starting to understand… something


The word flaps its wings lifts me up into swirling clouds and rainbows dips me down just a bit then I see all of the crimson pain, the sorrow screaming up from the gutters and I come crashing down into the blackness we call our lives.

Jesus came to earth and healed a few blind people. Why didn’t he cure blindness?

The Bible is littered with verses professing God’s liberal perspective on healing, expounding on his desire to “shower” us with mercy and pasting band-aid terms like “oil dripping down Aaron’s beard” and “Balm of Gilead”.

His stripes have healed me.

First of all, this cannot be taken literally for his stripes vanished with the resurrection. So this verse must be applied through resurrection lenses. His figurative stripes have figuratively healed me? Or perhaps it’s referring to the damage my sin has cost me, and healing within.

When should we expect healing of a physical kind?

What caused Jesus to march over to the man beside the pool of Bethesda and command him to roll up his mat? What made him walk past all of the other cripples and choose that man in particular, the man who would ultimately disobey him by telling what happened?

Why wouldn’t Jesus pay heed to my mother? A woman who’s renounced all of her sins ten-times seventy, who’s been prayed over, hands pressed into her flesh, sacred oil pouring down faces the Balm of Gilead being beckoned into existence heaven splitting glory falling and angels descending only to pat her on the back and return back into the silver-lined clouds?

“Life is temporary,” people tell me while holding their loved ones who’ve been miraculously spared disease or resurrected from the grave. “Trust God” they admonish, almost severely, then turn and roll away in their savvy SUVs with their family tucked safely inside.

My mother has gone to the farthest ends of the earth, plucked all of life’s sage wisdom and spiritual advice, returned and applied it head to foot in desperate effort to find this healing which the Bible speaks of. Meanwhile we all continue to raise our hands in church and close our eyes and beseech a God we really don’t understand, whose existence seems aloof and nearly absent in face of life’s overwhelming tragedies.

Healing is not by works, but by faith. It doesn’t matter how many generational curses Mum breaks, nor how many ‘Amens’ she utters in church. God is not budging.

“He is healing me on the inside,” Mum assures me on one of her strong-faith days.

I nod, stir my coffee. “I know.”

Think back on how Jesus shook his head while the men lowered their friend through the hole in the ceiling. On how he insisted on forgiving the man’s sins before curing his ailment. On how he insisted the spiritual requires special eyesight, on how we need to realize life is so much more than what it appears to be.

I scream. Bow my head. Wonder if I’m starting to understand… something.


1 Comment

  1. Teneale said,

    April 9, 2008 at 12:17 am

    I find it disheartening that God heals if we have enough faith. Just have faith isn’t working for me either…and maybe it is becuase I don’t have enough faith. But I can’t anymore, I did, and its just to disapointing. It is easier for me to beleive that God has a plan and he is sticking to it, and he loves me, and one day I will stand in front of him and he will explain why. I will just have to accept that in this life time I will never understand it.

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