2 Corinthians 12:7–10

Dear congregation,

She was 43 when the diagnosis came. Cancer. Out of nowhere, right in the middle of life. Colon cancer. It hit hard. First the surgery, then chemotherapy. She lost weight, lost her hair, lost her strength. But she fought. She tried homeopathic remedies too. She started eating healthier, took up sport, slowly regained strength, and eventually returned to work — as a theologian in an organisation serving people with disabilities.

Since the surgery she has lived with a stoma. But she handles it well, even goes swimming regularly. Sometimes she jokes about it. “You know,” she once told me, “sometimes it’s actually useful. For example when I’m stuck in traffic: everyone else is stressed because they need to find a toilet… and I’m completely relaxed. I have my little bag.” And she laughs.

But alongside the laughter there are moments of fear. She has to go for CT scans regularly. If the cancer doesn’t return within five years, she will be considered healed. She almost makes it. But then, a little over four years later, the devastating news comes. She phones me, in tears: “The cancer is back. There are metastases in my lungs. They can’t operate. I have to go back on chemo. But even with chemo, it isn’t curable…”

I am shocked too — she is my friend. The treatment is tough, and it’s only palliative. It can keep the cancer at bay for a while, but it won’t make it disappear. And sooner or later, it will get worse.

At the same time she is preparing for ordination, finishing her exams in her late forties. She wants to become a pastor for people with disabilities. “Why now? Why does this happen now? I still want to do so much. I feel so strongly that God has called me…”

She is realistic; she wants to look her illness in the face. But sometimes she still hopes for a miracle. Yes — miracles happen. In the Bible we read of many. And sometimes even today people completely unexpectedly recover. “Couldn’t I experience a miracle too? God, please help me…”

Dear brothers and sisters,

How many of you have asked yourself a similar question? When someone has cancer or another serious illness with a dark prognosis — when someone must endure harsh treatments, often in the middle of life — we worry deeply. Even if we ourselves manage to come to terms with a shortened life expectancy, we still ask: What about the children? What about our ageing parents? What about our partner — how will they handle it? How will they cope?

Then there is the question of treatment. Should I trust conventional medicine, even though it may not heal me and places such strain on my body? Is there not a gentler therapy somewhere?

And some of our African brothers and sisters ask themselves: Should I rather go to a traditional healer, a sangoma?

And finally — it becomes a spiritual struggle.

“God, I don’t deserve this! God, can’t you heal me? I know you can — so why don’t you?”

When we are desperate, we grasp at anything. And sometimes there are religious figures who promise healing. They say: “You just have to pray and trust God. Come to me, I’ll lay hands on you and pray, and you will be healed.” And if you are not healed, it must be because you didn’t pray enough… or didn’t trust enough.

I hope there is no one here who accuses themselves like that: “I wasn’t healed — maybe I didn’t believe strongly enough.”

No! Absolutely not.

And yet the question nags us: If people in the Bible were healed, why not me?

There are such beautiful stories — Jesus giving people courage, lifting them up, restoring them to community. Many of you know these stories, some from childhood: the paralysed man, blind Bartimaeus, the woman with haemorrhages…

But what many don’t know is that there are also people in the Bible who pray intensely and are not healed. One of them is none other than the apostle Paul.

Let us step into his time. It is the year 56 AD. Paul is writing to the Christians in Corinth. He is struggling. The Corinthians are questioning his authority. Other spiritual leaders have come to Corinth — they seem wiser, give brilliant sermons, boast about extraordinary spiritual experiences, as though they were already in heaven.

“Paul, can you also claim such experiences?”

Yes, he could. But he doesn’t want to. He does not want to impress or be admired. He wants people to see how wonderful God is and what Christ has done. “I could boast about heavenly visions,” he says. “But that’s not the point. I also have my weaknesses. I struggle. It’s not easy…”

Let us read from 2 Corinthians 12:7–10:

“To keep me from being too elated by the extraordinary revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me — to keep me from being too elated. Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, but he said to me: ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Dear sisters and brothers, Paul lets himself be vulnerable.

“I have a thorn in my flesh… I feel beaten down…”

We don’t know precisely what kind of illness or chronic pain Paul suffered. But we see how deeply it limits him, how it stops him from being as active as he wishes. Desperately he wrestles with God — like the psalmists.

“God, help me! Heal me. Remove this burden. Ease the pain. God, you called me to be your messenger — there is still so much to do. Why are you stopping me? What sense does this make?”

“Three times I pleaded with the Lord…”

Paul — the great apostle, a role model of faith for so many — is not healed. Never should we say that people who are not healed did not pray enough. Paul must accept it. He must live with his illness, not without it.

For God answers: “My grace is sufficient for you.”

It is not the answer Paul wanted. Perhaps he thought: “Yes, your grace is enough… but couldn’t you make things a little easier?”

“My power is made perfect in weakness.”

God’s power — made perfect in weakness. It sounds like a contradiction. It is a bitter pill for Paul. But he takes it on board. Precisely when he reaches the end of his own strength — when he is on the ground praying, “God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to proclaim your good news now, you must help me” — precisely in those moments he experiences: God helps. God lifts me up. God gives me words.

And to his surprise he realises: I can still do it. Despite my limitations. God works through me — beyond my borders.

Did Paul ever imagine that 2,000 years later his letters would be read all over the world? Is that not a miracle? A miracle that happened through his weakness?

And because of this experience, Paul stands close to all who are not healed. He shares his testimony: “When I think I am finished, God is nowhere near finished. When I am weak — then I am strong.”

My friend has taken up the fight again. It is hard. More chemo, with all the awful side effects. More CT scans and the fear around them. But she finishes her exams. She is ordained. She becomes a pastor for people with disabilities. She knows that life doesn’t always run smoothly — and that we are still, each of us, God’s beloved children, a gift to this world, with our strengths and with our weaknesses.

Sometimes she loses courage and feels she cannot face the strain any longer. Then she remembers: My elderly father needs me. My friends need me. There is so much I still want to do — write, sing, preach, accompany people spiritually…

And, hey — life still has so much to offer: coffee with friends, a matcha latte or a glass of bubbly, the feedback from someone who says, “Your words helped me so much…”

She is not healed. But she is already considered a “long survivor.” Her doctors did not expect her to live this long — or to keep working. Maybe another miracle will happen. But even if it doesn’t: the way she lives with her illness is, for many, a source of encouragement — including for me. I am convinced God still has much planned for her and is working through her. In the way she hits her limits and still presses on, she truly lives out Paul’s words: “When I am weak, then I am strong.”

And I am sure that many of you, too, are a source of encouragement to others — through the way you fight, the way you endure, the way you do not give up.

And many of you could also say:

“Through God’s strength, I am strong — even in my weakness.”

Amen.