The Touch of Healing

“As it happened, Publius’s father was ill with fever and dysentery. Paul went in and prayed for him, and laying his hands on him, he healed him.” Acts 28:8

Paul and his sailing companions had been forced to seek shelter from a terrible storm on the island of Malta. Although the people were kind, it was a bit of a scary start. Cold and rainy, the men built a fire and a poisonous snake, driven out by the heat, bit Paul on the hand.

I have to be honest. If I was the snake-bit Christian I would have probably groused (at least to myself), “What else can go wrong?” Fortunately, Paul had the reassurance from the Lord that no one would be lost in the storm, an angel appearing to him in a dream. With Paul’s resolute faith in the God who never misleads, his spirits were probably a bit higher than mine would be on a rain-soaked island full of unknown dangers.

The islanders figured Paul must be a murderer when they saw the viper hanging from his hand. With the snake’s fangs piercing the flesh between Paul’s thumb and forefingers, they were certain Justice had caught up with this criminal, even though he had escaped the sea. (Just a quick thought, for those who think Christians are terribly judgmental. Pagans do a fairly good job of judging as well. It is, after all, a human trait, not primarily a Christian one.)

As they are waiting to watch Paul succumb to the venom, Paul shakes the snake off into the fire, completely unharmed. The natives waited for him to swell, or swoon, or faint, or suddenly drop dead. Sadly, they were disappointed; he lived. This brought about a complete change of opinion. Those once judging him a murderer now want to worship him as a god!

God was preparing the way for the ruler of the island to receive healing for his own father from the grace of Jesus. Publius, the ruler, invited them in and Paul prayed for his father, laying his hands on him, and healed him. The islanders showered the entire group with honors and supplied them with everything they needed to set sail again.

Paul’s focus on the gospel was laser-like. He never let a moment go by without somehow sharing the grace of Jesus. We have no record that Paul praeached in this circumstance. But, he healed. He laid his hands on the old man and healed him.

One New Year’s Eve we were holding a service at a church on the Fort Berthold Reservation in New Town, North Dakota. At the end of the service one of my friends came to the front and asked for prayer. We had shared coffee together a number of times, and I knew he was an alcoholic. This night was no different. But, he wanted to be healed. His eyesight was so foggy he couldn’t recognize someone more than about 20 feet away.

So, we prayed. Bill and Lila, a couple in the church, had been standing at the back pew as this went on. We asked him before we prayed, “Can you recognize those two people?” He said, “No”. After we prayed, asking Jesus to heal him because of His mercy, we asked again, “Do you recognize the people standing at the back pew?” He grinned: “That’s Bill and Lila!”

I do not understand everything about how and when God heals. In fact, I don’t understand much. But I do know that, given the chance, he wants us to use our hands, feet, mouths and resources as instruments of His grace. We could have figured our friend needed to sober up before God would do anything for him. Good thing we didn’t, because the God of grace had different ideas that night.

I want my entire being to be at Jesus’ disposal. I want my lips to bring healing to hurting souls. I want my feet to take me into homes where people need the compassion of Christ. I want to walk into restaurants where lonely people drink coffee alone. I want to take the face of a crying child between my hands and tell him, “Jesus understands.” I want to be an agent of healing in each situation Jesus sends me.

I may have arrived there on my own volition, using my faithful GPS to find the shopping center. Or, I may happen into a spot, like Paul, driven by the wind to an unknown island where a man’s father needed healing. I might enjoy life more, myself, if I even considered my “lost times” as opportunities to touch someone with the love of Jesus.