AP

Jesus Comes to a Muslim Hospital

Sometimes Jesus shows up in the most unexpected places—even in a Muslim hospital where his name was unwelcome. This is the story of a dying teenager, two Christian cleaners, and when heaven broke through despair. For security reasons, the author changed some names and details.

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Fifteen family members gathered around the hospital bed of their beloved 17-year-old Azeez. Their eyes shifted from his unconscious form to the flickering monitors registering his vital signs. The doctors had done all they could and now left the family alone with him in his final hour. As Azeez’s breathing grew shallow and irregular, his relatives anxiously recited the Quran and prayers in Arabic, hoping to relieve his pangs of death and assure his safe passage into the next life. “Oh Allah, grant mercy, forgive, make his death easy, protect him from the fires of Hell.” 

The battle for Azeez’s life had begun 18 months earlier with the doctor’s diagnosis of cancer. From the outset, his well-to-do family, who lived in Balochistan, tried everything. To rid him of evil spirits and curses, they took him to shrines and holy men; fastened magic charms on him; and offered sacrifices and prayers. The extended family pooled money and engaged the best specialists in a Saudi-funded, state-of-the art hospital, an hour’s drive away. His cancer, coupled with asthma, necessitated many admissions, so over time, the staff got to know him. That’s how he met two very different young men, ethnically Punjabi, poor and slightly older. 

Javaid and Farooq frequently cleaned Azeez’s room on their rounds. As Christian sweepers regarded as dhimmis (second-class citizens), a friendship wouldn’t normally form with a conservative Sunni Muslim, but in the hospital, they enjoyed each other’s company.   

At 19 years of age, Javaid loved sharing the good news of Jesus as he worked. A few weeks earlier, an 8-year-old boy had been admitted for a hernia operation. With the parents’ permission, Javaid prayed for him, and a few days later, a very surprised doctor found him completely healed and discharged him without operating. The nurse knew Javaid prayed and asked him: “Do you come to work or preach?”

He answered: “I come to do both.”

Farooq also had a faith, but he feared speaking out lest he get accused of blasphemy. He admired Javaid’s courage and was glad that Azeez and his relatives heard some Bible stories. They liked listening, but always stuck with their worldview.

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The day came for Azeez when the cancer cells mounted their final assault to claim their victim. The family stood helplessly at his bedside. They had hoped that the emergency operation three weeks earlier would help, but his condition had deteriorated rapidly. They feared the icy hand of death about to snatch him away. Other uncertainties plagued their minds: had Azeez fulfilled his religious obligations and accrued enough good deeds to outweigh the bad? Would he experience crushing in the grave? What fate had Allah decreed for him? They knew Allah’s word that every Muslim would enter hell: There will be no one of you who will not enter it (Hell). This was an inevitable decree of your Lord. Afterwards, he may save some of the pious, God-fearing Muslims out of the burning fire (Maryam 19:71-72).

Hoping Azeez’s stay in Hell would only be a short time, one person said, “Allah is merciful. Surely, he will recognise Azeez as one of the Ummah (Muslim community).” They watched his chest for every breath. The wavy lines on the monitors evidenced a faltering heart. The clock ticked on, bringing separation closer. Then came the awful moment when the lines flattened out. The days Allah prescribed for him were completed. It was 4.00 pm on a Monday.

With overwhelming grief, the family watched the doctor certify Azeez’s death. They called an ambulance to take his body home for burial. Meanwhile, the nurses removed the cannula and IV lines. According to standard procedure, they prepared his body before rigidity set in. With sobs and sighs, they closed his eyes, tied his two big toes together, bound his jaw, and packed his nose with cotton wool, ready for his final viewing. 

Cleaning duties brought Farooq into Azeez’s room. Grief and anguish pierced his soul too. Love, money, medicine, and religion, all proved helpless in the face of disease. Oh, that he could do something. He wanted to pray and thought of his friend Javaid. Farooq slipped out and found him working in the Outpatients Department. “Come and pray! Azeez has died!”

Javaid looked up dismayed. “That’s awful, but what can I do? He is dead.”  

Farooq said: “Javaid, you must come and pray!”

Because of Farooq’s insistence, he ran back with him. Inside Azeez’s deluxe suite, the grief-stricken relatives surrounded the bed. Javaid asked a couple to step aside so he could look. There lay the body, destroyed by sickness. What would God want him to do? Thoughts of Jesus raising dead people flashed into his mind, especially when Jesus had taken a dead 12-year-old girl by the hand. So, he picked up the dead boy’s right hand, closed his eyes to keep out distractions, and began praying out loud. He sensed the presence and power of God as he proclaimed Jesus’ titles and quoted verses from the Bible.

Surely he took up our pain
    and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
    stricken by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
    and by his wounds we are healed… (from Isaiah 53)

Javaid’s body trembled as he cried out to God. For the next several minutes, the mourners kept wailing, and he kept praying. He quoted verses about Jesus and the great work he completed by defeating the power of Satan and death. His quaking caused Azeez’s arm to shake.

Then Azeez’s arm twitched—independent of him. The relatives’ cries became gasps that turned to shouts. People exclaimed: “What is happening? His chest is moving. Look! He’s trying to open his eyes. This is crazy!”

Javaid looked and saw Azeez looking around as though confused, struggling to breathe. Tears of joy sprang up as a couple of people pulled the cotton wool out from his nose and undid the tight band to set his jaw free. One man ran outside to get a doctor.

When he found one, he blurted out: “Please come quickly. Azeez is having trouble breathing.”

The doctor’s face said: “Dead people don’t breathe. This relative is out of his mind. Don’t waste my time.”

He tried to calm the man down, but the relative kept pleading: “Come! Come!”

So, the doctor followed him into the noisy room. There was Azeez sitting upright. The doctor grabbed the oxygen mask, placed it on Azeez and put up a drip. 

Meanwhile, the relatives jumped for joy, swamping Javaid and Farooq with kisses and hugs. Pandemonium reigned as rich and poor, Baloch and Punjabis, Muslims and Christians, embraced each other with their tears mingling together. As the doctor worked on Azeez, Javaid opened the Injeel (New Testament) and shared that Jesus did this miracle: this Jesus they respected as a prophet but knew little about and never read ‘his book’, the Injeel. Javaid shared how Jesus had the authority to forgive sinners, heal every disease, and raise the dead. But more importantly, he died on the cross as a sacrifice for sin and defeated death by coming back to life. This Jesus brought Azeez’s soul and body together again to show that he is the resurrection and the life. 

Challenged to the core, they made one request: “We want that book. Can we take the Injeel home?” Javaid happily gave it to them, but with trepidation, knowing how revolutionary it would be to follow its teaching. As Muslims, they declared their belief in it, but in practice when they find it conflicts with their teaching, they discard it. He hoped they would receive it well, just like they received his prayer.  

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For those 25 minutes, Azeez had not taken a breath, nor had his heart pumped blood. The monitor confirmed it, and competent doctors certified his death. His relatives knew he had died. The cotton wool and facial binding had made it impossible for him to breathe. They witnessed that prayer in Jesus Christ’s name brought him back. No one denied the miracle, but how would that affect some deep prejudices against Jesus?

The administrator summoned Javaid and Farooq to the office. Along with some medical staff, he asked Javaid: “What did you DO?” 

“I prayed and Yesu—Jesus—gave him life.”

“Who is this Yesu?”

“He is the one you call Prophet Essa and Kalmat Ullah, the word of God, who holds power and authority over death. He lives in heaven and can grant life, like when he walked the earth.”

The staff frowned. “We know Essa healed the sick and raised the dead, by the will of Allah, but what did YOU do? What magic did YOU perform?”

“I made him alive in Yesu’s name. Yesu’s power in me came out. Yesu healed him and gave him life.”

Javaid saw the struggle in their eyes: evidence of the power and presence of Jesus challenged their deeply held beliefs of the superiority of Muhammad and Islam. Javaid’s testimony and Azeez’s life could ignite a blaze that put Islam in danger. They needed time to process this. Dumbfounded, they told him to get back to work.

At the end of his shift, Javaid caught the bus home. Eagerly, he shared the news, which spread like wildfire through his Punjabi community. People packed the church to hear more. Breaking into spontaneous worship, they rejoiced with singing and prayed into the early hours of the morning. 

Meanwhile, Azeez began talking, eating and walking. The doctors carefully examined him. With no trace of cancer anywhere, they discharged him. At 11.00 pm that night, his family took their prize home. His father, a Muslim cleric, the elders, and others rejoiced to embrace Azeez rather than wash his body and dig the grave. They decided: We must thank the young man who prayed, even though he is a kaafir (infidel).

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The next morning, when Farooq and Javaid arrived at work, they got a message to report immediately to the office. From behind his big desk, the administrator with some staff glared at them. “This is first and foremost a Muslim hospital. We must uphold our reputation. We have nothing to do with Jesus and Christians. You two are to tell no one what has happened. Here is your pay. We have given your jobs to others. Go now and keep quiet.”

Stunned, the two cleaners stepped into the street with a whirlwind of thoughts. How could they be so hard-hearted? Why no joy that a dead boy lives again? What a shame they resisted the miracle despite the evidence in front of them. They had no time for Jesus or what the other prophets revealed in the Bible. Jesus’ words applied to them: If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead (Luke 16:31).

Meanwhile, in Aziz’s town, relatives and friends went to a bakery and bought many kilos of meethai (sweets). They hired a small bus, filled it with Baloch, and went to find Javaid to share their joy and give thanks. They asked at the hospital, but the office had no knowledge of his address or whereabouts. On the street, they asked where the Christians lived, and someone directed them to the largest Christian busti (ghetto).

Driving to the centre of town, they pulled up outside the one entrance to the walled ghetto that housed some 4,000 people. Two government guards stood by the big gate to scrutinise everyone who entered to stop terrorist attacks. They easily recognised Christians with their Punjabi facial features, which set them apart from others.

So, when the busload of bearded Baloch piled out of the bus, the guards froze and most of the people hurried out of the way. These were jihadis, and everyone knew they concealed weapons under their baggy shalwar qamizes. What was in those meethai boxes? But the men’s faces appeared calm, and their steps non-threatening. One of the Baloch approached some Christians and asked: “Where does Javaid, the hospital cleaner, live?”

Why would these fundamentalists seek Javaid? What would they do to the community when they found him? They knew Javaid lived in another area. Fearing attack, they compromised their integrity and said: “We don’t know where he lives. Go to other ghettos. You may find him there.”

Realizing it would be complex to find Javaid, the Baloch explained: “Javaid prayed for our Azeez, and brought him back to life. We have come to thank him.” After telling details of the miracle, they distributed their meethai to the Christians to share with others. The Christians accepted the treats and waved the Baloch goodbye.

After Javaid returned home, he heard about the delegation across town. Unfortunately, he didn’t get any of the sweets, but he had experienced something far sweeter—death undone in Jesus’ name and God’s touch on people who lived in fear of death with no knowledge of the Saviour.

The story is not finished yet. Sometime later, a few Christian young men sought out Azeez’s town to connect with him. They met some residents who claimed to be related, but they did not express warmth or joy. They refused to let the ‘kaafir sweepers’ meet him and feigned ignorance of any miracle. Disappointed, the men left, wondering if those Baloch spoke truthfully, and what happened to Azeez, and did those who saw him breathe again? Had they been threatened also?

This story reminds us of many things. God’s word is like seed, sown in hearts. Though we may not see a harvest, his word will fulfill its intended purpose, and we can confidently continue sowing. It reiterates that truth often comes at a cost. Like Javaid and Farooq, we are called to share the treasure of Christ, including hard places with resistance. The question remains: will we shrink back in silence, or will we trust the same risen Lord to work through our weakness? May God give us courage to live and speak as those who know the One who conquered death.

– Dorcas Denness

Note from the author

I wrote this as someone quite sceptical of claimed miracles. We first heard about it from quite a few independent sources, all saying the same thing. Then I had an extended interview with Javaid as he shared many details. The effect on the local church was fantastic and strengthened the faith of many. We feel confident to share this event.

Note from the editor

Dr Ian and Mrs Dorcas Denness are godly and reliable sources, but there has been an inability to verify all the facts, particularly by interviewing Azeez. In the end, God is sovereign and can do what He pleases, and miracles are no guarantee of faith. We live with that tension, walking by faith, not by sight.