Apr 25, 2025 0
When Were You Healed?
4-28-25
Mary was an old lady in our church. Maybe “the”old lady in our church. Nobody knew much about her. Widow or “old maid”? She always kept to herself. In fact, some of the other women thought her name was Marie. She was elderly, not ancient, and sometimes it was hard to understand her.
Poor old Mary had a skin condition. It seemed stretched over parts of her body, and it pulled her mouth tight. Everybody thought it must have been painful, but it was uncomfortable for others to look at. Poor old Mary. Nobody really wanted to shun her, but it sort of worked out that way.
We can say she kept to herself, but partly she arranged such a thing. When the invitations came to pray at the altar… she always was the first to limp up front. When prayer requests were sought, she was the first to bring her burdens to the Lord… and usually continued in prayer long after others stopped, and even sometimes till the church was nearly empty.
After a while her prayers, as they could be understood by the rest of us, were praises. Praises for having been healed. She didn’t look like there was any healing, however. In fact, over the months and years, she looked worse off – her skin looked progressively worse. Tighter… almost shiny across her face… ugly marks on her skin… her body was twisting worse… It seemed harder for her to walk… and harder for us to understand when she talked.
Poor old Mary.
We prayed for her, of course. Not always with her. I have to say that we all thought the prayers were futile – clearly she was not getting better – and it certainly was hard to form words of thanks when she clearly was getting worse. We could understand her words, barely; and sort of looked the other way when she limped around the sanctuary’s perimeter in one of her plain house dresses. And we sort of understood when she petitioned and thanked the Lord, ever more loudly.
But she continued to attend church, responded to the requests for members’ health and healing, and, louder and louder each Sunday morning and Wednesday evening, called out praises for being healed. In her mind. Frankly, our discomfort turned to embarrassment. After all these years…
This could not go on, many of us buzzed. And it did not.
One Wednesday evening she entered from the rear as usual. At least we thought it was Poor old Mary. This lady wore one of those dresses, and her hair was sort-of made up like Mary’s. But she was not bent over. She did not limp. It was her voice, familiar to us from the repeated requests and praises… but now we could understand her. Her lips were not stretched tight, and her skin was clear of those splotches and stretches.
And Mary did not limp down the aisle to take her usual place at the end of the pew up front. She ran around the perimeter of the sanctuary where so often she limped, mumbling her prayers. She ran. Now her arms were totally upraised. Her smiling face was hers, not a stretched disfigurement. “Thank you Jesus! Thank you, Jesus!” were now heard clearly.
When she reached her usual seat, many of us gathered around her. She couldn’t sit – not because of the pain, but because she was irrepressibly happy – and we scarcely could ask her a question between her torrent of praise and tears of joy. But it was Poor Old Mary. “Poor” no more, after all this time!
“Mary, Mary!” we succeeded in getting through. “When were you healed???”
She looked up at us, one by one. It was, again, a little hard to understand her – but this time it was because she was laughing and crying tears of joy and was exhausted from running around the church. But she said:
“When was I healed? Two thousand years ago!”
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Click: The Healer
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