Healing Stories

I read this story sometime in April and it has inspired in me how much God cares if we will only trust him. I share the story with you here.

JESUS LIVES TODAY!
In 1973 I was the provincial of my congregation, the missionaries of the sacred heart, in the Dominican Republic. I had been working at a frantic pace for 16 years, never stopping to worry about my health. A lot of my time was spent in physical development: building churches, seminaries, center for catechists or for human and so on. I was always looking for money- either to erect buildings or to feed our poor seminarians.

Pulmonary tuberculosis

The lord allowed me to live through all this activism, but on June 14 I fell ill because of over work. In a meeting of the Christian family movement, I felt sick…..very sick. I was rushed to the national medical centre, so seriously ill that I thought I wouldn’t last the night. I really thought I was about to die. Though I had meditated on death many times, even preached about it, this was my first close call and I’d like it a bit.

After some careful tests, the doctors diagnosed acute pulmonary tuberculosis. Realizing how ill I was, I decided to return to Quebec, where I had been born and where my family still lives. However, I was too weak to be moved. Only after two weeks of special treatment was I allowed to make the journey.

At a special medical centre in Canada the doctors examined me again to confirm the prior diagnosis. The month of July was spent in testing in biopsies, x-rays, etc., which all confirmed the acute pulmonary tuberculosis had seriously damaged both my lungs. To cheer me up a bit, the doctors told me that perhaps, after a year of treatment and rest, I might be able to leave the hospital.

Prayer for healing

One day I received two rather curious visits; the first was by a priest from Notre dame magazine who wanted to take my picture for an article on “how to live with your illness.” He had barely left the room when five lay men from a local charismatic group entered... the two sets of visitors had two entirely different points of view: the first that I accept my illness; the second, that I recover my health.

As a missionary priest, I didn’t not think it was constructive to refuse prayer, but, to be honest, I accepted it more out of courtesy than conviction. I just couldn’t believe that a simple prayer would be enough to heal me. With absolute sincerity they told me, we’re going to do what the gospel says: ‘they will lay their hands on sick people and they will recover.’ We’re going to pray, and the lord will heal you.”

They approached by rocking chair and laid their hands on me. I’d never experienced anything like this before, and I didn’t like it at all. It seemed ridiculous, and I felt embarrassed because people walking by might look in. I interrupted the prayer and said, ‘perhaps you would like to close the doors?’ “of course, father,” they answered.

They closed the door. (it was too late, Jesus had already entered the room!) During the prayer I felt great warmth in my lungs. I thought it was another attack of tuberculosis. Perhaps I was going to die! No, it was the burning love of Jesus that was touching me and healing my damaged lungs. There was a prophecy during this time of prayer. The lord told me, “I will make you a witness of my love.” The living Jesus was giving life not only to my lungs, but also to my priesthood and to my whole being.

A special case

Three or four weeks days later, I felt perfectly well again! My appetite had returned. I was sleeping well, and not feeling any pain. The doctors were ready to begin treatment, but my supposed sickness was not responding to any of the prescribed medicines. They ordered some special injections for people with organic abnormality, but there was no reaction. I said that I felt perfectly well and wanted to go home, but they made me spend the whole month of august in the hospital, while they searched for the tuberculosis that had got away. They couldn’t find it anywhere!

Finally, as the month grew on, and after many tests, my doctor told me, “Father, you may go home. Your health is perfect. Your case contradicts all our medical theories. We just don’t know what happened.” Then, shrugging his shoulders, he added, “Father, you really are a special case in this hospital.” “And in my community as well,” I added, laughing. I left the hospital without prescriptions, medicines or special instructions, and arrived home weighing only 110 pounds. It looked as if the hospital that was supposed to have cured my tuberculosis had almost starved me to death.

Two weeks later, the issue of Notre Dame Magazine appeared, with my hospital photograph on page five. It showed me seated in the famous rocking chair, attached to catheters and tubes, looking sad and thoughtful. The caption read: “the patient must learn to live with his sickness, accustom himself to half-stated hints, indiscreet questions, and friends who look at him differently.” My miraculous cure had made this issue obsolete before it was even printed!
The lord healed me. My faith was very small; perhaps no more than the size of a mustard seed, but the lord is so great that my lack of faith didn’t matter. That’s how God is. If he had to depend on us, he would not be God. This is how I received the first and most important lessons in the school of healing: the lord heals us with the faith that we have. That’s all he asks of us, nothing more.

Emiliano Tardif when on to run one of the largest catholic healing ministries in Canada, Ireland, Dominican Republic and USA.

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