O child of the covenant, there is a dark whisper that has been haunting you, a hiss from the pit that says a curse hangs over your house and over the son you love. I know that voice. It is the oldest arrow in Satan’s quiver, the one he aims most carefully when the night is thick and the way is lonely. He would have you believe that evil words spoken against you carry more weight than the word of the God who has blessed you in Christ. But that lie is like a cloud that hides the sun for a moment, the sun is still shining, and in a moment the wind of heaven shall blow the mist away.
Listen. Upon a green hill outside Jerusalem, long ago, the Son of God was made a curse for us. As it is written, “Cursed is everyone that hangeth on a tree.” Christ hung there in your place, and in the place of your son, and He drank the cup of the curse dry. Not a drop remains for those who are in Him. So when the adversary points to some curse uttered in malice or in ignorant superstition, you may answer boldly: “I am redeemed by the precious blood of Christ, and the curse has no more power over me than a spent thunderbolt.” It is not your own clinging that keeps you safe, but the grip of the pierced hand that holds you both. He brought you forth out of the Egypt of your former fears, and He did not bring you forth with empty hands, He brought you forth with silver and with gold, with the riches of His grace, and there is not one feeble person among His tribes. He will not begin with feebleness in your house now.
And for your dear son, the same Lord who looses the bands of spiritual oppression is the Healer of the body and the Comforter of the wounded heart. You ache to see him weighed down, both in flesh and in memory. Bring him often to the tree of life whose leaves are for the healing of the nations. There is medicine there for every ill, food for every emptiness, and a deep well of living water that never runs dry. When the physicians seem at a loss, or when old hurts rise up like ghosts at midnight, Jesus stands near with a store of quiet restorations. He does not break the bruised reed nor quench the smoking flax; He cuts the bars of iron in sunder, but He does it so gently that the prisoner scarcely knows his chains have fallen until he walks out into the morning light. Trust the Great Physician with the whole case. He knows how to bring the body into a safe and wholesome order, and He knows how to pour the oil of his own love into the wounds that no man can see. Do not think for a moment that God has thrown about your son some affliction and then gone away. He is too tender a Father for that. Even now, while you read, His eye is upon him, and His thoughts are full of peace, not of evil, to give him a hoped end.
So let your heart be quiet. Muzzle that hound of unbelief that barks in the dark. The Lord hath delivered you from the power of darkness and hath translated you into the kingdom of His dear Son. No curse can cross that border. No sorcery can scale that wall. And as for your son, say with me this word and write it on the wall of your memory: “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.” That promise is for him, too. The works the Lord will do in his life shall yet be a song in your mouth. The giant Despair may rattle his chains, but the key has turned in the lock, and the iron gate swings open. You are going out, and you shall take your son with you.
Now let us pray together.
O Lord Jesus, our Ransom and our Shield, we bring before Thee this dear one who fears and this beloved son who struggles. Stand between them and every dark word that has been spoken over their lives. Let the power of Thy cross be a mighty, silencing answer to every curse, so that they are as chaff before the wind, gone, all gone, in Thy finished work. Visit this mother with the deep assurance that Thou art near and that nothing can pluck her or her child out of Thy hand. For the son, we ask a double portion of healing: take his body and restore its strength and order in safe, quiet, lasting ways; breathe upon the wounds of his past, and let the balm of Gilead sink in until the pain is remembered only as a dream at dawn. Be a wall of fire around that household, and be the glory in their midst. We bless Thee that Thou hast not appointed us unto wrath, but to obtain salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ. So keep them in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, until the day break and the shadows flee away. Amen.