How to Pray for the Sick

Redeeming Handkerchiefs

Visitation is one of the great callings and privileges of the pastorate. Over the last couple of years covid has gotten in the way of what was an otherwise routine part of my ministry. I have made a habit of visiting and praying with the sick, the elderly, the needy, and—really—just about anyone. Yesterday I visited five homes, knocking on their doors (in some instances) unannounced. You never know when Jesus will stand at your door and knock, so I like to prep my congregants for that inevitability.

There are instances, however, when visiting someone is not a possibility. After a refreshing and joyful round of visits yesterday, I was reminded of one congregant I never could visit. She was a woman in her fifties who had a systemic illness that made it very difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to visit her. Her husband cared for her. She became increasingly invisible to the church due to her absence, so we decided we needed to be more intentional about remembering her. We would routinely send communion home with her husband, and we were always sure to set it on the communion table with the rest of the meal as a visible representation for the rest of the church of both her absence and her membership in the body.

But we also wanted to pray for her. Normally we anoint with oil and lay hands on the sick, but in this instance that was not possible. So we came up with another plan.

There is this rather obscure story in Acts 19 where Luke says that handkerchiefs that had touched the Apostle Paul’s skin were brought to the sick and oppressed and they were healed. Television Pentecostal preacher-charlatans have taken this passage and abused it for evil purposes, promising people healing if they will buy a blessed handkerchief to support the “ministry.” But abuses shouldn’t prevent us from doing the right thing.

Pastor Abby Anderson, who had known this woman her whole life, volunteered to buy and embroider a handkerchief. She put a Scripture on it, and next to the Scripture, a dog (because the woman so loved animals). The leadership of the church then gathered after church on Sunday, laid hands on the handkerchief, and asked that God would use it to heal our sister in Christ. Her husband took it to her.

The woman is now away from the body and at home with the Lord. Our handkerchief prayer may not have resulted in an extension of the present life, but we believe with great confidence that it was nevertheless heard and that it will yet be answered to the glory of God. Jesus will knock on the door of her grave and say to her, like he said to Tabitha, the great seamstress, “rise!” This woman’s healing is coming, and it’s called resurrection.

May there be no invisible people in the church.

May obscure Scriptures beget obscure practices.

May we all behold our Lord when he stands at the door and knocks.

And may we all receive the final healing of resurrection.