Have You Ever Wondered What Happens When
You Pray For Healing?
There must be many people around who have prayed for someone to be healed and there’s been no change or, even worse, they have deteriorated. This can be very disillusioning for both you and the person you pray for. Perhaps this story will encourage you.
In my third year at Bible school (1996) I had an experience that totally changed my perception of supernatural healing. I had always thought that it was pretty simple: you lay hands on a sick person, you pray to God through Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit, ask Him to heal the person and, hey presto, he drops his crutches or jumps out of bed, dancing and leaping and praising God. Well, yes, that does happen. I’ve seen it happen, but our God of surprises doesn’t always follow our agenda.
We were doing an in-depth study of the Book of Acts. After about nine lectures, I disrupted the whole class by loudly stating that we should not be studying Acts as a kind of intellectual exercise, but should be out there doing it! The lecturer agreed, kindly suspended his planned lesson, and asked me what was on my mind.
Part of our Bible school curriculum was Practical Ministry. This entailed being involved in some kind of outreach work one day each week. My practical ministry was as a Community Health Evangelist in a refugee camp. This involved a kind of community nursing in which I did health education, preventive health, and some occasional emergency aid. In the village, I had met a man who was a paraplegic, having had polio as a child. His wheelchair was broken and I had been struggling for about four weeks to get it repaired at one of the local hospitals (60 km away).
In the midst of the Acts lecture it suddenly dawned on me that, if I really believed, I ought to be praying for a new set of legs for Shadrach, not a new set of wheels. The lecturer and my fellow students, all Charismaniacs, agreed. It was duly decided that when I went out to the refugee camp in two days time, I would take the ministry team to see Shadrach and we would pray for him to get up out of his wheelchair and walk. This sounded very grand at the time, but, as the day drew closer, I felt more and more apprehensive. I fasted the day before (you can’t fast when you are working a 14-hour day in 45°C heat). Linda fasted. Half the campus fasted. Everyone prayed. They laid hands on me and prayed for the power of the Spirit to work through me.
As soon as we arrived in the village, the team set off with me to “do the miracle”. At this stage, I noticed that I was distinctly in the lead. Everyone knew the way to Shadrach’s house but, for some strange reason, they wanted to walk behind me. I think we lost a few members en route, but were still six-strong when we arrived. Shadrach was sitting in his wheel-less wheelchair (I guess that makes it a chair!). We exchanged the usual unhurried African pleasantries about the weather, the chickens, the goats, the soccer, the drought, the stock-exchange, the Russian Federation, the European Union, and anything else I could think of in order to put off the fateful moment. Eventually, I ran out of ideas, so I said; “Makwerhu (brother), would you like us to pray for God to restore your legs so you can walk, and then we won’t need to fix your wheelchair?” He looked a bit surprised and then replied: “Yes please, I would like that very much.” I sent an express-delivery arrow-prayer to God: “Don’t let me down now!”
We all laid hands on Shadrach and I prayed. Someone else prayed. I prayed again. We all prayed. Nothing. We prayed, commanded, rebuked. No dancing and leaping, not even a wiggle. This didn’t make sense. We weren’t even praying self-serving prayers. There was nothing in it for us. We were trying to help this poor chap. Where was God? Wasn’t He listening?
While we were praying, I noticed a wizened old man crouched under a tree near the fence. He wore traditional-looking tribal dress and had shells and porcupine quills plaited into his hair. I guessed he was a n’anga (witch-doctor) and started to pray against him. “This is what is getting in the way of the healing,” I thought, “Now the healing can begin.” Again, nothing.
It felt as if we prayed for ages but, in reality, it was probably only about an hour. Finally, we gave up, puzzled, frustrated and a bit embarrassed. Shadrach seemed to take our failure more phlegmatically than we did. We bade him good day and fled with our spiritual tails between our legs. I went back to the mobile clinic, worked until 9 p.m., and then returned to campus, not feeling much like a victorious Christian. What had gone wrong?
The next day we held a post-mortem at the Acts lecture and finally decided that the presence of the n’anga had been the problem. We all knew that our God is stronger than any n’anga, so we concluded that the n’anga must have “blocked” our prayers. No-one suggested we try again. For the next six days I struggled to explain our failure satisfactorily to myself. I had no doubt that God could heal, so I needed to work out where I had gone wrong. I didn’t want to go around giving such bad witness to God’s power.
The following Wednesday, I had to visit Shadrach because I still needed to get his wheelchair fixed. I hoped that he would be walking and that I would realise that God sometimes delays things for reasons that we don’t understand. Failing that, I hoped that he would be out, so I wouldn’t have to face him. No luck: there was Shadrach, sitting in his chair. When I approached, he looked very excited and greeted me effusively. “Kevin, Kevin. I must thank you for what you did last week!” he said. Ha-ha. If that was Shangaan humour, I didn’t think much of it. If Shadrach had hoped to walk, but was still a paraplegic, why was he more cheerful than I, who have been walking for years? Had we said the wrong thing when we prayed and driven him mad?
Finally, it all made sense. Shadrach wasn’t mad. He told me that the n’anga had been training him for some months to work with him as a witch doctor. When the n’anga saw that Shadrach was associating with Christians, and had let us pray for him, he fired him! Shadrach came under such conviction that he went to church that Sunday and recommitted himself to Jesus Christ. He asked me to bring him a Bible, which I did with great joy. Eight months later, when I graduated, Shadrach was still serving the Lord.
And so, a simple man from a refugee camp, showed that he had a far clearer understanding of supernatural healing than I had, with all my studying! To paraphrase some of Jesus’ words in Luke 24: “How foolish I was, and how slow of heart to believe.” We have such a narrow view of God and what He chooses to do. God knew exactly what He was doing, even if it didn’t make any sense to us.
What was the outcome of all this? Shadrach finally got a new blue off-road wheelchair and named it “Venture” after our car. It was sturdy enough to carry him to church each Sunday. But, far more important, he is assured of a glorious new set of legs (along with the rest of his body) when he goes to heaven one day. Praise the Lord!
From my point of view, I learned a whole lot about how little I understand of the way in which God works. Suddenly, I was confronted with having to allow God to be far bigger than my theology. Furthermore, I realised that it was because this operation was bathed in prayer that it came to such a successful conclusion. Shadrach got the best healing that he could ever have hoped for!
May the Lord’s Name be glorified!
In my third year at Bible school (1996) I had an experience that totally changed my perception of supernatural healing. I had always thought that it was pretty simple: you lay hands on a sick person, you pray to God through Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit, ask Him to heal the person and, hey presto, he drops his crutches or jumps out of bed, dancing and leaping and praising God. Well, yes, that does happen. I’ve seen it happen, but our God of surprises doesn’t always follow our agenda.
We were doing an in-depth study of the Book of Acts. After about nine lectures, I disrupted the whole class by loudly stating that we should not be studying Acts as a kind of intellectual exercise, but should be out there doing it! The lecturer agreed, kindly suspended his planned lesson, and asked me what was on my mind.
Part of our Bible school curriculum was Practical Ministry. This entailed being involved in some kind of outreach work one day each week. My practical ministry was as a Community Health Evangelist in a refugee camp. This involved a kind of community nursing in which I did health education, preventive health, and some occasional emergency aid. In the village, I had met a man who was a paraplegic, having had polio as a child. His wheelchair was broken and I had been struggling for about four weeks to get it repaired at one of the local hospitals (60 km away).
In the midst of the Acts lecture it suddenly dawned on me that, if I really believed, I ought to be praying for a new set of legs for Shadrach, not a new set of wheels. The lecturer and my fellow students, all Charismaniacs, agreed. It was duly decided that when I went out to the refugee camp in two days time, I would take the ministry team to see Shadrach and we would pray for him to get up out of his wheelchair and walk. This sounded very grand at the time, but, as the day drew closer, I felt more and more apprehensive. I fasted the day before (you can’t fast when you are working a 14-hour day in 45°C heat). Linda fasted. Half the campus fasted. Everyone prayed. They laid hands on me and prayed for the power of the Spirit to work through me.
As soon as we arrived in the village, the team set off with me to “do the miracle”. At this stage, I noticed that I was distinctly in the lead. Everyone knew the way to Shadrach’s house but, for some strange reason, they wanted to walk behind me. I think we lost a few members en route, but were still six-strong when we arrived. Shadrach was sitting in his wheel-less wheelchair (I guess that makes it a chair!). We exchanged the usual unhurried African pleasantries about the weather, the chickens, the goats, the soccer, the drought, the stock-exchange, the Russian Federation, the European Union, and anything else I could think of in order to put off the fateful moment. Eventually, I ran out of ideas, so I said; “Makwerhu (brother), would you like us to pray for God to restore your legs so you can walk, and then we won’t need to fix your wheelchair?” He looked a bit surprised and then replied: “Yes please, I would like that very much.” I sent an express-delivery arrow-prayer to God: “Don’t let me down now!”
We all laid hands on Shadrach and I prayed. Someone else prayed. I prayed again. We all prayed. Nothing. We prayed, commanded, rebuked. No dancing and leaping, not even a wiggle. This didn’t make sense. We weren’t even praying self-serving prayers. There was nothing in it for us. We were trying to help this poor chap. Where was God? Wasn’t He listening?
While we were praying, I noticed a wizened old man crouched under a tree near the fence. He wore traditional-looking tribal dress and had shells and porcupine quills plaited into his hair. I guessed he was a n’anga (witch-doctor) and started to pray against him. “This is what is getting in the way of the healing,” I thought, “Now the healing can begin.” Again, nothing.
It felt as if we prayed for ages but, in reality, it was probably only about an hour. Finally, we gave up, puzzled, frustrated and a bit embarrassed. Shadrach seemed to take our failure more phlegmatically than we did. We bade him good day and fled with our spiritual tails between our legs. I went back to the mobile clinic, worked until 9 p.m., and then returned to campus, not feeling much like a victorious Christian. What had gone wrong?
The next day we held a post-mortem at the Acts lecture and finally decided that the presence of the n’anga had been the problem. We all knew that our God is stronger than any n’anga, so we concluded that the n’anga must have “blocked” our prayers. No-one suggested we try again. For the next six days I struggled to explain our failure satisfactorily to myself. I had no doubt that God could heal, so I needed to work out where I had gone wrong. I didn’t want to go around giving such bad witness to God’s power.
The following Wednesday, I had to visit Shadrach because I still needed to get his wheelchair fixed. I hoped that he would be walking and that I would realise that God sometimes delays things for reasons that we don’t understand. Failing that, I hoped that he would be out, so I wouldn’t have to face him. No luck: there was Shadrach, sitting in his chair. When I approached, he looked very excited and greeted me effusively. “Kevin, Kevin. I must thank you for what you did last week!” he said. Ha-ha. If that was Shangaan humour, I didn’t think much of it. If Shadrach had hoped to walk, but was still a paraplegic, why was he more cheerful than I, who have been walking for years? Had we said the wrong thing when we prayed and driven him mad?
Finally, it all made sense. Shadrach wasn’t mad. He told me that the n’anga had been training him for some months to work with him as a witch doctor. When the n’anga saw that Shadrach was associating with Christians, and had let us pray for him, he fired him! Shadrach came under such conviction that he went to church that Sunday and recommitted himself to Jesus Christ. He asked me to bring him a Bible, which I did with great joy. Eight months later, when I graduated, Shadrach was still serving the Lord.
And so, a simple man from a refugee camp, showed that he had a far clearer understanding of supernatural healing than I had, with all my studying! To paraphrase some of Jesus’ words in Luke 24: “How foolish I was, and how slow of heart to believe.” We have such a narrow view of God and what He chooses to do. God knew exactly what He was doing, even if it didn’t make any sense to us.
What was the outcome of all this? Shadrach finally got a new blue off-road wheelchair and named it “Venture” after our car. It was sturdy enough to carry him to church each Sunday. But, far more important, he is assured of a glorious new set of legs (along with the rest of his body) when he goes to heaven one day. Praise the Lord!
From my point of view, I learned a whole lot about how little I understand of the way in which God works. Suddenly, I was confronted with having to allow God to be far bigger than my theology. Furthermore, I realised that it was because this operation was bathed in prayer that it came to such a successful conclusion. Shadrach got the best healing that he could ever have hoped for!
May the Lord’s Name be glorified!