The Ministry of Healing and the Gospel of Hope - Chapter Four
The racy historical drama, The Tudors, chronicles the life and
times of King Henry the Eighth and the Tudor court. While the writers have taken liberties with
the historical evidence, there are several aspects of English political and
religious life that are faithfully represented.
In particular, Henry believes that God has punished him (and his
kingdom) for taking his brother’s wife by not giving him a living male
heir. To this end Henry seeks to have
his marriage to his pious Spanish wife Katherine of Aragon dissolved in order
to pursue the much more vivacious and alluring Anne Boleyn. Historians have argued as to whether Henry
actually believed this doctrine of divine retribution, or whether he simply used
it for political ends. Be this as it may, this religious idea was very much a
part of the life and times of late-medieval and early modern people. The thought that God punishes us for
wrongdoing by inflicting illness, and even death, upon us was a pervasive
notion in the early modern period of history.
Indeed, in the sixteenth century cradle of Anglicanism, one can find authorized
prayers both in the Prayer Book and in the occasional prayers released from
time-to-time that underscore this belief.
Consider for example, this exhortation in the service for the visitation
of the sick from the first edition of the Book of Common Prayer from 1549:
“Dearly beloved, know this that almighty
God is the lord over life, and death, and over all things to them pertaining,
as youth, strength, health, age, weakness and sickness. Wherefore, whatsoever your sickness is, know
you certainly, that it is God’s visitation. And for what cause so ever this
sickness is sent unto you; whether it be to try your patience for the example
of other , and that your faith may be found, in the day of the Lord, laudable,
glorious, and honourable, to the increase of glory, and endless felicity: Or else it be sent unto you to correct and
amend in you whatsoever doth offend the
eyes of our heavenly father: know you certainly, that if you truly repent you
of you sins, and bear your sickness patiently, trusting in God’s mercy, for his
dear son Jesus Christ’s sake, and render unto him humble thanks for his
fatherly visitation, submitting yourself wholly to his will; it shall turn to
your profit, and help you forward in the right way that leadeth to everlasting
life.” (BCP 1549 – 260-1, Everyman’s
Library Edition)
The
idea that sickness is given by God was a pervasive well into the nineteenth
century. It was the normal way of
understanding illness. It was a way of making sense of a disordered world. It was a way of making sense of senseless
affliction. Sickness was either a punishment for something wrong done, a burden
to test the faith of the individual, or a pedagogue to teach some moral virtue.
When one considers that there was no modern medicine and that the outcome for
many sick people was bleak, linking sickness a response to sin, a test of
faith, or the teaching of virtue may have been the most pastoral response the
church could have offered. Until modern times the church answered the question
of “why do we suffer” in this way. It is doubtless than in their helplessness,
grief, and sorrow, many found solace in this sort of theological reflection. They
did not have the “magic” of modern medicine that could simply make it all go
away. We must be cautious in condemning the pastoral care of another age.
However, in the day in which we live, I
would be hard-pressed to find any mainstream cleric who would preach such. We understand illness in very different
terms. We have a different sort of religious mindset that is shaped by the
advent of modern medicine and the psychological insights gleaned over the last
one hundred or so years. What was considered pastorally edifying in the sixteenth
century would certainly be considered pastorally insensitive and possibly
emotionally or psychologically destructive in today’s context. Furthermore, to suggest that someone’s illness
is the result of their sinfulness, or that it is a visitation of a God who
seeks to test their faith, or teach us some kind of lesson, runs against the
image of the all-compassionate, all-loving God that we have proclaimed so extravagantly,
and I think rightly, in this generation. But then again it may be a bit easier
to proclaim that all-compassionate God in a world in which we can explain
illness and beat it in so many more cases than our medieval and early modern
ancestors could.
Our modern pastoral approach assumes a more
agnostic view of illness. In some cases
we can rationally explain why someone is sick. We know where illnesses come
from and it makes no sense to blame God.
In other cases in which the cause is inexplicable, we practice a certain
medical and philosophical agnosticism – we don’t know where the illness came from,
or why it attacked me, or if we can heal it. We do know that there is a
rational explanation. We just have not found it yet. Our survival depends not so much on our
virtue, or the providence of God, but on statistics and certain factors beyond
our control, like genetics. The odds are overwhelmingly against me; or, I’m one
of the few who make it. Either way, my
ability to survive is probably in the hands of my genetic makeup. We don’t
blame God.
However, when science can’t help us, and
where we are amongst the statistically unfortunate, we still face the
existential question and even the theological question of “why?” Where we have
been taught that science can cure anything, we come to the realization that
there are still some cases in which science can be of no help. The scientific
agnosticism about illness is a cold form of pastoral care indeed. What do we do
with unexplained (and even explained) suffering in the context of belief in a
loving God? We may not know the cause of illness or why we are afflicted, but I
don’t believe that it is pastorally helpful to immediately ascribe our
suffering to God or as punishment for some sin we have committed. That is
coming at the question the wrong way. I have felt chastened and corrected by
God at times, but that realization is retrospective rather than prescriptive. It makes no sense to impose a meaning on
someone else’s suffering. That is between them and God. It may be that upon
reflection and meditation on our own illness and healing that we believe that
God has used the illness to teach us or correct us, but it is not the place of
the pastor or companion to name that. Rather, it is our task to proclaim the
God that goes with us on the road of suffering, who will not abandon us in our
illness, even when we may never be fully cured.
To complicate matters, though, I am not so
sure that the early-modern view of illness as punishment, testing, or teaching
has completely disappeared. It seems to me that there are plenty of people who
still do believe that illness is a visitation or test from God. How many times have we heard someone say, or have
even said it ourselves, that God doesn’t give us what we can’t endure? What does such a turn of phrase reveal about
where we believe illness comes from? There is a robust folk-religion amongst
many Christians that still envisions God, in spite of all our preaching to the
contrary, as a God who brings suffering as punishment, a trial of endurance, or
test of faith. I have encountered it in
my own ministry. Why does such a view
persist? One supposes that it is because the church has continuously taught
this view for centuries and it has simply embedded itself in our religious and
ethical consciousness. However, I think that in such cases our instinct is
pointing to something more intrinsic in our understanding that there is a
connection between body, mind and spirit, between health and behaviour that
people understand, even if we cannot always explain it. For all the work we have done to separate
illness from sinfulness, to place them in completely different compartments of
our lives, people still seem to associate illness and sinfulness and draw a
connection between their own suffering in body and their suffering in spirit. In
truth, I think they are not wrong. However, we need to understand the whole
gamut of human brokenness, and seek to understand that the relationship between
sin and illness is not strictly causal. For example, I would not make the connection
between someone’s illness and something they previously did wrong, and suggest
that God had inflicted them with illness as a punishment or as a corrective
measure. Nor can I believe that the
loss of someone’s child would be some kind of test that a sadistic god would
inflict on a mother or father to test their faith. These may have been commonplace pastoral
explanations of another time, but in our context these sorts of simplistic
connections offer us as seriously flawed image of God, and quite frankly, of
ourselves. Yet, when we consider the
fact that illness and other forms of brokenness are often found together, we
must seriously think about how one form of brokenness is interwoven with other
forms of brokenness.
To help us through this web, I offer the
example the family who is caring for another member of the family who has a chronic
or terminal illness. Think of how often
families “come to blows” in this situation. The serious physical illness of one
family member and how the family deals with it can trigger and open up old
wounds. New rifts in the relationships of the people in that family unit often
surprisingly emerge. It is not that the
sick person is to be blamed, but rather his or her physical woundedness has
created the space where other kinds of woundedness begin to intrude on family
relationships. Do we appeal to our better angels in such a circumstance, or do
we fall further brokenness and even into sinful behaviours. Do we support each
other or lash out at each other. The physical brokenness of one member of the
family can be a challenge to how the rest of the family acts, and can lead to
angst, frustration, and broken relationships. How often do we hurt each other
when a family member is caught up in a painful moment of illness? How often are old and unresolved wounds
exposed? How many families fall apart when unexpected illness or death hits the
family?
We must recognize that we are not compartmentalized
beings. Our physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual health are
integrated. And what is more, the health
of our communities can be affected by the well-being of each of the
members. As we seek health and
well-being as individuals, so too do we seek the health and well-being of our
community.
Illness can bring out the worst in people. I
certainly am not the most patient and loving sick person. Conversely, certain
destructive behaviours inevitably lead to physical, emotional, psychological and
spiritual consequences. However, it is
often not so simple. Many people find
themselves caught up in cycles of addiction, abuse, fear, and shame that affect
all aspects of their being physical and spiritual. To unfold the web of connection in terms of
causality rarely gets us anywhere. We need to treat the whole person.
Perhaps one of the most important stories
of healing in the New Testament in the third chapter and fourth chapter of Acts
in which Peter and John offer healing to the crippled beggar at the Beautiful
Gate. This act of healing is
intrinsically related to the proclamation of the gospel, and when Peter and
John are called to task, they are called to task not simply for their preaching
of the gospel, but for their healing ministry.
From the point of view of the Jerusalem
religious elite, i.e., the very Sanhedrin that crucified Jesus, the concern is
that the disciples have been practicing magic, and not going through the official
religious channels. The concern of the religious leaders is that subversive
religious practices will break apart the community; but Peter reminds them that
it was the official religious channels that led to the crucifixion of Jesus,
and yet, God turned over the brokenness of the system, and it was the very name
of the one that they crucified, Jesus of Nazareth that brought healing,
literally, “good health” to this man. The
Greek word used for “good health,” is hygies,
which typically connotes the thorough well-being of an individual. In the case of the beggar, not only has his
physical health been restored, but also his spiritual health. Indeed, when Peter says that the man has been
healed, he uses the Greek word whose root is sozo, or “to save”. The New
Testament, and in particular the Lucan texts, use the same word for salvation
and healing. Consider then, what it means to be “saved?” Indeed, Peter uses the word both ways in the
same passage: “Rulers of the people and elders, if we are questioned today
because of a good deed done to someone who was sick and are asked how this man
has been healed (sesotai), let it be
known to all of you, and to all the people of Israel that this man is standing
before you in good health (hygies) by
the name of Jesus of Nazareth, whom you crucified; whom God raised from the
dead. This Jesus is the stone that was
rejected by you, the builders; it has become the chief cornerstone. There is salvation (he soteria) in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven
given among mortals by which we must be saved (sothenai).” (Acts 4:8-12). Sesotai, soteria, and sothenai all share the same root, sozo. Peter uses the same word to
describe how the name of Jesus has healed the man and to articulate that there is no other name under heaven for
salvation. You see, the root, both
lexically and spiritually is the same: the salvation that Jesus brings is not only
about eternity and the soul, the spiritual, but about the here and now, the
natural. And conversely, the healing
that he brings is not only about the body but also about the soul.
What is even more subversive, though, is
that the brokenness of the system is used for the advancement of the
gospel. Peter and John stand before the
same body that condemned Jesus, but through God’s vindication of him, the very
system that crucified Jesus is now the means through which his saving and
healing power is proclaimed. The
interrogation of Peter and John is the opportunity for God’s healing and saving
power in Jesus to be manifest. The powers that defeated Jesus now see his power
to heal and save standing before their very eyes.
In all of this, it seems to me that God is
a God who puts things back together, and more than that, recreates and reshapes
the world in which we live. Even more profoundly perhaps, God helps us revision
and look anew at this broken world so that we might see his power to heal and
save at work. While I would not wish to
return to the early modern view of suffering and illness as a visitation or
test from God, I think that perhaps our sixteenth century ancestors still have
something to teach us. They believed God
was alive and active even in the midst of their suffering. And what is more, they believed that God
could transform their suffering for good, whether it be through physical cure
or in their redemption in the life to come. They believed that even in illness,
God was reaching out to them. What the
early moderns did understand, something that we frequently forget, is that the
pieces of our lives are woven together.
If our body is broken, there is great potential for our spirits to be
broken. If our soul is not well, in our
discouragement our bodies may well yield to illness. That is why, in our very first Anglican
prayer for anointing, Thomas Cranmer, who compiled and shaped the first English
Prayer Book, had the wisdom to include such a prayer as this:
“As with this vivsible oil thy body
outwardly is anointed: so our heavenly father almighty God, grant of his
infinite goodness, that thy soul inwardly may be anointed with the Holy Ghost,
who is the spirit of all strength, comfort, relief and gladness. And vouchsafe for his great mercy (if it be
his blessed will) to restore unto thee bodily health, and strength, to serve
him, and send thee release of all thy pains, troubles and diseases, both in body and mind.” BCP 1549, 264-5 [ital. added]
It is a holistic prayer, asking for relief
not only from disease, but from any pain and trouble -- relief not only in body
but in mind. The prayer goes on to offer
an absolution for sins, and so has every Anglican healing liturgy since those
early days. The recognition of Christian
healing is that it is the whole person that needs healing; it is the whole
person that needs saving, body, mind, spirit, and soul. We would do well not to forget that our
entire being is of great interest to God, and to pray for each other, that we
might know God’s healing and saving power in the entirety of our lives and
being.
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