then when that doesn’t work, we leave it to God.” he explains.

I think of the house meeting the night before Michael motions for me to speak. Twenty pairs of eyes stare expectantly at me. It’s a strange feeling, being at the centre of attention, simply because I’m a visitor from a foreign land. I take a gulp. I begin...