A sick king prays
I sought the Lord, and he answered me,
And delivered me from all my fears. Psalm 34:4
Read Isaiah 38:10—20
I am reading part of a prayer of a king, Hezekiah. There is little regal about it. Kings die like the rest of us. He is fretful in the face of death as his most neglected slave would be. He fills his night times crying. Sickness does that to me, too. It really brings me down to the dust. Well, perhaps there is something grand, after all, about the language here, worthy of a king: I have rolled up my life as a weaver rolls up cloth. I am about to be stacked away. That is quite a posture. And it’s a brilliant observation when he says that God has cast all my sins behind his back, that I only see God’s smile toward me now, and that all I have done to degrade our relationship no longer has power to do that. I actually need this not only to be grand, not only to be brilliant, but to be true. So, after all, this king’s prayer is the prayer of every humble person. Whether I’m laid aside by a snivelling cold or the final terminal illness, I look to the Lord alone as my life-giver.
My Saviour and Redeemer, you speak life and health. When you forgive sin you speak my life. You speak cheerfully. You promise the final end of all that opposes you, the waste and decay that I see around and also experience within. I have tasted your healing and restoration in body and in my spirit. And though one day my body will succumb to some illness, all I’ve known in this life is a promise of complete forgiveness, a final healing, an eternal life and a shared glory.