The body cries out in pain, and the soul trembles at the thought of the surgeon’s knife. This is natural, for we are not angels but flesh and blood. Yet consider how Christ dealt with His disciples when they were tossed by the waves and cried out in terror. He did not appear at once, but in the fourth watch of the night, training them not to seek a hasty rescue from every pressing danger, but to bear each trial with a manful spirit. The pain in the hip, the waiting for the operation, the long weeks of rehabilitation, these are the rough sea upon which you now walk. Do not demand that the Lord calm it the moment you call out. Learn to say, even through clenched teeth, that the exceeding greatness of the power may be of God, and not from ourselves. The skill of the doctor is a gift, but the outcome hangs entirely on the hidden will of the Physician of souls.
You ask for success, and you are right to ask. Yet do not imagine that success is merely a bone set well and a wound closed neatly. True success is this: that through the weakness of the body, the spirit is made whole. The same Apostle who suffered bodily affliction learned that the power of Christ rests upon him precisely in weakness. We pray for a good job from the surgeon, yes. But we pray more fervently that whether the hip heals swiftly or slowly, with ease or with difficulty, you will be enriched in everything to all liberality of thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is not a single cry of relief when the pain stops; it is that spiritual fruit which multiplies even while the ache remains, the work of grace which flows through us to the glory of God. Offer that sacrifice now. Do not wait for the answer to give thanks. When you give thanks for what is yet unseen, you make a confession far more powerful than any mere request.
Do not be distressed if the healing seems slow, or if the path to walking again is long and wearisome. Remember what takes place in the sacred mystery of Baptism. We plunge the old man into the water as into a tomb, burying him wholly. Then we lift up the new man, rising to life. This is done three times, sealing the power of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Your bed of recovery is a kind of tomb where the old reliance on strong bones and untroubled flesh must be buried. As you lie there, helpless for a season, consider that God is dipping you down, putting off the old Adam who trusted in his own strength. When He raises you up again to walk, it will be as a new creature, who has learned that every step is a gift. The pain flares, and we wish to escape it. But the hidden purpose is this: to destroy the temple of pride, so that the Spirit of God may dwell in a clean habitation. If any man destroys that temple of self-trust, God will build up a living temple of humility in its place.
You ask for prayer without ceasing. You say, keep praying until the Father answers. Yet what is the answer you envision? A scar free of infection? A leg that moves without pain? These things are right to desire, but they are the temporal return. The spiritual return, which abides forever, is a soul so tested by affliction that it scatters abroad mercy and thanksgiving to all. Many who hear the word of the Gospel ten times remain insensible, but afterward, a single blow of suffering brings them to a sudden and abundant fruit of faith. The fierce poison of worldly anxiety and murmuring is more deadly than any wound of the flesh. The devil wages war not on our bodies, but through them, seeking to pour out the venom of despair. But the very bonds of sickness can become the cords of salvation. Because He was bound, we are freed. Because He suffered, our suffering is not unto death, but unto life. Do not look for the miracle of an instant cure, as the Jews demanded a sign. The greater miracle is here: that hearing the word of God, you believe and entrust your broken frame to Him. Faith, true faith, comes not by the sight of a healed limb, but by hearing the promise of the Resurrection. Lay hold of that promise now, while the hip still throbs. This is the victory.
