“Your faith has made you well..." But what do we mean by “faith”?
Part 2 in a series exploring the theology of healing.
I wrote this essay a few weeks ago whilst travelling for a work trip to Seattle. I’ve been sitting on it for weeks, chewing over the words, wanting to make sure they’re “right” because this topic feels so close to home for all of us. Publishing it now is, ironically, an act of faith in itself.
I’m currently sitting at the back of an airplane bound for Seattle. When I say “back of an airplane,” I mean the absolute butt of the plane. The little girl in front of me is poking her cute, squidgy little toes out the side of her chair, and my nose is filled with the concentrated, nauseating stench of airplane food 6 feet behind me.
I’ve been awake since 5:30am (it is currently very far past 5:30am, in case you were wondering). I didn’t sleep well, my body is aching, and I’ve been putting off writing this essay for weeks. Not because I don’t want to or because I don’t have thoughts (I have thoughts, ladies and gents – oh boy do I have thoughts). Mainly, I’m just spent. And also, I’m afraid of getting it wrong. I thought I’d just open with the obvious. Talking about healing is so flippin’ personal. Our stories, our relationships with God – I’d wager that all of them have been shaped, in some way, by our experiences of being or not being healed (or by watching healing play out in the life of someone we love).
Even the DEFINITION of healing evokes different visceral responses from people. Are we talking about Healing with a capital H? That ultimate healing which has marked us as more than conquerors in Christ Jesus for all eternity? Or are we talking about that equally visceral, miraculous healing from the agony which accompanies life in these temporary, broken bodies? Both matter deeply. As they should.
The moment I started writing Part 1 of this series, ideas and thoughts and questions started firing off in my brain faster than I could write them down. Seriously. My Google Keep app was cluttered with notes. I’d have ideas when I wasn’t near my phone and would write them on my arm so that I wouldn’t forget. “But what about this angle?” “But what if someone experienced it like THIS?” “But what do I even MEAN when I say this?” “But what if what I’m saying is... just... wrong?”
I don’t want the fear of getting it wrong to keep me from wrestling with these topics out in the open, though. I’m not claiming to be an authority. I’m not trained in theology (though I hope to be one day). I’m not a pastor or a professor or a church elder. I’m just another thoughtful, hurting lay Christian who is sick and tired of not being able to openly ask questions that don’t have easy answers. And I DO recognise the privileged position I hold as someone who has somehow acquired a group of dedicated readers. I don’t take the responsibility lightly. You allow me the honour of speaking into your life, and that’s huge. Which is exactly WHY I am telling you that I could be getting everything I’m about to say wrong.
Can you be okay with that? I hope so. Because I really like talking to you and feeling safe enough to be curious, even if it means that I don’t get to look perfect online.
Okay, cue the end of the longest disclaimer to an essay that Christina has ever written (Do we like this talking in the third person thing? Ew. I’m not so sure. We’ll work on that. Being up since 5:30am makes me a little sassy).
ANYWAYS. Let’s dive in.
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