It was a dark and gloomy night in Tarpon Springs, Florida, in 1984. My uncle had just passed away from cancer. The family had gathered in his wife’s home for a meal and a time to remember his life. This is very common in my Greek culture. I vividly remember everyone wearing black to show their mourning. The house was packed—so packed there was no room to sit in the living room so I sat there on the floor, taking in the somber and tear-filled atmosphere. The women were serving the men their food, which is the way things are in our culture. There I was, sitting at my dad’s feet. I felt safe there. My dad is a strong man—a military man with a law degree and a successful business. He is a man’s man, raised in Gary, Indiana, which was one of the toughest and most dangerous cities in America at the time. I still remember hearing the wailing over my deceased uncle coming from the women. It was such a sad moment. Death has its way of lingering and permeating the lives of those who don’t know Jesus. Its darkness is feared for that reason. Death can be felt.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Through the door came a man wearing a priest’s collar. When he walked into this home filled with sadness, everything changed in a moment! I mean everything. Our faces instantly changed from showing anguish to displaying atten-tiveness. The air was no longer heavy with hopelessness. It was literally filled with an invisible, cloudlike substance that seemed to have electric waves moving through it. My seven-year-old mind described the moment this way: “God just came into this room with this priest. This man is God’s friend.”
The priest’s name was Anthony Morfessis. My family called him Father Anthony. He was no ordinary priest. I had grown up around clergy my entire life. Sadly, most were focused on orthodoxy rather than Jesus. But this man, well, he was a different breed altogether. His face was broken and piercing, supple and focused, determined yet dependent upon Another. His eyes were full of fire and love, all at once and all in one man. These beautiful qualities flow from only one person, Jesus. This man had Jesus, and I knew it. I vividly remember Father Anthony standing in the corner of the living room as he began to pray for the women in the home. They instantly began to cry and scream as they hit the floor when he touched them. I had never seen anything like it in my life. The electricity continued to fill the room. Little did I know that what I was feeling was not a “something,” but a Someone. His name is the Holy Spirit.
Then the priest looked at my father, Theo, who was just days out of surgery. My earliest memories of my dad are of a strong and healthy man who was a tireless worker. Then he contracted a disease called aquarium granuloma, which put him in a wheelchair or on crutches for much of the time in those days. This rare disease attacked the tissue and bone in his left knee. It had entered his system through a scratch on his knee. The bacteria came from sponges, coral, or shells. My parents had a thriving gift shop and tourism business in my hometown of Tarpon Springs. It is a predominantly Greek community on the Gulf of Mexico. Mom and Dad were blessed to have their businesses. Dad was a hard worker. He loved to handle the sponges and coral himself. One day, out of nowhere, the infection entered his system. The infection from the disease was so bad that they put him on two thousand milligrams of tetracycline a day for five years. This wrecked his stomach and digestive system. Even though I was very young at the time, I have vivid memories of Dad with drainage tubes, in a wheelchair, or on crutches.
As my dad sat on the couch with our mourning family surrounding him, the priest sat down across the room and began to stare at my father. Then, the Spirit-filled man of God boldly asked my dad a question that would frame and change my life forever. He said, “Have you ever seen Jesus?” Wow! What a question. My father replied, “No, Father, I haven’t.” Father Anthony responded, “Why not?” A bit confused and frustrated, my dad said, “I don’t know.” The priest asked, “Do you want to?” I couldn’t believe my ears! This was going to be amazing. This was not your average memorial service. To my seven-year-old mind, this could only mean one thing: Jesus was going to appear right in the middle of my cousins’ living room—maybe something like out of Star Trek. We would all see Him visibly for just a moment. “What a night this will be!” To everyone’s shock, rather than Jesus appearing before our eyes, Father Anthony stood up and began to walk toward my father. Remember, he had no idea my dad was just out of surgery. Nor did he know that there were crutches behind the couch. Nor did he know anything about my dad’s disease. On the other hand, maybe Someone told him. Maybe he could hear from Someone who we did not know at the time. Perhaps Father Anthony had secret information straight from Heaven. Was he a friend of the One we were feeling like electricity in the room? With fire in his eyes and boldness in each step, Father Anthony locked onto my dad’s leg and made a straight line to him. Immediately, he gripped Dad’s knee in his hand. It was the exact knee that had been operated on a couple days before. You have to understand, my dad was wearing long pants. There was nothing pointing to my dad’s disease. For all Father Anthony knew, my dad was just a guy sitting on a couch, paying his respects to a family member who had passed away. As you can imagine, my father jerked with pain as the bold priest began to take hold of the incision that was kept together with staples in Dad’s flesh. What in the world was happening? I thought we were going to see Jesus.
You have to understand, the entire scene was foreign to me. First of all, nobody messed with my dad. He was a military man. A strong ethnic man. His favorite movies are Rambo and Rocky. That should help give you a mental picture of my dad. Well, back to the story. All of a sudden, the pain turned into fire, and it shot through Dad’s body. The same power that filled the house began to flow through Dad’s leg. Father Anthony then spoke these words with absolute authority: “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, I command you to walk.” So, Dad stood up, reached behind the couch to grab his crutches, and was going to attempt to walk with them. The priest said, “No crutches! Walk in Jesus’ name.” So, Dad took a step, and the fiery electricity continued to flow through his leg. Then, another and another. The tears flowed down Dad’s face as God healed him. This was my first experience with a miracle, and a miracle it was!
A day or two later, my father went to see the orthopedic surgeon who had operated on him. Even though I was only seven years old at the time, I remember going with him to this appointment. Part of Dad’s exam was to do a strength test. As the doctor looked on, Dad pressed more firmly with his left leg—the one that had been operated on—than he did with his good leg! To add to the surgeon’s shock, when he began to examine Dad’s left leg, he discovered that all the muscle that had atrophied in Dad’s thigh over the last five years had grown back as hard as a rock overnight! Dad was healed.
What power healed my father? Who was causing the heat in his leg? Who had filled the room with such a tangible substance that I haven’t forgotten it thirty-one years later? Who crashed into our lives when we knew absolutely nothing about Him? Who could be so loving? He is the Holy Spirit.
And now, I pray that He will introduce Himself to you. I hear you asking, “How will I know when I meet Him?” Trust me, you will know. There is nobody like Him.