Bells rang out, calling the faithful to worship as 17-year-old Stanley Black genuflected before sliding onto the worn pew. His usually happy face was creased with furrowed brows and a frown. Kneeling, he heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. His life was…what? He concentrated, searching for the right word. Blended. That was the perfect word to describe it.
His country, Costa Rica, was a hodge-podge of blended cultures, blended religions and a blend of primitive jungles mixed with modern cities. His father’s family had emigrated from India. His mother’s family was Scottish. Stanley had been born in Jamaica. Just following his family’s migration patterns required a global map and skill using it.
At school, Stanley listened as the German priest, who was also his professor, expounded on a common theme. “Our church is the mother of all religions,” he said. “Going to a Protestant church is the unforgivable sin!”
Stanley broke out in a cold sweat. Mama. Papa. There was no forgiveness for their sin. There was nothing left to pray. His father, a dairy farmer, had invited their veterinarian to his birthday party. Afterward, the doctor had said, “I’d like to reciprocate your kindness. Please visit our church. In honor of your birthday, we want to pray for you.” His parents had been duped into going.
Stanley left church hoping that God had heard his prayers and his parents had not committed the unpardonable sin. At home, his mother beamed, “We’re now born-again Christians!”
The color drained from Stanley’s face.
“I was stunned by what my parents had done,” Stanley recalls. “There wasn’t much gospel in Costa Rica in 1954, and our church included a lot of paganism. I’d never seen a Bible so I had no way of knowing that my parents really hadn’t committed any sin by going to that church. Finally, after two weeks, they talked my brother and me into going with them to church. The pastor described the crucifixion in such detail that I shook while the nails were being driven into Jesus’ hands. By the time he gave an altar call, I had to hold on to my brother for support. The next thing I knew, we were both at the altar.
“Right away, my brother and I started playing our guitars on the streets and preaching to anyone who would listen. We got a copy of Dr. T.L. Osborn’s book "Healing the Sick," and started preaching healing.”
BVOV : 11
