THE AWESOME POWER OF PRAYER
DECEMBER 30, 2012
MIKE CUNNINGHAM

¹⁶ Admit your faults to one another and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous man has great power and wonderful results. ¹⁷ Elijah was as completely human as we are, and yet when he prayed earnestly that no rain would fall, none fell for the next three and a half years! ¹⁸ Then he prayed again, this time that it would rain, and down it poured, and the grass turned green and the gardens began to grow again. James 5:16-18 (TLB)

During the fourth century a man nicknamed Chrysostom, which means “golden-mouthed” wrote the following description of prayer. It was cited by R. Kent Hughes in “James, Faith That Works.”                                                                                                                                               

“The potency of prayer has subdued the strength of fire, it has bridled the rage of lions, hushed anarchy to rest, extinguished wars, appeased the elements, expelled demons, burst the chains of death, expanded the fates of heaven, alleviated diseases, dispelled frauds, rescued cities from destruction, kept the sun on its course, and arrested the progress of the thunderbolt. There is (in it) and all sufficient panoply, a treasure undiminished, a mine which is never exhausted, a sky unobscured, a heaven unruffled by the storm. It is the root, the fountain, the mother of a thousand blessings.” Pgs. 263-264.

For instance, in his outstanding book, “Angels in the ER,” Dr. Robert D. Leslie writes about the following series of events.

“Dr. Lesslie, we need you in here stat.” Jeff’s voice was calm, but I recognized the tone. He meant business, and I immediately headed into the cardiac room. I had been walking up the hallway, talking with one of our surgeons about a young boy with appendicitis in room 5.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, entering. My eyes were immediately drawn to the elderly man on the stretcher. I was not yet aware of the arrival of this patient and didn’t know anything about him. He was pale and obviously afraid. He looked from side to side, all the while tightly clasping the hand of a woman I assumed was his wife.

“Seventy-eight-year-old, history of heart disease,” Jeff told me while starting an IV. “Came in from one of the doctors’ officers in town. POV (privately owned vehicle). Blood pressure is 60 over zip.”

Stepping closer to the stretcher, I reached out and put my hand on his uncovered shoulder. His skin was cool and damp to the touch. I glanced at the cardiac monitor and could see all the telltale changes that suggested an acute heart attack. His rhythm was regular, about seventy a minute, and then…

“Jeff, get the defibrillator over here!” I turned to the woman standing at the side of the stretcher. “Ma’am, would you stand back for a minute?” She immediately released her husband’s grasp and put her hand to her mouth, shrinking back against the equipment carts lining one of the walls.

Jeff was reacting quickly, He’d seen the same thing I had. The regulator rhythm on the monitor had suddenly deteriorated into the spiked, choppy pattern of v-tach (Ventricular tachycardia), an unstable and life threatening electrical pattern. As confirmation of this change, our patient had turned dusky and was staring up at the ceiling, his facial muscles now lax. His low blood pressure must have dropped even lower. Then, as quickly, we watched as the v-tach deteriorated even further. The tracing on the monitor screen told us he was now in ventricular fibrillation. His heart had lost all electrical organization and was simply quivering in his chest, a failing, purposeless “bag of worms.” He was dying.

It was good fortune this had happened in the ER, in front of us, and with the necessary equipment readily at hand to revive him. He would surely have been doomed had this happened at home or in his car.

I immediately applied the defibrillator paddles to his chest and shocked him once. Nothing. The monitor revealed only the chaotic, undulating pattern of v-fib. I shocked him a second time, and then a third. Then …there was a faint beep-beep-beep coming from the monitor.

“Looks like he’s back in a sinus rhythm,” Jeff reported. And then pressing two fingers against the man’s carotid artery, he said, “And I can feel a faint pulse here. Sixty a minute, now seventy. Regular.”

Our patient was responding. We watched as he took some deep breaths and began to look around the room, though still obviously confused. But his color was better and now he had a good, strong pulse.

One of our other nurses had come into the room and was now leading the man’s wife out into the hallway, where her daughter and son-in-law were waiting.

“I’ll be out in just a minute,” I said to his wife, “and we’ll let you know what’s going on. For right now he looks okay.” I looked up at the clock on the wall: 5:35 p. m. The next hour or so would be critical.

We quickly determined that our patient, Wylie Stanfield, was indeed having a heart attack, his third. While we were doing the necessary things to stabilize him, our unit secretary was making arrangements to have one of our cardiologists admit him to the CCU.

I learned that Wylie started having chest pains sometime in the mid-morning. Prudently, his wife, Margaret, had become concerned. They drove to their family doctor’s office and, after sitting for an hour and a half in the waiting area, were taken back to an exam room. The physician was equally concerned and recommended they drive the fifteen minutes over to the ER for testing. Out triage nurse had observed the low blood pressure and his cool clammy skin. Wylie was brought immediately back to the cardiac room, where Jeff had met him. And here we were.

“Jeff, you okay here?” I asked him. “I need to step out and speak with the family.”

“Sure,” he answered. “He looks pretty good now.”

In the hallway, Margaret Stanfield anxiously waited with her daughter and son-in-law.

“Mrs. Stanfield, I’m Dr. Leslie,” I introduced myself, not having had the time to do this in the chaotic cardiac room. I then informed them of our diagnosis, our current plan, and the seriousness of his condition. The daughter, Theresa Streeter, and her husband Mac, stood on either side of Margaret, their arms around her, holding her steady.

We talked for a few minutes until I was sure they knew what was going on.

“Can mother and I go in with him?” Theresa asked.

I thought Jeff had enough time to get things straight, so I said, “Sure, but we need to keep him calm,” I said while looking at Mrs. Stanfield. She seemed in control and nodded her understanding. The last thing we needed was for an emotional outburst to trigger another episode of v-tach, or worse.

The two women went into the room and I was left standing in the hallway with Mac Streeter.

“What do you think, Doc? He asked. “Do you think he can pull through this?

“His chances are fair,” I told him honestly. “After all, he is seventy-eight and he has a bad heart. We’ll just have to see. Right now though, he’s okay.”

This seemed to satisfy him, and I turned, heading toward the nurses’ station.

“Dr. Lesslie, do you have a minute?” he asked tentatively. He was obviously concerned about something.

I stopped and said, “Sure. What’s the problem? “Is there somewhere private where we can talk?  He said this while glancing at the closed cardiac room door.

Curious, I looked down the hallway and thought a moment. Across the corridor, the ENT (Ear, Nose and throat) room stood empty and dark.

“Let’s go over here,” I said, leading him away from the cardiac room.

I turned on the lights of the ENT room and closed the door behind us as we stepped inside.

I pointed to a stool in the corner of the room. “Have a seat, Mac. What do we need to talk about?”

Without any hesitation Mac Streeter began to tell me about the Stanfield family. “My first concern is for Wylie,” he told me, “first and foremost,” he stressed, looking squarely into my eyes. “And I don’t want anything to happen here that might upset him and cause him trouble. I know he’s not very stable.”

And then he told me about the Stanfield’s son, Phil. He was two years older than Theresa and living with his wife and three children in a small town about an hour distant. Theresa had called Phil and told him of their father’s condition. He was on his way, and his wife was staying at home with the kids. He would be arriving at the hospital shortly.

“The problem, Dr. Lesslie, is the relationship between Phil and his mother. They don’t get along.” I was soon to learn this was an understatement.

Mac explained that about five years earlier, something had happened at a family gathering. Words were said, misunderstood, and blown out of proportion. Phil and his mother were soon at odds and not speaking. It had been a trivial thing, but soon became an open, festering wound. Attempts were made to heal the break, but to no avail.

“You need to understand, Doctor that while Margaret is a good woman, she is hardheaded. There’s a side of her that’s, well…she just becomes bitter about this. She won’t talk to Phil, won’t answer his calls or return his letters. And she’s put Wylie right in the middle of it.” “What do you mean in the middle of it’?” I asked him.

She won’t let Phil talk to his father or see him. And if he does, she stops talking to Wylie and makes his life miserable. “It’s a real mess,” he explained.

Mac and Theresa had tried to intervene, but unsuccessfully. Margaret was intransigent [stubborn]. The situation had worsened over the years and had taken its toll on all of them. Wylie had not been able to see his son or the three grandchildren, even though they lived only an hour away.

“I’m really afraid that when Phil gets here, we’re going to have trouble,” he continued. He shook his head. “Phil hasn’t seen his father in five years. Or his mother. He’s a good guy and I can’t believe he would let anything blow up. But Margaret, on the other hand…I just don’t know. We’re going to have to keep them apart somehow.”

What a mess. Wylie was barely clinging to his life and this dysfunctional family dynamic was assuredly going to make things more difficult for everyone. Mac had been right to share the family skeletons with me. And we all had them. Some worse and some bigger than others, but they were there, usually hidden away. If a family thought itself immune to this, they weren’t looking in the right closets.

We talked about the spiritual aspect of this situation. I opened that door with a simple question. “Have you and Theresa talked with a minister about this?”

Mac looked at me, seeming relieved I had been willing to ask this. He then told me he and his wife prayed about it every day. They prayed for reconciliation, and for Margaret’s heart to be softened.

“We’ve talked with Margaret about this too, and she says she prays all the time about it and is just waiting for Phil to apologize. The frustrating part of this is that when Phil trys to apologize and make things right, she will have nothing to do with it. She says he’s not sincere.”

He paused and stared at the floor.

“You know Dr. Lesslie, I believe in the power of prayer. I really do, and I’ve seen prayers answered. And I know the Lord can do anything, but when Theresa and I pray about this and put it in His hands, somehow…somehow…I know He can fix this, but I just can’t see it happening. It’s just so twisted and gnarly. We’ve tried everything, Theresa and I. And so has Phil. It’s…just a mess. And now this, with Wylie. I’m just afraid something bad is going to happen.”

I assured him we would make every effort to keep Margaret and Phil apart, and to shield Wylie from any potential conflagration.

But it was not to be. As we stepped out into the hallway, I heard Mac moan behind me. “Oh, good Lord, we’re too late!”

I glanced at the door to the cardiac room and saw the back of a middle-aged man as he stepped into the room. Mac didn’t have to tell me, I knew.

“It’s Phil,” he said. “Quick, I’ve got to get in there.”

Phil was closing the door behind him, but I stopped it with the palm of my hand. Pushing it open, I stepped into the room behind him, along with Mac.

Phil never turned around. He stopped at the foot of the stretcher and looked down at his father. Wylie was lying there, quietly resting, eyes closed. Jeff was standing at the head of the bed, adjusting the rate of the IV fluids. Unsuspecting, he glanced over at the new visitor. Margaret and Theresa stood on each side of the bed, each gently stroking one of Wylie’s forearms. They had looked up as Phil had entered the room. Theresa stood frozen, her eyes widening and her lips soundlessly parting.

Margaret stood completely still, staring at her estranged son. Then she patted Wylie’s arm one more time and stepped toward the door. Mac and I were standing just behind Phil. I was blocking Margaret’s exit, so I shifted toward Mac to get out of her way. She had reached the foot of the stretcher, when she stopped right in front of Phil. Their eyes met, and they both just stood there, staring at each other. Then she reached out and took her boy in her arms. And he wrapped his large arms around her, squeezing her tight.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. His chest was heaving, and he struggled to whisper, “I’m sorry too.”

And then there was silence, except for the beep-beep-beep of Wylie’s heart monitor. And then the crying, from all of them. Mac and Theresa had watched in amazement, and now they huddled around Margaret and Phil, all of them hugging and sobbing.

Jeff looked at me, confused over what had just happened. He had no idea of the significance of this moment. Later I would tell him.

There it was-my miracle. Wylie was lying quietly on the stretcher, not moving. But now his eyes were opened and he was smiling.

I stepped out into the hall, wiping my own eyes and thinking of something that Mac had said earlier. He had put this whole thing in God’s hands. But he had remained daunted by the enormity of the problem and this seemingly impossible resolution. The Lord can do all things, but…this one…I just don’t know.”

Now he understood, as did I, that there is nothing beyond the power of God. There is no wall too high for Him to tear down, no situation too twisted for Him to straighten. He stands there ready and wanting to help, capable of softening the hardest of hearts, of resolving the thorniest of problems.

This, then, was my miracle. What greater wonder is there than the changing of a human heart?” pgs. 115-121

My prayer for each of you folks this morning is that you will constantly remind one another to never underestimate The Awesome Power of Prayer and that you will reread this message often throughout the coming New Year.

Lord willing, next week ….