When Healing Doesn’t Come
“I just wanted to call and let you know that dad fell in the middle of giving his sermon today.” It was the call from my mom that, though not unexpected, was entirely unwelcome. My family has been watching my dad battle Meniere’s Disease for over a decade now (he’s only 50) and although it hasn’t been private information, the weight of suffering had now entered our lives in a very public way.
So, we take our usual stance: bracing ourselves to graciously receive the inevitable barrage of, “Well, have you tried…” “My friend swears by this treatment,” and, “Don’t you worry, I have an essential oil that will fix him right up.” Lest we forget, there are also the Christian traveling companions to these solutions, which include “Everything happens for a reason,” “Nothing happens outside of God’s will,” and my personal least favorite, “With enough faith, Jesus will heal you.” And okay to level set, my mom is probably the only one who is really able to receive these unsolicited platitudes graciously because she’s almost perfect and the rest of us have genetically elevated tempers.
I want to say something candid and unpopular: we Christians are the worst at suffering. Truly, we are terrible at it. It isn’t our fault, I don’t think. Most of us long-timers in the church world were given a theology of victory, healing, and restoration pending enough faith and prayer. But honestly? I think this theology is kind of crap and prevents us from caring well for one another.
Before you storm me with accusations of heresy, I’m not at all saying Jesus is incapable of bringing healing. The New Testament is littered with stories of his radical miracles and I truly believe they continue on to this day. But when our faith is hinged upon healing being delivered (and I think for most of us, this is truer than we’d like to admit), what do we do with when healing doesn’t come? How do we handle years of persistent and worsening illness, despite medical intervention, best attempts, and yes, of course, prayer?
Friends, I promise you, it is not for lack of prayer that my dad hasn’t been healed. It isn’t for faltering faith, either. And if I’m being truthful, stating that this illness is God’s will simply feels cruel and my faith won’t allow me to believe it. What I do believe? I believe this world is broken, waiting for redemption in Jesus and while we wait in the brokenness, things happen to remind us that nothing is whole yet. As St. Paul writes, “Now I know in part; then I shall know fully (1. Corinthians 13:12).”
Quite frankly, a belief contingent upon healing feels doomed from the beginning. I need to be able to hold on to a God who can be strong, good, and merciful despite the outcomes I seek. If my belief depends on what I see happen, how can it possibly stand? It feels like the story of a house built on sand, destined to fall at the first gust of wind. But a faith built knowing that despite troubles in this life, I will never be alone? This is a thread I can follow.
Suffering happens in this life. Sometimes we will see the healing; sometimes we won’t. To my fellow Christian who is still with me here, let’s be better at sitting with people who are battling heartbreak, illness, and other symptoms of our “not yet,” broken world. Instead of blazing ahead with solutions, might we ask if they are desired, or if our simple presence would be better. When we want to smooth over the pain with happy phrases, may we first consider if this will actually help or if it will invalidate the experience of our recipient.
If you’re asking what would help my family? Acknowledge the pain. My dad has two beautiful granddaughters and I know it must be killing him not to be able to be the crazy, loud Pops we all envisioned he would be (although he’s still the best Pops ever). Bring a meal because food never hurts. Let us vent without offering a solution. There is so much power in just being heard. And gently point us to Jesus, reminding us that even though our prayers may not be answered through healing, Jesus is always the best place to send our cares.
The likely reality is my dad will struggle with chronic illness as long as he is on this Earth. Those of us closest to him will forever grieve this reality. Yet somehow, through it all, there is goodness in Jesus. And this is enough.
