Time never allows one to forget those special encounters in life. The
night Barnabas knocked my door was one. I immediately invited him in. It was
one of those evenings when the world outside felt cold and uninviting, and
inside, my heart wasn’t much warmer. I’d been feeling lonely after leaving my
religion, cut off from so many people I once called friends. There were days
when the silence in my home seemed unbearable. That night, though, was
different.
I’d heard about
Barnabas—his reputation as a man of encouragement, someone who lifted others
wherever he went—but I wasn’t prepared for just how genuine and kind he would
be. The moment he walked in, it was as if a light had entered with him. He had
a way about him, a quiet presence that made me feel like everything was going
to be okay, even before we sat down.
The meal wasn’t
fancy—just something simple—but it didn’t matter. We talked about life, faith,
and struggles, and I found myself sharing things I hadn’t told anyone in a long
time. I told him how isolated I’d been feeling since leaving my religion, how I
missed the sense of community, even though I knew I couldn’t stay in that
environment. Barnabas listened. He really listened, with a warmth in his eyes
that said, “I understand.”
He didn’t rush to offer
answers, but when he spoke, his words were like a balm to my soul. He told me
stories from his own journey—how he had seen people rejected and misunderstood,
and how he had always tried to be a bridge for them, just as Christ had been
for him. “God never leaves you out to dry, don’t you realise that the spirit
directed me to knock on your door?” he
said softly.
By the time dessert was
finished, something had shifted in me. I realized I wasn’t as alone as I had
thought. Barnabas reminded me that leaving a group doesn’t mean leaving God or
losing the opportunity for connection. He spoke of God’s love not as something
bound by human institutions but as a living, breathing presence in our lives,
no matter where we find ourselves. “Let’s pray” he said as he took my hand and pressed it warmly.
When he finally left that
night, I stood at the door and watched him walk down the street, then disappear into the ether like some kind of heavenly apparition.
The house felt
quiet again, but it wasn’t the same silence I had known before. There was a
sense of peace, a gentle reassurance that I wasn’t walking this path alone. As
I shut the door, I smiled to myself. Barnabas had a way of leaving behind more
than just good conversation—he left behind hope.
*****
I praised God and thought about the time when Barnabas turned up at the first century congregation and he couldn't help but rejoice. He encouraged everyone to stay committed to the Lord with all their hearts. He was a good man, filled with the Holy Spirit and strong in his faith, and because of that, a great number of people were drawn to the Lord. Acts 11:23-25. Bless you Barnabas!
“Now Joseph, who was renamed Barnabas (Son of Comfort),
a Levite from Cyprus, having owned a field,
sold it and laid the money at the apostles’ feet.” Acts 4: 36.
On A Winter Night, I had a Heavenly Comforter
Image kindly provided by https://unsplash.com/@eugenegrunge
Time never allows one to forget those special encounters in life. The night Barnabas knocked my door was one. I immediately invited him in. It was one of those evenings when the world outside felt cold and uninviting, and inside, my heart wasn’t much warmer. I’d been feeling lonely after leaving my religion, cut off from so many people I once called friends. There were days when the silence in my home seemed unbearable. That night, though, was different.
I’d heard about Barnabas—his reputation as a man of encouragement, someone who lifted others wherever he went—but I wasn’t prepared for just how genuine and kind he would be. The moment he walked in, it was as if a light had entered with him. He had a way about him, a quiet presence that made me feel like everything was going to be okay, even before we sat down.
The meal wasn’t fancy—just something simple—but it didn’t matter. We talked about life, faith, and struggles, and I found myself sharing things I hadn’t told anyone in a long time. I told him how isolated I’d been feeling since leaving my religion, how I missed the sense of community, even though I knew I couldn’t stay in that environment. Barnabas listened. He really listened, with a warmth in his eyes that said, “I understand.”
He didn’t rush to offer answers, but when he spoke, his words were like a balm to my soul. He told me stories from his own journey—how he had seen people rejected and misunderstood, and how he had always tried to be a bridge for them, just as Christ had been for him. “God never leaves you out to dry, don’t you realise that the spirit directed me to knock on your door?” he said softly.
By the time dessert was finished, something had shifted in me. I realized I wasn’t as alone as I had thought. Barnabas reminded me that leaving a group doesn’t mean leaving God or losing the opportunity for connection. He spoke of God’s love not as something bound by human institutions but as a living, breathing presence in our lives, no matter where we find ourselves. “Let’s pray” he said as he took my hand and pressed it warmly.
When he finally left that night, I stood at the door and watched him walk down the street, then disappear into the ether like some kind of heavenly apparition.
The house felt quiet again, but it wasn’t the same silence I had known before. There was a sense of peace, a gentle reassurance that I wasn’t walking this path alone. As I shut the door, I smiled to myself. Barnabas had a way of leaving behind more than just good conversation—he left behind hope.
*****
I praised God and thought about the time when Barnabas turned up at the first century congregation and he couldn't help but rejoice. He encouraged everyone to stay committed to the Lord with all their hearts. He was a good man, filled with the Holy Spirit and strong in his faith, and because of that, a great number of people were drawn to the Lord. Acts 11:23-25. Bless you Barnabas!
“Now Joseph, who was renamed Barnabas (Son of Comfort),
a Levite from Cyprus, having owned a field,
sold it and laid the money at the apostles’ feet.” Acts 4: 36.