My first introduction to healing in church came when I was in the first grade at St. Francis DeSales School. Two unlit beeswax candles, tied together by a ribbon and blessed by Father McDermott on the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord, sat upon the altar in anticipation of a healing rite, named for St. Blase, a fourth century Armenian bishop and martyr. St. Blase was recognized for having saved a young boy from choking on a fish bone, and word of this miracle quickly spread throughout the Church, evolving into a rite for the healing of the body, particularly the throat. Somehow, it always coincided with the post-Christmas cold and flu season, and, despite having the two candles held on both sides of my throat while Father McDermott said the blessing, I always managed to succumb to the germs.

However, I do believe the many scriptural accounts of Jesus healing people (both physically and spiritually) and believe that he is still actively healing in our time. I’ve also come to embrace an understanding of Jesus as healer through the words of the hymn “O Christ, the Healer, We Have Come,” written by Fred Pratt Green. Just as the Psalms begin to find you if they are prayed regularly, specific verses of hymns seem to speak right to the heart of the matter. The first two verses spoke directly to an experience I had last May, which was no less than a miracle of God’s grace played out through the witness of my daughter’s small but gentle hands. “O Christ, the healer, we have come to pray for health, to plead for friends, how can we fail to be restored when reached by love that never ends? From every ailment flesh endures our bodies clamor to be freed; Yet in our hearts we would confess that wholeness is our deepest need.”

In early May, my brother called late one evening to tell me that our grandmother’s health was starting to fail. As her kidney function began to decline, she had made the decision some time before to enjoy whatever time she had left, at her home, surrounded by her family. A few days later, we made the journey to northeast Iowa to spend some time with her at her home. While we were there, Grandma Marietta gave our daughter, Abby, a doll, in an exchange that gave both of them great joy. The next day, as Grandma, too weak to lift herself out of her bed, graciously allowed us to sit with her, we witnessed an act of mercy. As the grown-ups were attending at Grandma’s bedside, Abby seemed to know just the right medicine: lipstick and lotion! She found Grandma’s lipstick and offered to assist her with it—and to our great surprise, Grandma “suffered the little child to come unto her” and Abby climbed right into her bed, gave her an ample application of Mary Kay, and followed it up with an equally generous application of hand lotion, with her gentle touch. Finally, Abby tucked the doll that Grandma gave her the day before (which I’m sure was not easy for Abby to part with) under her arm, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and whispered, “Night-night, Great Grandma,” into her ear.

What struck me most about the whole encounter is that Jesus does the same thing for us—climbing right into our situations with an abundance of grace (symbolized in this case by the ample application of lipstick and lotion!) and sacrificial love. Wholeness was indeed God’s healing gift to us that day.

Thank you, God, for the gift of your Son, abundantly present in the Means of Grace. Help us to recognize the gift of your restoring presence, reaching us by your love which never ends. Amen.

Michael Elsbernd