Healing 

In this bread there is healing,

in this cup is life forever.

In this moment, by the Spirit,

Christ is with us here.[1] 

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.[2] 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.[3] 

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.”[4] 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.’”[5] 

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?

 

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[1] Song by Graham Kendrick  

[2] In his book, Living Toward a Vision: Biblical Reflections on Shalom, Walter Brueggemann identifies three major dimensions of shalom: a vision of harmony that encompasses all creation, a human community in which the oppressed and disenfranchised have dignity and power, and personal well-being. These three aspects – creation, community and personhood – are inter-connected, which means the personal well-being that we seek cannot be isolated from commitments toward the well-being of creation and human community. These commitments constitute a direct challenge to the individualistic and reductionist secular worldview which tends to underestimate the extent to which people are not so much self-contained individuals as persons-in-relationship, not only with one another but with creation itself. In this context, sickness, like its counterpart shalom, is multi-dimensional. As Paul writes in his letter to the Romans, creation is in bondage to decay and is groaning in labour pains as it awaits the full revelation of God’s glory (Romans 8:18-25).  

[3] Henri Nouwen, Show me the way: Readings for each day of Lent (New York: Crossroads, 1994), 138-9.  

[4] Hans Urs von Balthasar, Prayer, trans. G. Harrison (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1986), 105.  

[5] Christopher Cocksworth, Holy, Holy, Holy: Worshipping the Trinitarian God (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1997), 35-6.