Healing
In this bread there is healing,
in this cup is life forever.
In this moment, by the Spirit,
Christ is with us here.
One of the great concepts that
Judaism has given to the world is that of shalom. Throughout the Hebrew
Scriptures shalom is used in a variety of ways. It has connotations of
peace, wholeness, completion, harmony, prosperity, security, reconciliation and
joy. The prophet Ezekiel, in a visionary passage refers to God establishing a
“covenant of shalom” and providing “plantations of shalom” (Ezekiel 34:25-29a).
Shalom is woven into the movement from chaos to order in the very act of
creation, culminating in the peace and joy of the Sabbath (Genesis 2:1-4a). Shalom
is intensely personal, as reflected in the Bible’s most familiar Sabbath
blessing, which ends with the words, “The Lord lift up his countenance upon
you, and give you shalom” (Numbers 6:26), and in the everyday Jewish
greeting, “Shalom aleichem,” which may be translated as “Well-being be upon
you" or "May you be well.”
Interestingly, in John 20:21 the
risen Christ uses the greeting “Peace be with you,” a translation of shalom
aleichem. And in the Gospels Jesus is portrayed as the One who not only
pronounces shalom, but also establishes shalom. In Mark 4:37-39,
for example, we are told that Jesus rebuked the wind and said to the sea,
“Peace! Be still!” This command serves the same purpose as the hovering spirit
of God in Genesis 1:2, namely to bring elemental chaos and disorder under God’s
liberating and life-giving rule. What Mark wants his readers to recognise in
Jesus is the establishment of shalom in a universe that apart from God’s
rule is disordered, chaotic and unfulfilling.
This same dynamic is evident in the
so-called healing miracles of Jesus. It is all part and parcel of the
inauguration of God’s reign, a sign of the Kingdom, the birth of a new creation
in the midst of the old. The miracles are enacted pronouncements of God’s
victory over all earthly manifestations of the forces of sin and death. At
Jesus’ word sinners are forgiven, the blind can see, lepers are cleansed, and
the lame leap for joy. His healing ministry, charged with eschatological hope,
anticipates his resurrection. And it is precisely this which sets him apart
from all the other itinerant preachers and charismatic healers of his day.
Why is this important? It is
important because without this biblical backdrop we tend to view healing in
very individualistic terms and to equate it with physical cure, whereas the
biblical notion of shalom compels us to think more broadly and deeply
about issues of wellness and illness. Let me give an example.
Some years ago I was involved in the pastoral care of a woman who was in the
terminal phase of her battle with cancer. I was privileged to witness healing
take place, not in terms of a physical cure, but rather in terms of the woman
being reconciled with her estranged brother and reaching a point of internal shalom
whereby she was able to declare with the Apostle Paul, “We do not live to
ourselves and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and
if we die, we die to the Lord; so then whether we live or whether we die, we
are the Lord’s.” (Romans 14:7) This had a calming effect on those around her.
The distress that her husband and children had been feeling up until this point
was eased considerably, and the remaining time that they had together as a
family was characterised by a deep sense of gratitude. Amidst the tears there
was much laughter.
Here is another story that invites us
to rethink our notions of wellness and healing from a Kingdom perspective. The
late Henri Nouwen once described attending an Easter vigil in a community of
severely handicapped people. The cry of “The Lord is risen!”, Nouwen said, was
shouted in a multitude of languages, accompanied by bells, alleluias, smiles
laughter and a deep sense of hope. Nouwen wrote:
While all this joy filled the chapel, I saw that Nathan stood
up with Philippe in his arms and left the church. Philippe’s body is severely
distorted. He cannot speak, walk, dress, or feed himself and needs help every
second of his waking hours. . . .When I saw Philippe in Nathan’s arms I
suddenly realised what we were proclaiming on this Easter vigil. Philippe’s
body is a body destined to a new life, a resurrected life. In his new body he
will carry the signs of his suffering, just as Jesus carried the wounds of the
crucifixion into his glory. And yet he will no longer be suffering, but will
join the saints around the altar of the lamb. . . .What a faith! What a hope!
What a love! The body (even a deformed body) is not a prison to escape from,
but a temple in which God already dwells, and in which God’s glory will be
fully manifested on the day of the resurrection.
If we are able, together with Paul,
to say that our life is somehow hidden in God with Christ, who is our redeemer
and intercessor, and that when Christ who is our life is revealed then we also
will be revealed with him in glory (Colossians 3:3-4), then we have a basis for
looking forward to the day when, in Christ, the old creation will have given
way to the new, and the glory of God, glimpsed now only in part, will be fully
revealed. Armed with this hope, we might, in the words of Paul, feel afflicted
in every way in this life, but we are not crushed, we might be perplexed, but
we will not be driven to despair, we might be struck down, but we will not be
destroyed. For, by faith, we are always carrying in our bodies the death of
Jesus, so that the life of Jesus might also be made visible in our bodies. (2
Corinthians 4:8-10).
In this context, what role does
prayer play? John McLeod Campbell, a nineteenth-century Scottish theologian,
defined prayer as “the utterance of participation in the life of Christ,”
through which we are directed by the Spirit to seek the mind of the One who
continually prays for the world he has redeemed in suffering love, and join our
prayers to his. Prayer anticipates a future in which Christ will be all and in
all.
Roman Catholic theologian, Hans Urs
von Balthasar, suggests that this means “we do not build the kingdom of God on
earth by our own efforts (however assisted by grace); the most we can do,
through genuine prayer, is to make as much room as possible, in ourselves and
in the world, for the kingdom of God, so that its energies can go to work.” Thus understood, the time
between the first and second coming of Christ is not a time for passivity but
for prayer. Or, as Christopher Cocksworth puts it: “It is the time for
intercession in which God’s people pray for the coming of God’s will. And as they
pray they discover that their groaning and the groaning of the rest of creation
is none less than the groaning of the eschatological Spirit who yearns for
manifestation of the new creation and so ‘intercedes with sighs too deep for
words.’”
The reality of praying between the
times – of the first and second coming of Christ, and the old creation and the
new – means that prayer should not be reduced to a cause-and-effect formula.
People who are ill should not have placed upon them the added burden of feeling
that if only they had more faith then their prayers for a physical cure would
be answered. Both the process of healing and the act of prayer are more complex
than that, as is their relationship to one another.
One of my former mentors in ministry,
the late Bill Temple, testified to a time when he suffered a major heart attack
and was admitted to hospital. The prognosis was grim and Bill, feeling that
death may not be far away, found himself plunged into despair. That evening a
colleague in ministry visited him, anointed him with oil, and prayed for him.
Immediately, Bill felt his body supported and bathed in God’s love. It was a
turning point. Not that there was any kind of miraculous cure on a physical
level – Bill still had a long period of recuperation in hospital, and he knew
that no amount of prayer would stave off future heart attacks if he didn’t heed
medical advice and attend to matters of diet, exercise and stress. But on a
psychological and spiritual level, things had changed dramatically. Bill’s
testimony taught me two important things about healing: (1) That spiritual
disciplines (including prayer) should be regarded as a supplement to
conventional medicine (also a gift from God), not as substitutes for it; and
(2) That ritual and symbol can be important elements of a healing process.
The practice of anointing the sick
with oil dates back to biblical times. There are two references to the practice
in the New Testament. Firstly Mark, in his account of the twelve disciples
being sent out in pairs to Galilean villages, says that they “anointed with oil
many who were sick and cured them.” (Mark 6:13) Then James, in his epistle,
writes: “Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church
and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord.”
(James 5:14)
What is the significance of oil? It
is a biblical sign of God’s redemptive work. Its use reminds us that all
healing falls under the orbit of God’s salvific work, and that God is the
ultimate agent of healing. Indeed, one of the Hebrew names for God is Jehovah-rapha,
which means, “The Lord who heals.”
If oil is a powerful symbol of
redemption and healing, so too, in the Christian tradition, is Eucharistic
bread. There is a Graham Kendrick song called “Here is bread”, which in the
opening line of the refrain claims that “in this bread there is healing.” This
is a compelling affirmation. It is not that the bread contains some kind of
magical healing agent (any more than oil for anointing), but rather in the act
of eating together the symbols of Jesus’ body, given and broken for the life
and shalom of the world there is a sense in which the ancient
declaration of Isaiah, spoken in reference to the Suffering Servant, becomes a
present reality: “By his bruises we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5)
Insofar as Holy Communion embodies
and conveys this eschatological promise and is grounded in the ministry of the
crucified and risen Lord, by whose wounds we are healed, it is a powerful
symbol of, and vehicle for healing in a broken and hurting world. There is much
to be gained from exploring the issue of healing from a Eucharistic
perspective. Through ritual and symbol it suggests that health or well-being is
more than the absence of illness and a feeling of inner peace and contentment.
It is about being fully human, understood in terms of sharing in the life of
the one whom we confess as the true Human Being, the Second Adam (cf. Romans
5:12-21 and 1 Corinthians 15:45-49), and in, through and with him, giving glory
to, and sharing in the life and mission of the Triune God.
Given all that has been said above,
what advice would I give to those who feel called to participate in a ministry
of healing?
1. Allow the biblical concept of shalom,
in all its dimensions, to shape your understanding of wellness and healing.
2. Draw a distinction between healing
and cure. The former may include the latter, but it is also far broader and
allows for a wider range of outcomes. Communicate this clearly to those who ask
for healing (but often want a miraculous cure).
3. Regard faith and prayer as being
complementary to medicine and science and the body’s innate healing properties,
not as substitutes. Do not underestimate the power of prayer, but also do not
over-spiritualise the healing process.
4. Resist the temptation to adopt a
problem-solving approach to healing. Cultivate instead skills of listening and
discernment: What is the Spirit saying? Where are the signs of the Kingdom in
this situation? Where are the possibilities for shalom? For what should
I/we be praying?
5. Do not underestimate the power of
ritual and symbol to communicate deep mysteries of faith, to put people in
touch with the affective and intuitive aspects of their psyche, and to
cultivate an appreciation for silence and contemplation.
6. Allow the Scriptures to shape and
inform your prayers for healing; don’t simply bombard God with requests and
petitions. Give voice to lament as appropriate, provide opportunity for
thanksgiving, learn to wait on God in silence, and ground everything in the
promises of Scripture and the intercessions of Christ and the Spirit.
What has been your own experience of
healing in a Christian context? What lessons have you learnt and what insights
have you gained?
If you were to offer your own advice
on the subject, what would you add or change in relation to the above list?