Reading Time: 6 minutes

by AJ Canterbury

One does not play around with summers in Texas. It gets hot.

This thought cycled through my brain as we sat in the sweltering warehouse waiting for the band to begin playing. My friends’ band were slated to perform at a church’s outreach event, and I hadn’t anticipated the location. The church did not have their own building, so they rented out an abandoned warehouse without air-conditioning.

It was hot.

Behind me were metal troughs filled with water I assumed were preparations for baptism. I don’t deny that I considered proclaiming my need to be rebaptized just so I could cool myself in the inviting waters. Recognizing that required too much of a chore to figure out how to transfer out of the wheelchair and climb into the tub, I resigned to take in the folks around me.

I noticed the encouraging sight of college-aged students occupying the room, clutching their personal Bibles as they laughed and visited with each other. It reminded me of my days in college when our InterVarsity group hosted worship nights. Those were invaluable times for me to be surrounded by other Christians, so I suddenly found myself comfortable being here, despite the heat.

My comfort wouldn’t last long.

I read through the schedule for the evening which included a “Call to Pray for the Miraculous” and the sermon message “Faith to be Made Well.” Terror seized me as I realized this was no ordinary outreach event. It was a Healing Revival.

I became aware of the eyes of the crowd which kept finding their way back to me, the young man confined to a wheelchair. Like prey being sized up by predators, who waited for their opportunity to pounce, I found myself the center of uncomfortable attention.

I looked to my friend, Kelli, and jabbed my finger at the sermon title on the bulletin. She read the anxiety on my face, surveyed the room, and understanding washed over her face. She asked in a whisper if I wanted to go, but before I could reply, the pastor walked up to the microphone and welcomed the group.

I was stuck.

There seems to be a belief at these healing revivals that only physical restoration marks the intervention of Jesus, as if the internal salvation of a man’s soul is any less miraculous.

“Can I pray for you?”

The pastor began praying for the sick and troubled in the community before focusing on the needs in the room. He invited the group to confess their sins and pray for one another.

I sensed what was going to happen before it did. The tall, athletic looking, leader of the college students turned around and knelt down before me. His eyes looked sincerely into mine when he asked if he could pray for me.

It’s probably important at this point to clarify: I have no problem with corporate confession and prayer. It is biblical to do so. I have prayed for my own physical healing often, and friends have gathered around me to ask God boldly and confidently for my healing. And when someone asks to pray for me, I will more than likely say “Yes.”

The cause of my anxiety in these situations is that I am targeted as the low-hanging fruit because of my condition. I am more of a problem to be solved than a brother to carry to the throne. There seems to be a belief at these healing revivals that only physical restoration marks the intervention of Jesus, as if the internal salvation of a man’s soul is any less miraculous.

I responded to his request with a nod, and the rest of the group joined their leader to pray. I was a little apprehensive about what he would say in his prayer. Would he assume that I had no faith? Would he claim I was somehow responsible for my condtion? Would he blame me if the healing did not occur?

None of those things were outside the realm of possibility since I have received all of them before. In other prayer meetings, I have earned biting accusations when their prayer did not result in me walking out of the wheelchair.

However, there was no hint of that attitude in his prayer. He finished praying and asked if I felt the Spirit urging me to stand up. When I told him I did not, I was hit hard with two very real emotions.

Humiliation. The crowd saw the fervent youth gather around me to pray. God was able to heal, just as the students believed he could. It wasn’t a leap to deduce that I was the problem. Guilt and humiliation filled my heart.

Sympathetic. His prayer had been so sincere, and his hope had been so expectant, I feared his belief in the reality of Jesus would be tarnished by this unanswered prayer. I didn’t want that to walk away with a sabotaged faith.

When it was clear that I wasn’t going to be healed, the group quickly moved on to pray elsewhere, leaving me feeling all the more rejected. I sat awkwardly, discarded because God hadn’t acted like he had been requested to.

I heard little of my friend’s performance or the message that followed, still fighting against the humiliation from the failed prayer. I rehearsed what I knew: No one wanted to be healed more than I did, and God alone determined who was healed, not the person themselves.

What I knew: No one wanted to be healed more than I did, and God alone determined who was healed, not the person themselves.

“Do you have the Faith to be healed?”

My friends’ must have sensed my discomfort, for as soon as the event was over they ushered me for the exit. But the night of humiliation was not quite over. While Kelli held back beside me while the van was brought around, a man squatted down right in front of me, blocking our way out.

“Do you have the Faith to be healed?” he asked me.

He proclaimed how God had given him the gift of healing after he was pronounced dead and was raised to life two days later. He adamantly explained how God had every intention to heal me this very night if only I believed he could do it.

I wanted to correct his rotten theology, but I felt too small and insignificant to go to battle.

He reached out and began pulling my legs off the footplate of my wheelchair, preparing to have me stand up on my own. The look of panic must have been plain on my face for Kelli interjected. 

“You need to ask his permission before you touch him.”

 He apologized and asked if he could touch me, and he was insulted when I answered that he could not. The man grew angry that I’d rather remain disabled when God meant to heal me. He also threatened that if I denied the offer tonight, there was no guarantee the invitation would ever come again.

As false as his words were, they managed to wound me. I was angry…and hurt. And angry about being hurt. 

When the van pulled up and my friends circled around to investigate why Kelli and I were so distraught, I sensed some return of my courage. I told the man I did not believe his story, and trusted that God would heal me when he saw fit. I quickly wheeled passed him before he could object.

I was thankful to be going home, even if I was still just a disabled as I had been before.

The cross of Jesus offers a healing that is everlasting which surpasses the ability for me to walk.

So, where do you take your disabled friend?

As much as it may sound like the optimum place to go, do not take your disabled friend to a healing revival. This situation leads to feelings of humiliation, remarks of accusation, and dashed hopes which won’t supply what either of you are looking for. Here are places to take your disabled friend that will provide true healing.

1. Take them to the feet of Jesus.

I think of the man’s friends in the Gospels who dismantled a neighbor’s roof to lower their lame friend down in front of Jesus. The crowd was too congested to get him in front of Jesus, so they made a way. They were intent to get their friend in front of the only source who could do something about his disability.

Healing can happen, and the person in charge of that healing never changes. It is God who holds the authority to heal, not the hands of some counterfeit healer. Instead of seeking one of those out, do everything you can to help them get to the feet of Jesus. 

• Take them to Scripture.

When God does not heal in the way we want, the pain and disappointment hits hard. If untreated, that disappointment will insidiously grow, blinding them to God’s faithfulness. God has placed you in their life to stand in the gap for them. Don’t underestimate the significance of your presence.

Weep with them over their disappointment and persevere in prayer with them. But point them back to the voice of truth and remind them of his character and the promises found in scripture. You can help bear their burdens by coming alongside them and helping to combat the lies holding them hostage.

• Take them to the Cross.

No matter how long anyone has been a believer, we need to preach the gospel to ourselves just as much as we needed it when we first believed. Your friend with a disability needs to keep their eyes fixed on the cross. Jesus liberated us from the sin that held us captive when he sacrificed himself on the cross, and his resurrection delivers us from death to walk in new life.

When his friends lowered the crippled man through the roof, Jesus’ response is “Son, your sins are forgiven” (vs. 5) He explains why he said that before healing the man. “So you may know that the Son of Man has the authority on earth to forgive sins-” (vs. 10).  Jesus not only has authority over physical bodies but over eternal souls.

True rest exists with this Jesus who has authority over all things. As great as physical healing would be, it is only temporary. The cross of Jesus offers a healing that is everlasting which surpasses the ability for me to walk.

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