The “doorknob phenomenon” is an occurrence many physicians know well. Doctors can proceed meticulously through complete examinations and medical histories, taking care to hear a patient’s questions and concerns, but it is often in the last thirty seconds of the appointment that the most helpful information is revealed. When a doctor’s hand is on the doorknob, body halfway out the door, vital inquiries are often made; when a patient is nearly outside the office, crucial information is shared almost in passing. Many have speculated as to the reasons behind the doorknob phenomenon (which is perhaps not limited to the field of medicine), though a cure seems unlikely. Until then, words uttered on the threshold remain a valuable entity to the physician.
If I were to speak on behalf of patients (and perhaps I’ve been a perpetrator of the phenomenon myself), I would note that the doorknob marks our last chance to be heard. Whatever the reason for not speaking up until that point—fear, discomfort, shame, denial—we know the criticalness of that moment. In thirty seconds, we will no longer be in the presence of one who offers healing or hope. At the threshold between doctor’s office and daily life, the right words are imperative; time is of the essence.
One of the many names for God used by the writers of Scripture is the Great Physician. It is curious to think of how the doorknob phenomenon might apply. Perhaps there are times in prayer when the prayer feels as if we are moving down sterile lists of conditions and information. Work. Finances. Mom. Jack. Future. Of course, where bringing to God in prayer a laundry list of concerns with repeated perseverance is both necessary and helpful, perhaps there are times when we have silenced the greater diagnosis with the words we have chosen to leave unspoken. Can a physician heal wounds we will not show, symptoms we will not mention?
Thankfully, yes. The Great Physician can heal wounds one cannot even articulate. The Scripture writers speak of a God who hears groanings too deep for words. On the other hand, choosing to leave out certain toxic symptoms is hardly helpful before any doctor. Can God begin the work that needs to be done if we refuse to come near as a patient? Is there a cure for those who do not seek it?
The prophet Jeremiah once cried, “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? No healing for the wound of my people?” Jeremiah lived during one of the most troublesome periods of Hebrew history. He stood on the threshold between a people sick with rebellion and the great Physician to whom they refused to cry out in honesty.
“I have listened attentively,” the LORD declared, “but they do not say what is right. No one repents of his wickedness, saying, ‘What have I done?’ Each pursues his own course like a horse charging into battle” (Jeremiah 8:6). His words are weighted with behavior a doctor might recognize. A patient who complains of a cough while a fatal wound is bleeding will neither find respite for the cough nor her unspoken pain, and of course, a good physician would not treat the cough until the bleeding has been stopped.
In Jeremiah’s day as in our own, the promise of a painless remedy was not left unspoken. Of these prophets of deceit God uttered, “They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace” (8:11). Their promises are easy to stand beside but crumble under the weight of us. To stand in honesty before the Great Physician is more difficult. It is to admit we need to be made well, however painful the remedy or costly the cure.
The great Christmas hymn places before us a powerful resolution:
No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground
He comes to make His blessing flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found.
The woundedness of humanity is serious. It cannot be bandaged as anything less than a mortal wound. Let us not wait until we have reached the threshold of life and death to address the indications of our illness. But let us in hope and honesty come into the presence of one who imparts healing. In the coming of Christ, God offers a cure that extends as far as the wound has festered.
Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.