Virgílio was our bus driver. A jolly ol’ soul was he.

Some of you know a friend of ours, Greg Pittman. Virgílio could pass for a brother of his. It was almost scary.

Virgílio likes to talk; he loves telling jokes; he’s always laughing, patting you on the shoulder and wanting you to interact with him. He can wear you out; he’d make a great politician. He is always eager to please — he reminds me of a puppy dog that is always happy to see you and always chasing his tail. A really nice fellow.

Virgílio is/was a spiritist, a practitioner of umbanda, a version of macumba, voodoo. He always pulled away from us when we began talking about Jesus, even telling Arimar that he didn’t want to talk about him.

Virgílio went with us into the umbanda terreiro or temple. He was in the circle we formed in the middle of it when we prayed — we, the enemy, right in the Evil One’s front yard, calling on the Spirit of the Holy One to come and be present. He, a soldier of the same, holding hands with the enemy on his “home” turf.

Virgílio was attacked the moment he stepped out of the terreiro by an evil spirit. Possessed. Taken control of. Unable to shake it off. “An electric force gripping my arm and squeezing hard on my chest.” His face contorted, grimacing; head pulled down to his chest, right arm desparately pulling on the left.

We were instantly on him, clamoring with power before the Jesus Lord to release him. And he did. Just like that.

Virgílio was obviously shaken. He must have made the sign of the cross 50 times in the space of a minute. He was crying, voice quivering. I told him that he needed another power, one stronger than the one that grabbed him. He looked at me strangely and kind of grunted, “yeah.”

Virgílio was a captive audience. For more than four hours on the bus heading back to Fortaleza he talked with Valgledson and Allison, two of our Brasilian teammates. By the time he arrived, he was saying he would be attending church with them on Sunday.

Virgílio took us to the airport at 5:00 in the morning. He was crying. “I’ve never met anyone like this group,” he stated. “You ask nothing for yourselves and just give, give, give. What is it about you?” Since I was sitting with him in the front seat, I told him simply that it’s all about the power of the Jesus Lord; the power creates love and moves us into action. I told him that he could have it too. He said, “Please don’t leave me alone.” I told him that he wasn’t, to seek out the body of believers where Valgledson and Allison worshipped, and he could have what we have.

Crying, he quietly said, “I will.”