Abstract
James, a prominent first-century church leader, reveals a pastor’s heart in the epistle’s final eight verses attributed to his name. James knows well the seasons of life and individual experiences, and he pairs them with congregational responsibilities. His direct writing style appeals to earlier traditions, and his sense of urgency (consistent throughout this epistle) shows he deeply cares about his flock.
The passage deftly links trouble, happiness, singing, sickness, confession, and prayer. It ends with challenging readers to search for a former member—one who has wandered from the truth—and restore that treasured, remembered someone to fellowship. The verses offer rich sermon possibilities full of theological challenges and joyful encouragement.
Three broad questions that address common situations in life—happiness, suffering, and illness—dominate James 5:13–18. James quickly gives three pastoral responses that blend worship, prayer, and the life of the believing community.
James first asks, “Is anyone in trouble?” He answers, “That person should pray.” Lament psalms abound in Scripture. Psalm 86:3 acknowledges that trouble predominates our lives: “Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I call to you all day long.”
James next queries, “Is anybody happy? That person should sing songs of praise.” Psalm 46:7 commands: “Sing praises to God, sing praises; sing praises to our King, sing praises.”
James frames these two pastoral responses liturgically, drawing on psalms like these. Prayer and singing happen individually, but they also permeate communal worship. They bind us together in the parallel journeys of physical life and spiritual life. A sermon (or series) that ties together James and these impulses in the Psalms, or traces the origins of some beloved hymns in conversation with James, could engage and edify congregants.
Third, James asks, “Is anyone sick?” Probably so. The average lifespan in James’s time was much shorter than ours. James’s pastoral insights on sickness in vss. 14–16 resonate today. The new faith of these early believers shines. These early followers did not shun or isolate others because of sickness. They welcomed them and tended to them.
Even so, the sick person and the congregation have responsibilities. The former must do all he/she can to regain health. The Bible never glorifies illness or advocates an avoidance of physicians. Jesus regarded demon possession, short- and long-term illnesses, and death as enemies (Mark 5). Exhausted and bedridden, the sick person needs reinforcements. He calls the elders of the church. And they come.
James instructs congregations on what to do, how to serve, and how to exercise faith when one of their own becomes ill. Note, however, a significant silence. James does not say he will go to the bedside; neither does he point to this as one person’s responsibility. Instead, he broadens the ministry of healing to the elders. By pastoral order, so to speak, he involves more people. He summons them to act on the faith they profess (James 2:20).
The passage might challenge modern churches that do not have a healing ministry to start one, and distinctly affirms those modern churches that do. Preaching this portion of James invites pastoral recognition of and involvement in any existing healing outreaches of the church. A pastor can celebrate, laud, and encourage food preparation and delivery, laundry and cleaning, sitting with the sick, running errands, car service to medical appointments, and doing whatever a person needs. We rightly contextualize the kinds of things that constitute “healing” for those who are sick. James is not silent when it comes to healing; neither should we be. A sermon could include the creative ways faith and modern medicine interact, as, for instance, in palliative care. Members could be invited to pose questions and share stories about healing.
James instructs the elders to come armed with two weapons of spiritual warfare: oil and prayer. The elders seem to surround the sick person’s bed. The human outreach of touch probably occurs. James might well hold the memory that Jesus not only healed a leper but also touched him (Matt 8:1–3). Arguably, human touch contributes to healing. We certainly know that lack of touch can be adversely affect one’s physical and emotional health.
The elders pray over the sick person, anoint that person with oil, and do everything in the name of the Lord (James 5:14). James unequivocally says, “And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up” (v. 15). Such confidence might unnerve us. We do well to help sermon listeners think about the difference between “healing” and “cure.”
James next links healing to confession and prayer. Not every illness is the result of sin, but some are. James outlines confession as a normal, healthy, and healing part of congregational life. Elijah proves an example of powerful, efficacious prayer; James describes him as “a man just like us” (v. 17). Elijah, a non-writing, miracle-working prophet, bursts on the biblical stage; the Bible makes no mention of his patrimony, tribe, or training. 1 Elijah—forceful, vehement—tells King Ahab there will be no dew or rain until he, Elijah, says so (1 Kings 17:1)! And there isn’t.
The prepositional phrase, “like us,” points to Elijah’s humanity. Elijah offers us the opportunity to expect our prayers to be similarly answered. While Elijah is “like us” we might consider how we organize our lives to become more like Elijah.
The passage’s two, abrupt concluding verses perplex scholars but probably made sense to the original recipients. James challenges his readers—past and present—to remember those persons in the congregation who no longer come. Concerned about them, James urges believers to seek those absentees. Persistent seeking may bring a person back. This action will save the absent one from the second death of judgment “and cover a multitude of sins” (5:20). The verse cross-references Prov 10:12 and 1 Pet 4:8, passages saying love covers a multitude of wrongs and sins.
The abrupt ending signals us again to James’s pastoral heart. The English poet George Herbert (1593–1633) catches the tenderness in the conclusion. Herbert writes of an invitation to a banquet from Love, the Lord Jesus, to a sinner, the “I” in the poem. The first stanza reads: Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning If I lacked anything.
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Love gently, persistently woos the guest, accepts the guest’s confession, and emphasizes a welcome. The two share a meal. James sees that love not only covers sins and wrongs but also seeks the scattered, wandering, lost, sinning, and bewildered (Luke 18:12–14). James confidently pictures a community that quite literally cannot imagine life without this guest, this absentee. It’s too much of a loss. That’s another sermon challenge, and a strong one.