Portrait in Ebony by Aaron Jacobs His radiant smile made him a figure I shall never forget He was almost in a state of ecstasy as he walked toward me and I knew something miraculous had happened! An African, Aaron Jacobs, whose real name is Haruhah Yakubua, is an instructor of political science at Ahmadu Bello University in Zaria, Nigeria. In 1966, he was selected as one of two graduate students at the University of Nigeria to come to the USA on an Exchange Student Scholarship to study political science at the University of Pittsburgh. Shortly after returning to Nigeria, his wife Joanne gave birth to their son Emmanuel. In 1901, the Sudan Interior Mission sent a man to the village of Patigi in Northern Nigeria to tell the Africans about Jesus Christ. That missionary, remembered only as Reverend Lang, took up his work among the villagers, most of whom were Moslem and all of whom were hostile. He was the only witness for Christ within hundreds of miles. No one knows for sure how many years he labored in that unrewarding field before he returned to the States to die. It must have been a frustrating experience watching the seed fall on the unplowed ground of unreceptive hearts. My grandfather was one who found Christ through Reverend Lang’s faithfulness to God in Nigeria. My grandfather became a loyal messenger of the Gospel. Even though he died when I was only five years old, I can still vividly remember the frequent trips he took into the bush country to preach the message of salvation. He would come back with hair-raising stories of adventure among the bush people and the wild animals. Not only did my grandfather preach in the bush, he also witnessed at home. His entire family, including my father and uncle, became Christians. It was the tradition in Nigeria at the time that the eldest son live with his uncle. So upon the death of my older brother, I inherited the responsibilities of the eldest son and left home to live on my uncle’s farm on the outskirts of Patigi. My uncle took great interest in me and saw to it that I enrolled at the University of Nigeria. There, enamored with the challenges and opportunities of Africa’s emerging young nations, I majored in political science and won a scholarship to come to the United States to do graduate study at the University of Pittsburgh. I was excited about coming to America, not just because of the academic opportunity, but because I had such a high opinion of the spiritual life in America. The missionaries who had followed Reverend Lang had been deeply spiritual people. They had taught me about Jesus Christ and had ministered ably to the spiritual needs of my family. Thus, I naturally assumed that all Americans were like the missionaries. It was with great anticipation that I looked forward to coming to the great land of America to fellowship with the millions of deeply spiritual Christians who lived here. The day my wife Joanne and I arrived in the United States was the happiest day of our lives. As a political science major, I had studied the progress of this nation from its very beginning. I knew the stories of the founding fathers, the pilgrims, who came to these shores to escape religious persecution and worship in freedom and truth. I had studied the documents which make up the foundation of the nation’s government—the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Gettysburg Address, and the inauguration addresses of many of the Presidents. I had read of the great halls of learning which supposedly gave bold recognition to divine authority and I was impressed with the slogan “In God We Trust” which was engraved on American coins. I had read of America’s great preachers — I knew that many of the great universities were first founded as divinity schools and seminaries to teach young preachers. How eager I was to come and study in such a Christian atmosphere! It would be the next thing to heaven. What I did not know was that America had drifted far from her spiritual moorings. Freedom had degenerated to license, and the secular was honored over the sacred. Materialism, sensuality, and immorality had become a prime way of life. I soon discovered a sophistication born of a desire to discover natural explanations for all phenomena which had resulted in the humanizing of God and the deifying of man. I found few Godly foundations and little Christian fellowship. My dreams and hopes were dashed against the flinty rocks of agnosticism and atheism. In fact, nothing was the way I expected it to be. Most of my professors and those around me were just not the type of people I thought I would meet in America — and they certainly were not like the missionaries I had known in Africa. Christ was neither accepted nor honored. Immorality flourished in the open and the churches seemed more like mausoleums than centers of worship of the living God. I felt spiritually isolated. In short, I was a most disappointed fellow. Why had the missionaries not warned me about all this? I yearned to return to Africa, for unregenerate man is just as spiritually blind in a prosperous and academically enlightened nation as he is on a jungle trail in a remote and primitive culture. If I am to be around heathens, I thought, I would rather be around heathens at home. Sometimes I prayed, “God, why did You allow me to come to this land?” God knew what He was doing, even when I did not. I wrote my missionary friends in Africa and told them of my great disappointment. Shortly afterward, I received a visit from a Christian man in Pittsburgh. He had been contacted by the missionaries and asked to come see me. Just to know there was someone who cared made things better. About this time, a lady gave Joanne a copy of I Believe in Miracles. She read it and was impressed. “This might be a wonderful place for us to go,” she said, referring to the miracle services at Carnegie Hall. I had serious reservations. For eight months, I objected to Joanne’s urgings to attend the miracle services. However, I finally agreed to go. Perhaps I could find that vitality which was lacking in my spiritual life. Believe me, I did. Halfway through the service, Miss Kuhlman pointed directly at our section and said, “There are two people in that section who are being healed right now. One of them has a back injury. Take your healing in the name of Jesus.” Suddenly I remembered. It had been with me so long that I had grown accustomed to it. In 1954, I had injured my back in a soccer match in Nigeria. For fourteen years I had been in and out of clinics seeking some kind of remedy for the constant pain. The doctors had told me I would just have to learn to live with it and although I was never without pain, I had grown accustomed to its constant presence. I had not even thought of it until Miss Kuhlman said someone had been healed. This is ridiculous — there is no such thing as spontaneous healing. Yet I cannot possibly be just imagining that something is happening to me, I thought. It was a strange heat in my spine. No, I kept telling myself, it cannot possibly be the power of God — it must be a form of hypnosis. Miss Kuhlman kept saying, “There is someone in the balcony to my left who has received a spine healing.” Finally I could resist no longer. It was as if a voice kept saying, “It is you. It is you. The Lord has healed you.” And before I knew it, I was on my feet walking toward the stage. The pain that had been my constant companion all those years was gone. I now understand that the only way the Lord could prove Himself to me was by touching my body. He knew my first contact had been with unbelievers. He knew how disappointed I was. He knew I was discouraged, empty, sick. I now feel that the Lord brought me to this country and let me go through my disappointments specifically for this one experience. For not only was my back healed, but I received a brand new perspective of the power of God. Now I am back in Nigeria, teaching in the Department of Public Administration at Ahmadu Bello University. My people need more than political science. In this war-torn land where brother is fighting against brother and mercenary soldiers are killing for money, I am convinced that only the power of God can save us. There are thousands, millions, who have never heard. If only Kathryn Kuhlman could come to our country — to our people. They need what she has to offer—Jesus Christ! Even if she cannot come, I have promised my Lord that I will follow in the footsteps of my grandfather and cany the Gospel of Good News of Jesus Christ to my people. It is their only hope and security. Things Money Cannot Buy: Chapter 13 |