There is a kind of theology that parades itself as profound when in reality it reeks of privilege and entitlement. It calls sickness a gift. It assures us that disease is a blessing in disguise, a lesson from God, or an opportunity to deepen faith. Its preachers and writers hold up their frailty as a sacred text and invite others to read from their scars. They write books about their paralysis, their cancer, or their long decline, urging others not to waste their sickness. The language is romantic, sentimental, and flattering to the speaker. The world applauds, and money flows.
The problem is not only that they are sick or that they speak about it. The problem is that they call their sickness a gift from God. They imagine that the grace of Jesus is manifested in turning decay into inspiration. They build careers on the ruins of their health, and then demand recognition for their spiritual insight. The stage is prepared, the publishers are eager, and the audience is ready to weep. All of this has the fragrance of piety, but underneath lies a theology that is cruel, dishonest, and poisonous.
In developed nations where medical care is readily available, this kind of doctrine can thrive. The sick are cushioned by healthcare systems, family resources, or church support. Even if confined to a wheelchair, they remain comfortable. Even if they suffer daily pain, they receive medication. Even if their condition prevents normal life, they can still write, publish, and tour. This places them in a position where they can philosophize about their suffering. They have the luxury of turning disease into poetry and their pain into profit.
Now place this doctrine beside the reality of much of the world. In many countries you will not hear from their crippled, blind, and cancer-stricken. They are not writing books. They are not negotiating publishing contracts. They are not traveling to conferences to inspire congregations with their introspective accounts. They are crawling on dust roads, begging for scraps. They are starving in their homes, writhing in pain, dying in silence. They have no platform, no audience, and no chance to redefine their misery as a divine gift. For them, sickness is not a subject for reflection but a daily execution. They vanish, and no one remembers.
What arrogance, then, for the privileged sick to speak as if their experience represented the truth about suffering. They tell us that sickness is a gift, but who are they telling? Do they send their books to the blind beggars in Asia or the crippled children in Africa? Do they imagine their doctrine will change the cries of the dying into hymns of gratitude? Their words would be obscene in such contexts. They preach to those who have insurance, who can afford wheelchairs and hospitals, who can receive sympathy and care. Their message is possible only in societies that shield them from the worst of suffering.
This is why their theology is not humility but entitlement. They have resources that others lack. They are able to use their sickness as a stage because their society supports them while they do so. They profit from their condition, not only financially but socially, by gathering admiration and praise. They present themselves as deeply spiritual and insightful, but what they exhibit is selfishness disguised as piety. Their sickness becomes a platform to elevate themselves rather than an opportunity to glorify Christ.
Such doctrine is not harmless. It brutalizes the faith. It teaches that Christianity is sentimental and detached, turning unbearable agony into a romantic metaphor. It mocks those who have no voice and no comfort. It insults the grace of God by calling disease a gift. The Bible declares that every good and perfect gift comes from above. Jesus went about healing all who were sick and oppressed. He bore our sicknesses and carried our diseases. He did not tell the leper to embrace his leprosy as a divine lesson. He cleansed him. He did not commend the blind man for cherishing his blindness. He restored his sight. He did not encourage the paralytic to view his immobility as a path to deeper introspection. He told him to rise, take up his bed, and walk.
To call sickness a gift is to make a mockery of the ministry of Christ. It is to portray the works of Satan as the wisdom of God. When disease destroys a body, it is an enemy. When pain torments a man, it is an enemy. When death stalks a family, it is an enemy. Scripture calls death the last enemy, and it is destined to be destroyed. To sanctify the work of the enemy by naming it a gift is to side with the destroyer and to attribute his malice to God. It is to rob people of the real grace of Jesus, which is deliverance, healing, and life.
Those who preach this doctrine do not exalt Christ. They exalt themselves. They use their sickness to secure platforms, to publish books, and to gather applause. They claim that their suffering has been sanctified, but in truth they have corrupted it into a tool for self-advancement. They imagine that their words will strengthen faith, but in fact they make faith look foolish, cold, and heartless. Their teaching tells the world that Christianity finds beauty in misery instead of victory in Christ. This is venom disguised as spirituality.
It is a cruelty to the nameless millions who suffer without comfort, who die without medicine, who are crushed under the weight of their disease. They have no opportunity to reframe their condition. They do not publish essays about their pain. They do not draw crowds to hear them describe the romance of their ruin. They are too busy starving, screaming, or fading into death. When the privileged sick exalt themselves by calling disease a gift, they trample on these forgotten lives. They partner with Satan by profiting from the very destruction that Jesus Christ came to undo.
The Christian response must be different. We do not baptize sickness as a blessing. We confront it as an enemy. We do not dress up decay as poetry. We proclaim the power of God to heal. We do not exalt suffering for its own sake. We exalt Christ, who conquered suffering, disease, and death. The gospel announces that Jesus healed the sick, raised the dead, and brought life and immortality to light. That is the true grace of God. That is the gift from above.
To preach otherwise is to falsify the message of Christ. To romanticize sickness is to distort the gospel and to make the faith appear cruel and detached. Those who promote this doctrine are the scum of the earth, because they rob people of hope and make merchandise of their pain. They call themselves profound, but they are shallow. They call themselves spiritual, but they are corrupt. They present themselves as compassionate, but their theology is venom.
The church must renounce this lie. It must refuse to call sickness a gift. It must proclaim the true gift of God, which is life, health, forgiveness, and the power of Jesus Christ. Only then will it cease to appear as callous and detached, and instead stand as what it truly is: the bearer of the message of salvation and healing to the world.