Devine Healing: The Holy Spirit - Part II
The following happened at about the time I was 10 years old. The doctors did not know what was wrong with me. My parents took me to the physicians available in our little town, but they could find nothing wrong. They checked me for malaria and other things, but it was all to no avail.
I stayed nauseous constantly, and I would just simply pass out at times. It happened several times while I was at school, and my dad had to pick me up.
The last time this happened, my mother and dad went to get me, and the school principal told them, “If something is not done for Jimmy, you are going to have to take him out of school. We don’t want him dying on our hands.”
Of course, when I would go unconscious, it most definitely did cause consternation among the teachers, but, seemingly, there was nothing that could be done.
During this time, I was anointed with oil and prayed for any number of times, but all to no avail.
It was a Sunday and the service had just ended. My mother and dad were going to take the pastor and his wife out to lunch, but they first had to go by the home of a parishioner and pray for the man who was ill.
I remember going into the back room with the others, praying for the brother, and then coming out to the front room to leave. My parents and others were making small talk, and then my dad said to the pastor, “Brother Culbreth, would you anoint Jimmy with oil and let’s pray for him again? If something isn’t done, we’re going to have to take him out of school.”
I can still see it in my mind’s eye. The pastor had a smile on his face and the little bottle of oil in his hands that he had just used to pray for the brother in question. He walked toward me and touched my forehead with the oil. Then it happened.
A Ball Of Fire
It was like a ball of fire about the size of a softball that started at the top of my head and slowly went down my back. While it burned like fire, there was absolutely no pain whatsoever. It went down through my legs and out my feet, and I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I was healed. There was no doubt about it, I would never be sick with that problem again.
I have traveled all over the world, and I’ve eaten things at times that I think a dog wouldn’t eat. Yet in all of those travels, spanning a time frame of several years, I got sick only one time, and then only for just an hour or so. In fact, I have had amazing health from then until now, and I attribute it all to that Sunday afternoon when the Lord healed me.
Does the Lord heal everyone in the same way, and I’m speaking of the ball of fire? No, He doesn’t. I have met a few people through the years who were healed in the same manner; however, I’ve been prayed for regarding other situations, and I’ve never had that experience again. But I had it on that Sunday! It changed my world and changed my life. Jesus Christ still heals the sick.
I don’t know why the Lord didn’t heal me the preceding months. The same pastor, using the same bottle of oil, had anointed me several times, all to no avail. In fact, our entire church had prayed for me time and time again but to no avail. Why did the Lord wait till that particular Sunday afternoon? Was it something about the couple there that instigated the healing? No, it wasn’t! I have no answer to these questions. I don’t know why the Lord does all the things the way that He does, but there is one thing for which I thank Him—my mother and dad did not quit believing. They kept asking the Lord to heal my body, and that He did.
Looking back, I believe that Satan, knowing God would use me to see literally hundreds of thousands brought to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ, tried to kill me. I believe that’s exactly what happened, but, of course, the Lord did not permit such to come about.
The Blinded Eye No Longer Blind
Frances and I were conducting a meeting at Brightmoor Tabernacle in Detroit, Michigan. This great church was built and pastored by Bond Bowman, one of the godliest men I ever knew. I preached two or three meetings in this great church, with each lasting for several weeks in duration.
If I remember correctly, it was a Friday night in the dead of winter, and snow was on the ground.
A young girl walked up to me, whom I did not know. I later learned that she was about 17 years old, very poor, and really didn’t have suitable clothing for the type of weather that we were experiencing. I found out that she had hitchhiked every night to church, as dangerous as that was, but she wanted to be in those services so much that she would undertake the risk in order to be there.
The service ended that Friday night, and she walked up to me and said, “Brother Swaggart, can Jesus open a blinded eye?”
I looked at her and said, “Well, yes, He can. Why do you ask?”
She said to me, “My right eye is blind. Would you pray for me?”
(I actually cannot remember if it was her right or her left eye, but it was one.)
I laid hands on her and prayed for her as I had with others, and she turned and walked away.
A few moments later, I heard the associate pastor shouting, “Brother Swaggart! There has been a miracle!”
He pointed to the young lady, and I asked her to come to where I was on the platform, which she did.
I asked her to cover up her good eye, and then held up one finger, then two, while asking her how many fingers I was holding up. Each time, she gave me the correct answer.
The Miracle That Lasts
Many years passed, and we were back in Detroit once again, this time in the coliseum, which seated thousands of people. It had been a great service that night. Actually, we were only there for one night. The place was nearly full with thousands of people, and when the service was over, the moment I stepped off the platform, I was seemingly surrounded by hundreds of people.
I remember one man who stood about 6 feet 6 inches tall. He picked me up like I was a rag doll and told me, “Brother Swaggart, I was a member of the Black Panthers for years.” He went on to say, “I staggered home drunk on a Saturday night, flipped on the television set, and drifted off into a drunken sleep.”
He then related to me how he awakened the next morning, and the TV was still on. Actually, our program was on. He lurched from the little cot to turn the TV to another channel, but something stopped him. He leaned back and watched the entirety of the service. When it ended, he was no longer a Black Panther; he was saved by the precious blood of Jesus Christ. He gave me his testimony that night.
As I was trying to get out the door, I was surrounded by scores of people, with all of them acting so very gracious and kind. Then this young lady pushed her way through to me. She said, “Brother Swaggart, I don’t think you recognize me, do you?”
I looked at her, slowly shook my head and said, “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I do.”
She then pointed to her eye and said, “It’s still perfect from the night that the Lord healed me.” All of a sudden, it came back. The tears rushed to my eyes as she stood there smiling at me. She said, “I’m still healed.”
This article is an excerpt from the book, Divine Healing by Evangelist Jimmy Swaggart... Available by CLICKING HERE