What Does it Mean to Pray for the Sick

and why have we been doing it wrong?

I have a confession. Something I’ve wrestled with for years is scripture’s instruction to “pray for the sick.” You see, I love to pray. There are few things I enjoy more! But currently I’m seated at a miniature sized white table facing the hospital garden. My ten–year–old daughter is doing blood draws down the hall. You see, she was born with a rare cone shaped tumor in her spinal cord, and as she grows, that tumor snags and tethers the nerves in her back, over and over. This requires multiple surgeries over the course of her life to keep her mobile and growing. So, in a couple days she will undergo another detethering surgery, and as we learned last time– it is not without risk. She had this same procedure done three years ago, and it left her with a neurogenic bladder, permanently catheter dependent. And as I wrestle and pray for my daughter down the hall, there’s something I just keep noticing that my hyper fixating brain won’t let me let go of.

            Scripture implores us to pray for the sick– yes, but it does not explicitly instruct us to pray for a sick person to receive bodily curing. We need to sit with this.

            Often our modern translations interchange the meanings of important Greek words. Let’s look at James 5:15, a popular “clobber passage” if you will, that is regularly weaponized against people with disabilities. We will explore this verse and add context little by little. The NIV translates verse 15 to read:

“And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well.”

But the word for sick person here is kamnō and it is translated in both Hebrews and Revelation as a person that is merely weary or tired. This is not in a context of disability or chronic illness at all. The NET translation is a little bit more accurate:

“And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up—and if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven. So, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another so that you may be healed.”  

So again, The Greek word for saved here is sozo. It is translated elsewhere in scripture as “save” roughly 93 times and is thus the more appropriate choice (rather than making them well). So, let’s keep going. I’ll include a little more context from verse 14 and then let’s visit yet another translation as we observe the ending:

            “Is anyone among you suffering? He should pray. Is anyone in good spirits? He should sing praises. Is anyone among you ill? He should summon the elders of the church, and they should pray for him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick and the Lord will raise him up – and if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven.”

            As we can see, there is quite the difference here between the words “healed” and “raised up,” especially in the context of forgiveness that is mentioned at the end. So why the mention of forgiveness? Because forgiveness is the proper context. If we look for comparable examples in scripture, this same phrase is utilized in Leviticus 4:20, as well as Numbers 15:25. In both instances, the phrase is similarly translated as “he will be forgiven.”

            What does this all mean for people with sickness and disabilities? It means this passage in James is talking about the ultimate hope in salvation for any believer who finds themselves weary, sick, tired–all of the above! Context matters, and it matters to the faith of those who suffer. We promote idolatry when we wrongly make earthly healing the ultimate point of this passage. As believers our ultimate hope is in our salvation by faith– and twisting the meanings of these words has done more harm than good for people who have been handed this verse out of context- especially as a source of false hope. Similarly, this passage instructs the body of believers to anoint the heads of the sick with oil and pray in the name of the Lord over them… but the text never explicitly spells out what specifically to pray–

And I find that incredibly freeing.

Something else that’s important to point out is that during Jesus’ earthly ministry, the gospels record 35 miracles that include healing… but there was no consistent methodology or formula to attaining that healing. Sometimes it was the faith of the individual. Sometimes it was the faith of their family or friends. Sometimes there was touching or no touching. But yet all of his miraculous healings were purposeful and intentional. Jesus’ miracles always point to the mystery of the glory of God. The reality is that every person Jesus ever healed or resurrected ultimately died. Because the miracle was never greater than the giver. The miracle was never supposed to be about the people who were healed, but rather to point to the mercy, power, and authority of God. Once again, we can see the gospels reinforce this idea that the healing isn’t the ultimate goal- it’s closeness with the healer, on his own terms. Healing in Christ’s context is therefor a beginning point, not an end.

            I have prayed for my daughter’s fragile body more times than I can count. And yet, as I’ve spent time listening to and learning from disabled people including my own children, they are not impatiently aiming to pray their disabilities away, even in the midst of suffering and chronic pain. When I listen to them and let them lead, often they’re praying for relief, comfort, respite, community, and support. Disabled members of the body of Christ are praying for access to care and medication they need. They’re praying for ways to belong to the parts of church culture that they often feel alienated from entirely. And make no mistake, these prayers for practical needs are not “cop–out–prayers”, they reveal real needs that must be met. I’ve been told more times than I can count that disabled families are simply praying the wrong prayer. And often I’ve been too fragile to push back.

But I’m pushing back now. Because scripture does not support this ableist idea.

            And I wonder if our overall refusal to simply permit disabled people to lead these prayers and our pompous insistence that our healing prayer formulas are “better” than their honest cries for care are actually to all of our shared detriment. What if our western culture’s deeply embedded idolatry of health and wellness has ingrained a hierarchy within our theology that renders the family of God unable to imagine the sheer beauty and mystery of a theology of disability that is capable of imaging God’s intrinsic interdependence, as it is revealed in scripture? What if that hierarchy limits us from caring for each other well?

            And I suppose I wonder if insisting that healing must trump all has inadvertently disabled our ability to love our disabled siblings within the faith in the ways that they wish to be loved? Because if my faith is in a God that is always totally himself, then in humility I must be willing to honor a healer that heals on his own terms, in his own ways, for his own glory. And I guess I wonder if truthfully those surface level prayers that view curing and healing interchangeably are a way of protecting our own fragile faith, rather than being willing to enter the unfamiliar territory of being in harmonious relationship with those who suffer? What would it look like to commit to being in right relationship with disabled image bearers, where we can live interdependently, unarmed, and unafraid because of our shared dependence on our risen King?

            So, what would happen if we took a step back and allowed people with disabilities lead the prayers over their own bodies? What if we joined them in God–honoring mutuality? What if we submitted to their wisdom as siblings in the faith, and as experts in their own experience? What if we repented for all the ways we’ve failed to act faithfully for their flourishing? What if we committed to showing up for them in ways that are practical, meaningful, and embody our shared faith, beyond mere words. And make no mistake, I’m not saying anything new here. When my disabled friends share, this is what they are saying, and I’d encourage you to please listen to them.

            What it all comes down to for me, is this: When I’m praying for sick loved ones, when I’m praying for my daughter upstairs, I remember that the process of anointing something with oil is a way of consecrating it as holy.

Anointing is not a diminutive ritual– anointing is an act that honors.

            Is this how we are treating our disabled loved ones? As holy and consecrated? As bearing God’s divine image?

            Or would we rather pretend their scars simply don’t exist, because it’s too hard for us to see the complexities of disability for all that they are? Do we view Christ’s scars with the same discomfort?

            Do I pray that my daughter’s surgery is safe and Lord willing complication free this time? Yes. But rather than try to erase the parts of her that stretch my faith, my prayer is that I would come alongside her in the best possible way. My prayer is that I would show up with faithfulness and respect in a way that honors her… even through a process of slow healing, and even in the potential absence of an earthly cure.

            My truest hope is that we would not allow small gods and small faith get in the way of loving people with our whole hearts– even when that love rattles us to the core. So instead of rushing to pray a prayer that fits inside of our tiny little boxes, I’d encourage us all to pray prayers that point to a love that is larger, more inclusive, and freer.

            Love doesn’t try to manipulate outcomes, conjure cures, or otherwise demand its way. Love listens well.

Love pulls up a chair next to the hospital bed, unbothered by the beeping monitors, and makes itself comfortable.

And when the agonizing pain and suffering overstay their welcome, love reassuringly whispers “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving.”

To be clear, I am not saying we should halt our healing prayers entirely, but I do hope we will be reverent stewards of scripture as we aim to truly love the people that we’re praying for in the best way possible. As we pray for their ultimate good, may we champion their flourishing, embodying our prayers with our entire existence. This is truly what it means to love our neighbors well.