Whether we realize it or not, we all have our own opinions about them.
Their relevance. Their existence.
The way they're given. The way they're exercised.
So many of our opinions are formed by negative experiences. Usually from within the church.
My first exposure the concept of divine healing came to me because I was "sick". Born with a severe case of scoliosis, I underwent corrective surgery ten years ago. This means I have an 18" scar down the middle of my back. And to be honest, my x-rays look like I've strapped a pipe-bomb to my crooked spine.
(This makes traveling through airports a little more difficult for me than for you...)
God has used my disease to reach out to others. My faith was strengthened through surgery, through rehab, through the many years of strength-training that followed. I became a stronger person each time I put on a bathing suit or a shirt with a low back.
But when I was about eighteen years old, one of my childhood friends came home from "college". I remember pulling into my driveway with him in the car as he began to tell me his "college", his "church", believed all sickness, all mental retardation, all disease, were demons. He was being "trained" to call them out. Divine healing.
I stopped the car and turned to the passenger seat. Livid. "Did you know I have a disease?" I remained calm. But after years of being made fun of, after years of asking God why I had to be the one who had a disfigured body; asking why I was the one who was scarred, His answer had always been clear: My power will be made perfect through this...
Though my faith was strengthened through endurance... all I wanted to do was cry.
The boy didn't know what to do. I told him he was welcome to try and cast my demon out. But I didn't think it was going anywhere.
No one would be surprised, then, if I told them I was skeptical on all levels of the workings of spiritual gifts.
I have seen people fake being slain in the Spirit.
I have listened as people spoke in tongues out loud, but there was no interpreter in sight.
I have stood by and listened as people spoke about prophetic dreams -- as if they were a gypsy looking into a glass ball.
I was a skeptic.
A skeptical lover of Christ.
In 2009 I got sick. Much different than scoliosis, I kept quiet about it for some time. And then finally when I began to get scared, I went to a free medical clinic at EKU. I knew what the doctors were worried about. Something in me knew, after that first visit with a NP in Richmond, my life was about to change.
They thought I had cancer.
I had no medical insurance. I was enrolled in college. I had just lost thirty pounds and was training for a race. Suddenly, I almost couldn't function anymore.
Then I met her. Rocking babies in the nursery at church. She wanted me to come and listen to her perform at a local coffee shop one Monday night.
Something in me knew I had to go. No option. Cancel all plans. Go.
It was no coincidence that as I walked into the coffee shop, she was holding her stomach. Explaining to someone she had found a tumor.
They thought she had cancer.
I prayed for her that night. Straight out of my own fear and my own worry. Knowing such a disease was not from God -- but neither was it a demon to be cast out. What the enemy had meant to harm, the Lord our God was going to turn around and use for good. And we were witnesses.
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Two years later, I have been diagnosed with an obscure sickness that is easily manageable and only occasionally annoying. Two years later, my sweet friend has undergone surgery and chemo. Her hair is back. And she is smiling. The most beautiful of women.
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The concept of the correlation between sin and sickness came back around to me last year. I was still suffering from this chronic sickness and I met a guy who believed, not that my sickness was a demon, but that I wasn't being healed because my faith wasn't strong enough.
Sometimes I stop and think about how someone who does not have Jesus in their heart must feel about these things. How detrimental such religious beliefs can be to those who are still seeking and haven't yet found. Seriously. What part of, "you have acne, you must be possessed by a demon" would make you want to know Jesus?
Anyway.
It was about this time last summer I was asked to attend a leadership training in Pawleys Island, South Carolina. I agreed to go. But it wasn't until I got in the van and was halfway to our destination that I heard how intensely this particular group of people operated in the gifts of the Spirit.
I stared at my seat belt. And the road sign, which said we had just entered North Carolina. I was stuck. On my way to interact with people who would surely tell me my faith was lacking and the disease in my belly was attributed to my lack of faith and then whisper weird words in my ears. Was I scared? Heck yes I was.
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I was prayed for multiple times that week. For strength and courage. I was told I was Moses. Esther. Ruth. I was hugged. They prayed against my sickness... but it didn't go away. They acknowledged it as a battle -- not as a demon. They prayed for unhindered progress.
I took a spiritual gifts "test" that week.
According to the different tests I took, my gifts are discernment, wisdom, and evangelism.
The woman leading my small group told me something others had only hinted at over the previous year. That I might have the gift of prophesy.
Good grief. What does that even mean?
After all my negative experiences. After all the miracles I've been witness to. After all the directions I've received from the Lord. After all the intervention, all the quiet, whispered words from Him.
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A spiritual gift is exactly what it sounds like. When we accept Christ, we receive the Holy Spirit. Along with His presence comes a collective calling. To make disciples of all nations. To love the Lord our God. To love our neighbor.
Along with His presence, combined with our personalities and individual make up, comes a specific gift.
As if you were born with a muscle. A stabilizing muscle, if you will. Deep under the surface. You wouldn't know it was there. Unless you used it. And it's not strong yet. Because you haven't.
Some of us live our entire lives using these muscles, never knowing they have a name.
The world calls us wise.
The world calls us compassionate.
The world calls us hospitable.
The world calls us restless.
The world calls us brave.
The world calls us naive.
Wisdom, compassion, hospitality, faith. Apostles, evangelists, teachers.
It is not some crazy, supernatural phenomenon. It is not a game. It is not a measurement of your spirituality. It is not something we give to each other.
It is a gift.
It is the very way God has called you to reach out to His children.
It is your weapon.
It is the very way God speaks to you. Through you. For you.
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On my wrist I have a word tattooed.
It is the greek word for "grace".
From Colossians 4:6:
"Therefore, let your conversation be full of grace and seasoned with salt so you may know how to answer everyone."
For the past year of my life I have donned the identity of a prophet -- as strange as that sounds. My gift of discernment is there, surely. It is the one I have spent the last year strengthening. Asking God to develop my ears. My eyes. I was so resistant to this identity -- this gift -- at first. Because it makes me weird. Like maybe I should be eating locusts.
But tattooed on my arm is a reminder. Of another gift, another muscle.
The call of my life. To reach out.
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If you have been wounded by the "church"... by people who think they understand what it means to operate in the spirit; if you associate spiritual gifts with the handling of snakes and loud, obnoxious, public displays of "healing"... with harmful words about a lack of faith... with fear and admonishment...
You are not alone.
But God wants more for you. He wants to use you. In ways that draw attention to Himself, that bring glory to Him, that further and advance His kingdom.
And such gifts manifest themselves in the smallest, simplest ways.
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