​According to Scripture Jesus healed people plagued with extreme physical and mental difficulties. For me it is very challenging to make senses of these healings. My go-to response is to throw up my hands and proclaim them as miracles, which may be true but doesn’t help me as I try to follow Jesus. I may feel called to follow him, but not to heal people in miraculous medical ways. For me, healing is opening up channels for people to feel peace in the midst of difficulties. I can do this by empathic and compassionate listening, providing a meal, running an errand, offering a ride, and by praying.
      Curing has more to do with disease; healing with making whole. Jesus did both; I focus on one, healing. 

    I have a cold—sinus, stuffy nose, nothing overpowering but clearly annoying. I don’t get sick, so what is this all about? It’s been at least five years since I had a cold.
     First reaction. Poor me. What an interruption to the daily life I plan and control. Poor me.
      Prayerful response. How does God want me to respond? What can I learn from this? How might I NOT wallow as poor me and view it as an opportunity, even a God moment. Hmm, just considering such possibility makes it that very God moment.
      Christ possibility. Let go of this wallowing, and see the Christ is all the people who are suffering way beyond a three day cold: those suffering with complex, all encompassing illnesses; those wandering the streets for food and shelter; those living in fear in war torn areas; those hoping their crowded boat will reach the safety of foreign soil. These people have no time to wallow. Wallowing is an emotion of privilege, certainly not a Christian response. I feel better already.

When in Italy I lit a candle for a friend’s wife who has breast cancer. A few weeks late on her blog she expressed gratitude.
 
Yesterday I lit a candle for you all in one of my favorite prayer churches, La Badia.
“It gave me goosebumps and a few tears:  all this positivity is coming from all over the world, even places and people I barely know!”
 
Here is my response to her.
I was touched to read that the candle I lit for you meant so much. I prayed whether I would tell you, and I am certainly glad I did-- for your sake, for the sake of your readers, and for me. Spreading good (God) has to be a good thing.
 
On a personal note, your response affirmed my belief in prayer and in God’s call to me to pray for others. On a rational level prayer helps me feel better about terrible situations; it connects me with others, and unites all involved so we do not feel alone. But more than that feel-good part, I believe prayer makes a difference beyond anything we can understand, or any action we can take on our own—all beyond our rational mind. Prayer clears the negative, smoky energy so that God (the Good) can enter to give us peace, hope, and healing.

I often don’t know what’s going on with someone I’ve decided to pray for, and that’s just fine. I don’t need to know, but when I do hear of a blessing that has been bestowed upon them, I say a little prayer of gratitude for God’s small voice whispering to me.

    The other day I received just such a flutter of angel wings from a friend I’ve been praying for. Sandra, I’ll call her, has been a family friend ever since she was born. She is about ten years younger that me; our mothers were college friends, and our dads enjoyed each other early on. Now Sandra lives in an assisted living facility and has no family remaining. From my perspective, she is alone. She is not on the internet, and although I can leave a message on her answer machine, she never picks up the phone, nor does she return my call. Our mode of communication is the U.S.P.S.

     About six months ago I decided that I would write her name on my top ten prayer list every day. Occasionally I send her a postcard, photograph, or article, and since she has always practiced her faith and gone to church, I mailed her a copy of the service that I gave at my church a few weeks ago. At the end of June I sent her the July-August daily devotional, Upper Room.   

     I wasn’t surprised, therefore, to receive a little envelop in the mail from Sandra yesterday. In it she included ten file cards, each expressing a particular memory of my parents. These ‘jottings’ most likely were in response to the book I’m writing about mom.

    But what did surprise me was her heartfelt expression in following comment:

     “A very devout and kindly man and I meet daily for prayers, so we’ll add the Upper Room to our schedule. He has many challenges to cope with, but he considers prayer the best medicine until a cure for what ails him materializes.”

     What a beautiful window into Sandra’s life. She is not alone. I will definitely keep praying for her, as well as for her devout, kindly prayer friend. The story isn’t over. God is still speaking.

 Every evening at 9PM there is a special service at Iona Abby. Last night, my first night on the island, was the service for prayers of healing. Throughout the week visitors had written the names of people for whom they wanted prayers. At the service all the names were read slowly, in categories: those suffering depression, addictions and other tragedies, those involved with illness, those experiencing a new focus in life, those who have died (there may have been more). In between each grouping we sang the Taize prayer of intercession.



O Lord, hear my prayer,
O Lord, hear my prayer;
when I call answer me.
O Lord, hear my prayer,
O Lord, hear my prayer;
come and listen to me.

The service ended with healing and the laying on of hands for those who so desired. People laid hands on the head or shoulders of those kneeling for healing; after each group, we all repeated the healing prayer from Iona Worship.

Spirit of the living God present with us now,
Enter you, body, mind and spirit,
And heal you of all that harms you,
In Jesus’ name, Amen

What do you say when your friend has lost her only living relative and feels so alone in the world? What do you say when your friend asks why God let all this happen to her? Most of us have some family; many of us more than we can keep track of. We can accept that life isn’t fair but that doesn’t always help how we feel.

    What do I say? I do my best to say nothing. I listen. I try to get in touch with her pain. It isn’t the time to bring up all good things. It isn’t the time for a theological discussion about whether God is in charge of what happens. It is the time to pray. When life is dark, less is more--less talk and more prayer will let in the light.

I been thinking about the people who have experienced heartfelt tragedy and sadness during this past year. Are they glad that Lent is coming to an end? Is this Holy Week and the anticipation of Good Friday too much for them to bear? Are they afraid that they will feel no Easter joy, that they won’t be able to sing Hallelujah?

    These are the people that I will put on my prayer list. Their hearts feel broken and they may fear that, like Humpty Dumpty, they are powerless. I can’t fix them, but I can send the salve of God’s peace, which sooths. God will put them back together again. Don’t ask me how this works. I just know that, with faith, it does.