There is a story about religion in times of extremity, told by Orcadian bard George Mackay Brown.
“We’d do weel to pray,” said a North Ronaldsay fisherman to his crew as another huge wave broke over them.
It had been a fine day when they launched the boat. Then this sudden gale got up. Willag was a kirk elder. The skipper told him to start praying.
“O Lord,” said Willag, “Thou art just, Thou art wonderful, Thou art merciful, great are Thy works, Thou art mighty.” Willag faltered in his litany of praise. The boat wallowed through a huge trough.
“Butter Him up!” cried the skipper. “Butter Him up!”
In times of trial, some people do things that are out of character. They may seek to strike bargains with an alien deity, promising that, if the provoking crisis is successfully negotiated, they will go to church every Sunday/give all their cash to the poor/support Cowdenbeath/vote Tory, or whatever. Once the crisis is over, the promises may be shelved.
Receiving a diagnosis of terminal illness is one such crisis. People who have always taken a strictly rational view of life may find themselves eating seaweed sandwiches, meditating on crystals, or chanting Sanskrit mantras with a Glasgow accent. Which is why some surprising characters may turn up to Destiny Church in Pollockshaws Road, Glasgow soon, listening to a prophet of dubious provenance. American evangelist Richard Roberts will be in town, telling people to “expect miracles.”
Warning that cancer victims often clutch at straws and that the event could be potentially damaging to them, Professor Jim Cassidy, head of Glasgow University’s Centre for Oncology, says he would be keen to find out if there was a way of stopping such a thing. Should it be stopped?
Let’s start by turning the spotlight on Richard Roberts. The son of head-banging Pentecostal preacher Oral Roberts, he developed serious colon problems as a student. From his hospital bed, Roberts did a deal with the deity: heal me and I’ll serve you. According to Roberts, the next day the doctors could find nothing wrong with him. Two years ago, a number of the faculty of the Oral Roberts University did find something wrong with him, accusing him of financial impropriety. Pleading innocence, he resigned in tears in front of TV cameras. (If you go to YouTube and key in Richard Roberts and Pat Robertson, you’ll see two oleaginous creeps buttering up not God, but each other. It’s not a pretty sight.)
So Roberts is a charlatan and this event should be stopped? Not so fast. If only life were so simple. I’ve checked out the literature, and neither Roberts nor Destiny Church claim that if ill people turn up, they’ll all be cured of what ails them. Not only that, they insist on the importance of conventional medicine. But mainstream medicine does have its limits; and sometimes people are cured in ways that mystify the medical profession. Quite how the cures take place is a matter of controversy. Does it all boil down to belief in belief, or are there powers “out there” that affect the body and mind in unfathomable ways?
Even in extremis, I suspect I would want to give Mr. Roberts the body-swerve. (Having said that, one of the key figures in the Bible is Jacob, a crook you wouldn’t want to buy a used camel from. Despite some of its most vocal defenders, Christianity is not primarily about moral righteousness, but about grace, epiphanies, surprises.) I find it rather touching that Glasgow City Council’s trading standards unit is monitoring the situation. The notion of Council officials trying to assess miracles brings tears to my eyes. What next? Close down Lourdes on health and safety grounds?
Professor Cassidy is right: if claims were made that if you turn up you’ll be cured, that would be cruelty. That doesn’t seem to be what’s on offer. Last time I checked, this is still a land of the free and even desperate and despairing people have the right to make “out of character” choices.
Besides, it’s possible to be healed without being cured: but that’s another argument for another day.
Ron Ferguson is a former pastor and leader of The Iona Community now living on Orkney Island (Scotland) as a writer and broadcaster. The column first appeared in The Glasgow Herald and is used by permission.
