The Prodigal Son

An extraordinary “chance encounter,” the power of prayer, and the work of the Spirit.

Ever since my childhood, I’ve known a family of nine from Egypt. All are believers, with the exception of one son. His parents have been praying for him for a long time.

Some time ago, I was invited to an Arab evangelism event in Belgium. A church in Brussels had rented space in a school to host it. When I entered the school on the first morning, I met two Arab men who were preparing food for the conference. I thanked them for their work, and gave each a bar of Swiss chocolate. I like to give Swiss chocolate as a gift, because the labels have an image of the Swiss flag, which has a cross on it. The Lord often uses it to open the door to spiritual conversations.

The cook asked me where I was from. I told him that I live in Switzerland, but I’m from Egypt. He was also from Egypt. We discovered that we were born in the same place, and he knew my youngest brother. It was then that I recalled the dear man in the Egyptian church who always prayed for him by name, and also asked the congregation to pray for his prodigal son.

When I inquired about this, the cook told me, “Yes, I know who you’re talking about. I’m the sinner from that family.” I got goosebumps when I realized who he was. After a brief conversation, I asked if I could pray with him. “Maybe later,” he said.

After lunch, he came to say hello. I asked again if now would be a good time to pray together. He replied that he wasn’t ready yet, but felt that we would meet again, inshallah (God willing). In our culture, this is an excuse to get out of a conversation.

On the last night of the event, I thought a lot about this man. I wondered if I should have tried harder. But then came a big surprise: He wanted to take me to the airport first thing the next morning, and he’d taken time off from work specifically to do it. In the car, words poured out of him like a waterfall. He said he was very moved that I came to greet him and thank him, even though he was just the cook.

Since there was still time until my departure, we sat together at the airport. He talked about his life, which sounded like a thriller: traveling under multiple false passports, working for organized crime, dealing in drugs. Fights were the most harmless thing he recounted. Knife scars were visible on his face and arms.

Then came the tears.

“I haven’t forgotten how my parents are praying for me. And now, someone’s come from my hometown, who knows my parents and asks to pray with me. I’m so tired and broken. I need help.”

He held my hand, and permitted me to pray with him. The tears flowed onto the restaurant table, and everything got wet. After I prayed, he was quiet for a while, before he began talking to Jesus himself. It was very moving, and I’ll never forget it. He said: 

“Lord, thank you for waiting for me for so long. I confess my wrongdoing, and I thank you that you’re able to accept a dirty man. I’m bringing you all of my weariness. I ask that you’d clean my mind from all filth and my unclean past. Please forgive me for all of the grief and disappointment I’ve caused my parents.”

Today, he belongs to the church and attends services regularly.

Midnight Call - 04/2024