Summary
When Peter and John meet a man unable to walk outside the temple gate, they have no money to offer, only the name of Jesus. Pastor Dominic Jackson approaches this healing honestly, acknowledging that for every story of a miracle, there are many prayers that seem to go unanswered. Rather than offering easy answers, he proposes a way of understanding miracles. They point us upward to God, back to his promises, outward toward others in need, and forward to the restoration of all things. Miracles, he suggests, are not a suspension of the natural order but glimpses of creation as God intended it to be, signs of a kingdom that is already here and not yet complete.
Questions for reflection
Have you ever experienced or witnessed something you could only describe as a miracle? Have you also prayed for healing that didn’t come? How have those experiences shaped your faith?
Peter and John were on their way to pray when they noticed someone in need. What “interruptions” might God be placing in your path? How can you be more attentive to them?
The man was healed just outside the gate called Beautiful. Who are the people near the beautiful places in your life whom others tend to overlook?
The sermon describes miracles as pointing upward, backward, outward, and forward. Which of these speaks most to you right now, and why?
“Sometimes God heals with power. Sometimes he heals with presence.” Where have you experienced God’s presence in a season when the answer you hoped for didn’t come?
If you are a “living Ebenezer,” a reminder of what God has done, what part of your story might God be inviting you to share with someone else?
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Dominic Jackson:
Years ago, I was at the hospital praying for a family who attended the church. I remember getting the call and just kind of dropping everything and heading over to the hospital—back in LA, when I lived there. Their little boy, who was eight years old, had been in a terrible accident. And so when I arrived, like half of the church was already there. We were rolling deep. We, like, took up the entire waiting room. And so we waited. We waited, and we prayed. We fasted. And we worshiped. Somebody brought a guitar, so we were, like, worshiping. They kicked us out of the waiting room, so we moved to the parking lot—basically having a full service. All of us just seeking the Lord and praying for healing over this little boy. Unfortunately, he hung on for a while, but he didn’t make it.Years later—true story—the same family is back at the hospital. I had moved away at this point, so I was kind of following along on Facebook. A lot of us were getting updates from some folks I still knew at the church. And the mom, who had lost this little boy in this terrible accident years before, had gotten some really concerning scans. It looked like cancer. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer. They were still figuring out the details, essentially, to see how bad it was—what the next steps were going to be, what the treatment plan was.
So a few of us were praying—most of us from our homes, I think. I don’t think anybody was at the hospital with a guitar or anything. But we were all just kind of waiting on this update. And underneath what we were praying and waiting for was to learn how bad—it sounded really bad. And I think underneath that was, how much time does she have? And in the back of my mind, I just kept thinking, how much can one family go through?
Well, eventually—it took a while—she did update everybody on Facebook and thanked everybody for their prayers. I think more tests were done. And a few days later, she let us know the craziest thing. You probably know where this is going. She was cancer-free. No one could really explain what had happened. And even though the comments came flooding in, and people were using words like “testimony” and “healing” and “miracle,” I couldn’t help but notice that my friend didn’t. And I wonder if it was because, if she could have chosen her miracle, I think it would have been the easiest choice in the world for her. One that would have happened in the same place—but not for her.
I’ve been a pastor for almost 20 years—I’m getting old—18 years. And I have tons and tons of these stories. Maybe you have some of these stories as well. Stories that can only be described as supernatural, unexplainable. There is no scientific or medical explanation. These things just happen sometimes, and they don’t make a lot of sense. Other times, tragedy strikes, and I often wonder, and I pray, “God, if there was ever a time for you to show up, it would be here.” Like a little boy, or a marriage, or a family, a tragedy. Like, “God, where are you?” And it feels like all the prayers in the world are not enough in those moments.
Our text today is a story about a guy getting healed. He experiences a radical, crazy miracle. But the truth is—in the Scriptures, as well as in the world we live in—for every one of these stories, like the one Eli just read for us, I think there are probably a dozen that don’t end that way. Sometimes the miracle doesn’t come. Often the miracle doesn’t come. And each time I find myself praying for someone’s healing, I can’t help but ask, which one of these is a better representation of the world we are in? Which one of these is real life?
Many of my Pentecostal friends—who I love, and who just dress so good; I love them—my Pentecostal friends will say God’s will is to heal every time. We see that in Jesus, right? And I get it. We see it every time. And we can sometimes see that today. And so they would say—I’m paraphrasing here, maybe painting with some pretty broad strokes—“We just need to pray harder. Name it and claim it.” And if we are not experiencing healing, maybe—just maybe—there’s something wrong with the one praying.
Or on the other end, my fundamentalist friends would say, “All these crazy stories you hear about in the Scriptures—those were for a time, but those things don’t happen anymore. And sure, there are videos you’ll catch on YouTube every now and then, but those are probably just examples of grifter pastors or charlatans, or people taking advantage of someone else’s desperation.”
So which is it, Jesus? And what do we do with this story? How do we read a story like our text today? That’s where we’re going this morning. And I will just confess—spoiler alert—this one isn’t going to end with a nice, neat bow wrapped around it at the very end. I hope it’s helpful. I hope it’s encouraging. But this isn’t going to end like a Touched by an Angelepisode—or maybe that was before your time, or after your time—or VeggieTales, or McGee and Me!, or whatever, right? I could keep going. This isn’t going to end with, like, a little didactic “And that’s why you should always eat your vegetables,” or “leave a note,” or whatever, right? We very well might—we probably will—end with more questions than answers.
But to quote my favorite writer, Annie Dillard: “You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary. But the stars neither require nor demand it.” In many ways, as we talk about miracles and healing and mystery, I think it’s an opportunity for us to sit in the dark. And in my experience, sometimes that’s the place where Christ can shine the brightest. That’s my hope for today. Before we hop back into our text and move through it line by line, would you all pray with me?
Lord, I just want to acknowledge the pain, the triggers, the discomfort, or even the disappointment that might be in the room right now. I imagine those of us who have chosen to follow you probably all have stories of things we cannot explain—things that don’t fit into a box or a three-point sermon. And for some of us, like me, some of those stories even include supernatural healing, unexplainable events, miracles even. And yet all of us, I would assume, have stories where the prayers didn’t seem to work. The diagnosis didn’t change. The pain remained. And now we’re left with questions and doubts, and even anger or heartbreak. And so, Holy Spirit, I just pray now for your presence to be felt. You need no invitation, but we invite you into this space—into this message, of course—and into us. Sit with us, mourn with us, lead us, and yes, even deliver us, whatever that looks like. And so come, Holy Spirit, come. We pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
If you have a copy of the Scriptures, turn with me to the book of Acts, chapter 3. If not, the words will be on the screen. Last week, if you were here, we talked about radical generosity. And we talked about cults. That was interesting. We talked about the Knights Templar. You had to have been here. But radical generosity was the root of it—just looking at the early church and how they viewed everything they owned, right? And today we continue that theme of generosity a little bit, but maybe not in the way you would expect. Maybe not with finances, but with something else. Let’s take a look again and move through this.
Acts chapter 3, verse 1: “One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the time of prayer—at three in the afternoon.” Real quick, your translation might say “three in the afternoon,” or it might say “the ninth hour.” It’s the same time of day, just a different way of saying it. But what we know from early records—Josephus, for example, notes this—is that they would gather three times a day to pray: 9 a.m., noon, and 3 p.m., which is what they’re doing here, right? And our text a couple weeks ago said they were devoted to prayer. The only reason I’m calling this out is that we actually see it right here. We see what this devotion looked like. Because they were devoted, Peter and John are what? Making their way to the temple to pray at this time.
And the reason I mention this is more than just to acknowledge their prayer habits, but to acknowledge where their praying led them. Remember that verse where Jesus says, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these … you did for me”? On their way to seek the Lord, they have an opportunity to worship the Lord—not with their songs, by the way, or even their prayers, but with their service, their hospitality, their care—or, as we’ll see, with their healing.
I shared this story a while back. Years ago, I was driving to church, right? And there was this guy in the middle of the intersection, pushing this behemoth of a vehicle by himself. It was a ’90s Ford Explorer. And since he was by himself, he had to push and steer at the same time. And I remember—I was running late—just saying out loud to myself, “Any other time, man, I would pull over and help you, but I’ve got to get to church.” Looking back, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but this was a missed opportunity to be the church, because I was too concerned with going to church. Not to mention—remember that verse, “whatever you did for the least of these”—what did I do for my Lord in that moment? I slowed down a little bit as I swerved by him.
Well, here are two disciples in pretty much the exact same position. They’ve got somewhere to be. They’re on their way to pray. But they’re interrupted—and here is by whom. Verse 2: “Now a man who was lame from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money.”
So here it is. Luke introduces us to this guy. He was a man begging in Jerusalem, and he’s a man with a disability that he has had since birth, it says. Which meant, I’m assuming, he was more than likely unable to work, right? He was more than likely unable to marry, because he could not provide for a family. And he was completely, entirely dependent on the generosity and the time and the attention of other people. It says others brought him to the gate, and there’s reason to believe, according to Jewish tradition, that he would not have been allowed to enter through those gates into the temple like this. This is as close as he could possibly get.
And we learn that he’s sitting outside a gate—a gate called Beautiful. I think the reason Luke includes this detail—he likes to ground us and give us the who, what, where, and when often; maybe that’s the doctor in him, he really has an eye for detail—but I think the reason he tells us the name of this specific gate is that, in my reading, he’s holding up two contrasting pictures, right? We have a man who is broken and hurting and suffering. And where do we first meet this guy? We meet him juxtaposed right up against a place where people are worshiping and probably singing songs—at this gate called Beautiful. A man who, in this society, would have been seen as anything but. I mean, this man would probably have been seen as a nuisance, right? An eyesore. An annoyance in this beautiful place. A place that—if it’s the same temple, Josephus gives us some information—Herod commissioned, and it was actually built with silver and gold. Which is kind of interesting. That will come up a little bit later.
But I just have to pause—as I was reading this for the first time, I thought: what a reminder for us, right? Every week we come together and we worship and we sing, and I think this place is pretty beautiful. We’ve put a lot of work and a lot of money into this space, right? We come to this beautiful space, and as we’re making our way here, there are people who are hurting and suffering. It’s a reminder that we are not just a church located downtown; we are a church for downtown. And it would be easy to pretend we’re in a little bubble here. But we chose this place for a reason. Because, believe me, some weeks it would be nice to just pull into a cul-de-sac, a nice parking lot, in the suburbs somewhere. But that’s not who we’re called to be. And that’s not where God has us.
And I don’t say this to pat ourselves on the back or anything like that. But I have been so moved by the heart of this church. People will meet someone on the street who’s going through terrible, awful times, and the first response is, “Come grab a cup of coffee. Come worship with us.” And so I just want to continue to encourage us in that as I read this story. I mean, the church is supposed to look more like a hospital than a country club. Because, again, look around. This place is beautiful. Those gates were beautiful. And maybe this is a moment for us to pause and remember that this place may be beautiful, but so are the people around it—people who might not feel that way, or have been treated that way. All of them image-bearers of God.
Let’s hop back into our text. Verse 4: “Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, ‘Look at us!’ So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them. Then Peter said, ‘Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.’ Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man’s feet and ankles became strong.”
Now notice what they first say to this guy, right? “Silver or gold I do not have.” And there could be a couple of reasons this is the case. We just saw, right, in Acts 2 and 4, how they were pooling their resources together for those in need. So perhaps that’s why they don’t have any money. Or maybe it’s because these guys had just spent the last few years essentially sleeping in the dirt with their rabbi, right? Not exactly investing in crypto or whatever. These guys don’t have any money. They very well might be as broke as the guy who’s asking them for money. I don’t know.
But as I was reading this, it reminded me of a story. I was reading a biography of a guy named Thomas Aquinas. Maybe you’re familiar with the name—theologian, thinker. And in this account, he was invited to meet the pope, whose name was Pope Innocent II. What a name, right? Apparently, the story goes that when Aquinas walked into the church where this introduction was going to happen, the pope was sitting at a table, and this table was completely covered in money. And there’s this awkward moment where Aquinas doesn’t know what to say, or whatever. The table is just covered in money. And here’s the pope, Innocent II, and he looks at Aquinas and says, “Well, no longer can we say, ‘Silver and gold have we none,’” right? And Aquinas, without skipping a beat, says, “Neither can we say, ‘In the name of Jesus, rise up and walk.’” Oof. Burn, right?
And maybe the reason—I don’t know—maybe the reason we don’t see the same impact, maybe even the same miracles, the same justice coming from the modern church is that in some ways—some ways—we too have lost our focus on the poor, the orphan, the marginalized, the refugee, the outsider. That’s a sermon for another day.
Back to our text. Peter is saying, “Look, I don’t have any money,” but he gives the man something far greater. “In the name of Jesus,” he says, “rise up and walk.” And then we have this description of how it takes place, right? This guy’s ankles start to work—his bones; I don’t know how it happened—but he starts walking. And here’s my favorite part. Look at verse 8. Look at what happens to the guy: “He jumped to his feet and began to walk. Then he went with them into the temple courts, walking and jumping, and praising God. When all the people saw him walking and praising God, they recognized him as the same man who used to sit begging at the temple gate.”
I love that we sang the song “Come Thou Fount” earlier—one of my favorite songs ever. There’s that lyric, “Here I raise my Ebenezer.” And for the longest time, I would sing that and had absolutely no idea what I was singing, right? None. But one time I was reading a commentary on Samuel, where we first see this, and I learned that an Ebenezer was a stone, or a stone formation. And what would happen—and people still do this today, if you go to Israel or something—is that when somebody experienced a miracle, when somebody experienced the radical, gracious presence of God—when somebody was lost or broken or hurt, desperate, and the Lord stepped in and pulled them out of it, right?—as a remembrance, they would take these stones, these Ebenezers, right? And they would lift them and place them in the spot where the miracle happened, as a remembrance. A way not only to remember God’s grace, but also to tell other people about it. And so if you were in town and saw one of these, you would say, “That right there—that is a place where God showed up. That is a place where somebody was healed. That is a place where somebody was desperate and reached out to God, and he pulled them up.”
But here’s the thing—here’s the reason I mention this. We see this in this guy. The beauty of the gospel is that you and I are living, walking, breathing Ebenezers, right? Parables. We are living parables of the kingdom of God—examples of God’s saving grace. Just like this man. And here he is, and what’s the first thing he does? He’s showing everybody what he experienced. Now that—that is beautiful.
Back to where we started. So what do we do with a story like this? What I’d like to do for the rest of our time here is take a moment to talk about miracles. And the reason this is important is that we’re going to see a lot of miracles throughout the book of Acts as we move through it, right? This is the first one. We’re going to see plenty more—I think there are 31; somebody counted. But it’s like every other passage, we see these amazing, supernatural things, right? And again, the question is: how should we read these? What is the context for us today, right? Something we talk about a lot: is this prescriptive? Is this descriptive? What do we do when we come across a story of a miracle?
So for this morning, I’d like to suggest a few different views—a few different considerations. I like how Gilbert Patterson—an old theologian, pastor, civil rights leader—framed this. I’m going to borrow his bullet points, even if I arrive at different conclusions than he did. But here’s my proposal for the rest of our time: miracles point us upward, they point us backward, they point us outward, and they point us forward. It’s cheesy, I know, but I think it’s helpful as a way to consider the miraculous. Because the truth is, miracles change our entire perspective. Miracles change not only how we see and understand the world, but also everyone in the world—and, most importantly, the God who holds the world.
So first, miracles point upward. Notice the very first thing these guys say: “In the name of Jesus, get up and walk.” And if you keep reading, people are grilling these guys. “How did you do it? What did you do? How can I do that?”—that’s probably what they’re wondering, right? And what do they constantly do? My paraphrase: they just keep pointing the attention back to Jesus. Or later on in the New Testament, people are throwing themselves at these disciples, right? Or even in Revelation, John starts to worship an angel, and the first thing he hears is, “Stop it! What are you doing? There’s only one you should be worshiping,” right?
As they are constantly pointing upward—constantly pointing back to Jesus—the reason I mention this is: if God has given you a gift, a talent, an ability; if God uses you, as many of you have for me, to speak a word of encouragement that I need to hear, or someone else needs to hear; or maybe God has given you a voice to sing a song of redemption, or a gift to bless someone else, or even hands to lay on someone when they are hurting and pray for them—I think the temptation for many of us would be to point back at ourselves, right? But here we see where the attention deserves to go.
Joni Eareckson Tada—a famous athlete—suffered a terrible injury and was left paralyzed. And she would go on to become an amazing artist and writer. Her entire life changed in just one moment, due to an accident. When asked about her faith and her thoughts on heaven, she said that the first thing she will do on resurrected legs is fall to her knees and praise the God of resurrection and healing—and then stand and dance before him with all her might. Immediately, her response to imagining—really, preparing for—healing in heaven is to point her attention back to Jesus.
The next point: miracles point us backward. It’s important for us to remember that the miracles we see in the New Testament often aren’t the first place we read about them, right? Many times, they had been described hundreds or even thousands of years before Jesus even showed up on the scene. There are tons I could have pulled, but here is one. Think about the text we have been working through, that we just read. In many ways, we could read it as a random story: two disciples are making their way through town, they come across the guy, and he’s healed. On to the next thing, right? It’d be so easy to read this as a singular moment in time. But in reality, this account had been described 800 years before any of the disciples—or even this guy—was born. Isaiah 35:5–6: “Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Then will the lame leap like a deer, and the mute tongue shout for joy.” What do we see in the temple courts? The lame leaping like a deer. Miracles remind us that God keeps his promises—many of which didn’t just happen one day, but had been hundreds, if not thousands, of years in the making. And these miracles point us back to the God who was, and is, and is to come.
Number three: miracles point us outward. One of the things we’ll see in the book of Acts is the disciples being commissioned, right? They’re commissioned to go out and bring healing to the places they are in. And then often the people who experience that same healing go out and do the same. Many times, these are people who experienced amazing, great healing themselves, whether physical—like Peter’s mom, right, being healed of a physical ailment, and here is Peter, now he’s the one who’s healing—or spiritual. I think of the darkness that some people, like Mary Magdalene, had experienced. She was demonized. And what we’ll often see is that the response of people who experience freedom is to go out and free someone else.
I love the call that Jesus sends his disciples out with, right? He’s preparing them for ministry. For years and years, they’ve been watching Jesus, and now it’s their turn. Now he’s going to release them, in pairs, to go minister to the community they’re in. And I love the instructions he gives them. I’m going to read The Message paraphrase. I usually don’t, but I love the little snark Eugene Peterson translates with here. These are Jesus’ instructions for his disciples:
“Jesus sent his twelve harvest hands out with this charge: ‘Don’t begin by traveling to some far-off place to convert unbelievers. And don’t try to be dramatic by tackling some public enemy. Go to the lost, confused people right here in the neighborhood. Tell them that the kingdom is here. Bring health to the sick. Raise the dead. Touch the untouchables. Kick out the demons. You have been treated generously, so live generously. Don’t think you have to put on a fund-raising campaign before you start. You don’t need a lot of equipment. You are the equipment, and all you need to keep that going is three meals a day. Travel light.’”
How’s that for instructions? Here’s the thing. As followers of Jesus, we are called to bring healing to the world. Not because of us—get that straight. Not even through our own power. Remember, Peter points back to Jesus. We are vessels. It’s God who does the act. But we’re still called to be instruments of his healing grace.
I know I lost some of you right there. Just hear me out, okay? Because sometimes healing looks like bringing a cup of coffee and a listening ear to a coworker who’s going through a tough time. Sometimes it’s recognizing that a person is carrying deep, deep wounds, right? And calling that out and saying, “You are not too much. You are not the person your parents told you you were—that your ex-boyfriend or girlfriend told you you were, that your former pastor described you as. That is not who you are. That is not how Christ sees you.” Sometimes healing is just speaking truth over someone. Sometimes it’s acts of service, right? Most of us know this.
But it’s also—also, right?—laying hands on someone who’s sick and saying, “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how this works. But I would love to just pray for you.” Which is uncomfortable and awkward. And what happens if it doesn’t work? And maybe it doesn’t. In our text today, we saw a guy healed. In plenty of other places in Scripture, we see that it doesn’t go that way. I mean, think about Paul, praying three times, “Take this from me”—describing it, right, as a thorn in the flesh. “Take this from me.” And God answers no: “My grace is sufficient for you.” Or Joni Eareckson Tada again, who was paralyzed and lost the use of her limbs, wrote about her experience waiting for a miracle. She said God chose not to heal her, but to hold her.
Sometimes God heals with power. Sometimes he heals with presence. But he always heals, even if we don’t see it yet.
Which brings us to our last point. And if you hear one thing I say today, please hear this: miracles point us forward. Specifically, miracles are a snapshot of heaven, in both the now and the not yet.
Have you ever noticed that when Jesus arrives on the scene, he sometimes says the kingdom of God is on its way, or coming, right? And then, like, five minutes later, he says the kingdom of God is here. And then shortly after, the kingdom is on its way. And I’m assuming the disciples were like, “So which is it? Is the kingdom on its way, or is it here?” To which he probably said, “Yes,” right? The kingdom of God is both on its way, and it is here. It’s here, but not fully yet. Now and not yet.
And I still believe this. I mean, look around. We live in a broken world, and there is pain. There are spiritual strongholds out there. There is suffering. There is injustice, corruption, racism, school shootings, hatred, addiction. This ain’t heaven, right? And yet we also get these little snapshots of the kingdom. Glimpses of heaven. Ebenezers, right? Living, walking parables. Miracles exist to give us a small insight into what heaven will be like. But they also show us pictures of what God’s will is for us—what it actually looks like.
Hear me out. We are somewhere in the in-between. Somewhere outside of God’s original plan—which we see in the first couple of pages, where humanity is doing great for about five seconds, right?—and God’s final plan. We are in the place of hurting and suffering and broken bones and tumors and splinters and pain. Which is one of the reasons why, when Jesus arrives on the scene, he explains that he is here to carry out the will of his Father—which implies there are other wills at play on the earth. Darker ones. Evil ones.
But when it comes to God’s design for humanity, you can see it either on the first pages of Scripture or the last pages—or, honestly, more accurately, you can see it in between, wherever Jesus is. You and I are somewhere in between these worlds. God’s will is best seen in the first or last pages, or in the acts of Jesus. When Jesus says the kingdom is here, we get to see what that kingdom both looks like and will look like, in every word and every action that comes from him.
And so—the former skeptic in me; I was an atheist for half my life, right?—I would love to quote someone like David Hume, one of my former heroes. He famously argued that he couldn’t believe in miracles because miracles are a violation of the natural order. In reality, in my opinion, miracles are the opposite. What Scripture tells us is that miracles are a restoration of the natural order. A miracle is a return to the way God originally created things to be. That is unnatural—I mean, that is natural. Everything else is unnatural. Sin, cavities, genocide, broken bones, tumors—that is not. At least, that’s not God’s design for us.
The German theologian Jürgen Moltmann said it this way: “When Jesus expels demons and heals the sick, he is driving out of creation the powers of destruction, and is healing and restoring created beings who are hurt and sick. The lordship of God to which the healings witness restores creation to health. Jesus’ healings are not supernatural miracles in a natural world. They are the only truly ‘natural’ thing in a world that is unnatural, demonized and wounded.”
Sickness—that’s not normal, at least not in God’s plan. Death isn’t either. And yet we find ourselves here, in what can be described as neither super nor natural. And Jesus meets us, supernaturally, in the ashes. When tragedy strikes, in the midst of the hurting, I see the picture of a loving God who weeps with his children, who comforts them, who always brings healing and restoration—it’s just that sometimes it happens in the next life. Jesus always heals—sometimes with his power, other times with his presence, and one day with both.
When I want to know God’s will for my life, it isn’t silver and gold, clearly. It is to be healed of all that has kept me in bondage—and then to use my new sight, or my new legs, or my new breath, or my new life, to worship him and to point others to him. Even in a broken world—especially in a broken world—miracles are a snapshot of heaven. And though we’re in a broken world, and there are evil forces that currently have power, and sin exists in us and around us, every now and then one of those pictures sneaks its way in and invades earth. A small reminder. Breadcrumbs leading us to what is to come. The kingdom is here, but it’s also on its way.
And I believe we are called to do what Jesus commissioned his disciples to do in the Gospel according to Matthew. While we wait for that place where sickness no longer affects us—where even sin isn’t there—while we wait, in the meantime, here, I think, is the call for us: “Go to the lost, confused people right here in the neighborhood. Tell them that the kingdom is here. Bring health to the sick. Touch the untouchables. Kick out the demons. You have been treated generously, so live generously.”
I don’t know what these things look like for you. I don’t even know what they look like for me most days. I don’t know how literally we’re supposed to read this, right? But I do know that a good place to start is doing just what Peter and John did: seeing the needs and the hurting in front of them. Laying hands on somebody and praying in the name of Jesus.
And so if you are here and you have experienced healing in your life—whether physically, maybe, or relationally or spiritually; maybe it was in your marriage, or in your doubts, or in your pain—where you look back and say, “Without Jesus, there is no way I would have gotten through that,” the call for you this morning might be to be like the man. To run into the temple—run into wherever, in public—and tell as many people as you can about it. And maybe for the rest of us, the call is to do as they did, right? Praying in the name of Jesus for healing, whatever that looks like. Going to the hurting and the sick, and pointing back toward Christ. Let’s pray together.
Lord, I just want to pray right now, boldly, for anyone who is here who is hurting—anyone who is in need of healing. If anyone is here whose body is hurting, who has pain or discomfort, we pray for healing for them. And we continue to pray for healing. Lord, I pray that if there is anyone with unseen strongholds against them, those would be broken. Often what looks like a physical problem can actually be a side effect, not the root—just like when we can physically make ourselves sick because of something emotional or relational or even spiritual. So whatever we are holding on to, or going through, we pray for your power and your presence now.
I also pray for courage and strength for anyone who knows the next steps they need to take in their healing but is afraid to take them. Much of the healing I have seen has come through doctors and nurses and dietitians and therapists and medicine—which don’t work in spite of you, but are something you work through. And so whatever healing needs to look like, help us now. But, Lord, ultimately, we recognize that one day true healing will come to every part of us, when we are fully in your presence. And so help us to live with that truth in mind, and help us to bring healing to others while we wait for our own. We pray this in Jesus’ name.