The Sacrament of Healing in the Anglo-Catholic tradition

A Sermon preached by the Vicar of St Barnabas, Fr Christopher Woods, at St Matthew’s Oxford on Sunday 12 October 2025, as part of that parish’s series on the ministry of healing.

Readings: Isaiah 61.1–7; James 5.7–16

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There’s a line in our first reading, from the prophet Isaiah, that shows the extent of divine tenderness:

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted.”

That image stands at the very heart of the Church’s ministry of healing — a ministry that has taken many forms across time, yet always carries that same gentle touch of God’s mercy upon human fragility. And of course, Jesus himself reads this very passage at the start of his public ministry, as recorded in Luke’s Gospel. Isaiah’s prophetic compassion becomes in Christ a priestly, messianic ministry: the ministry of divine love reaching the broken places of our world.

A Forgotten Treasure

Within the Anglo-Catholic tradition, we speak of the Sacrament of Healing — the Anointing of the Sick. For many centuries, however, it was known by a different name: Extreme Unction, the “last anointing,” given only when death seemed near. It was often paired with final absolution — a beautiful grace, but too often received too late to bring comfort or strength for living.

Yet that was never how the sacrament began. In the earliest Christian communities, as St James reminds us:

“Are any among you sick? Let them call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up.”

That is not an image of death, but of life. Not farewell, but restoration. The sacrament proclaims the wholeness Christ brings — body, mind, and spirit — drawing us into his life-giving touch.

The Oxford Movement and the Sacramental Imagination

When the Oxford Movement arose in the nineteenth century — through Keble, Pusey, and Newman — one of its great aims was to recover the sacramental imagination: the conviction that God works through the ordinary things of this world to communicate extraordinary grace.

To the early Tractarians, the sacraments were not mere rituals or quaint survivals from the Middle Ages. They were living encounters with Christ himself. For the Anglo-Catholic heart, everything in creation could become sacramental, for matter and spirit belong together.

Contrary to caricature, the Tractarians were not interested in ritual for its own sake. They sought to embody the mercy of Christ — to express divine compassion through tangible things: oil, touch, prayer, and presence. Healing, in their vision, was not only about medicine or miracle, but about communion — the restoration of broken lives into the life of the Church, and so into the heart of God.

Picture nineteenth-century industrial England — the slums of Oxford or London, where cholera, overcrowding, and poverty ravaged the population. In that world, the rediscovery of the Sacrament of Healing offered hope: the Church as a spiritual hospital for body and soul. This theology of wholeness laid foundations that would shape the Church’s understanding well into the twentieth century.

From Extreme Unction to the Anointing of the Sick

Over time, the Western Church had allowed the sacrament to shrink — from a ministry of healing into a ministry of dying. It remained a great grace, but too often a final farewell.

Then came the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s — a moment of renewal not just for Roman Catholics, but for the whole Christian family. The Council reclaimed the biblical and patristic vision of the sacrament: that it is not solely for the dying but for all who seek Christ’s healing presence in illness or frailty.

The Council restored its true name and meaning — The Anointing of the Sick — and emphasised that it strengthens the whole person with peace, courage, and forgiveness.

As the Letter of James promised, “the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up.”

This renewal has deeply shaped Anglican life too. Today, when we anoint before surgery, in the midst of chronic illness, or even at the deathbed, we proclaim the same truth: that Christ is still the Great Physician. His healing transcends our boundaries of body and soul, life and death.

Healing and the Gospel: Not Magic, but Mystery

Healing prayer is not about manipulating God, nor is it a magical act that guarantees physical cure. The anointing with oil is not a charm or a superstition.

It is, rather, the Church’s sacramental language for saying: “Here, in this moment of human frailty, Christ is present. His love is enough. His cross transforms our pain into glory.”

In Anglo-Catholic theology, every sacrament flows from the Cross and Resurrection. The oil of healing runs, as it were, from the wood of Calvary. The same Christ who feeds us in the Eucharist, who forgives us in Confession, who washes us in Baptism, touches us again in the Anointing.

Each sacrament declares: “The Word became flesh — and still does.” God meets us through matter — through oil, water, bread, hands, and voice — so that the invisible grace of Christ might be made visible among us.

The Community of Healing

James’s epistle reminds us that the ministry of healing is never private. The sick are to call for the elders; the community prays; sins are confessed; forgiveness is given. Healing is communal — a work of reconciliation, the re-knitting of the Body of Christ.

We must be careful here: physical illness is not caused by personal sin. Yet forgiveness and healing are mysteriously interwoven by grace, both signs of the same divine wholeness. Jesus himself rejects the notion that sickness is punishment. Yet he also shows that healing restores not only health, but relationship — drawing the isolated back into community.

And so, this sacrament belongs to the life of the whole Church. When we pray for one another, when we visit the sick, when we offer anointing, we take part in Christ’s own mission — the mission Isaiah foretold: to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, to comfort those who mourn.

Every Christian shares in this ministry. Some are called to the priestly act of anointing, but all are called to be instruments of healing grace — through compassion, presence, forgiveness, and generosity. Sometimes the holiest gesture is the soup brought to a friend’s door.

Healing in the Modern World

Our modern culture prizes speed, efficiency, and instant results. The sacrament of healing offers something very different: a slow, deep restoration that invites us to see sickness and health in a new way.

Sometimes, yes, miraculous healing occurs — and we rejoice. But more often, the healing Christ brings is quieter and deeper: the healing of acceptance, peace, forgiveness, and courage.

Anglo-Catholic theology insists that salvation is wholeness. The Greek word sozo — “to save” — also means to make whole. Salvation is not an escape from the world, but its transfiguration: our wounds, fears, and relationships taken up into Christ’s risen life.

So when we anoint, we do not deny illness. We proclaim that sickness does not define the person anointed. They belong to Christ — and in him, nothing is wasted. Not even pain.

“As you are outwardly anointed with this holy oil, so may our heavenly Father grant you the inward anointing of the Holy Spirit. Of his great mercy may he forgive you your sins, release you from suffering, and restore you to wholeness and strength.”

This is not a transaction but a tenderness — a sacramental sign of what the Church always does: making visible the invisible love of Christ.

Bound Together in the Healing Christ

The Sacrament of Healing is no eccentric relic of high-church devotion. It is the Gospel made visible — Isaiah’s prophecy fulfilled, the touch of Jesus still reaching out through his Body, the Church.

Every time we pray for the sick, offer friendship, or forgive another, we share in God’s healing work. And every time oil is traced on the forehead or hands, we proclaim that in Christ, no wound is beyond his touch, no heart beyond his mending, no life beyond his raising.

May we be a Church that truly believes in healing — not merely physical healing, but the deeper healing of grace. May we bring to our world the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit.

For the Spirit of the Lord is upon us, and he has anointed us to bring good news, to bind up the broken-hearted, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.

Amen.