The meaning and significance of the Sacrament of Holy Unction are admirably encapsulated in the seven Holy Gospels, which—through their wise selection of texts (pericopes) and order of reading—present God’s work of identifying, caring for, and healing all those who are sick in body and soul —whether consciously or less so.

When someone suffers a serious accident and is critically injured, they find the strength to fight for survival when they see the doctor by their side; the doctor’s presence becomes a source of courage and hope for healing. The Sacrament of Holy Unction has the same encouraging effect, though it is far more complex, as we shall see from the interpretations of the seven Gospels.

The First Gospel…

…of the Good Samaritan places us in the real world of everyone’s actual life—namely, that life is a journey from earthly Jericho to heavenly Jerusalem, a journey fraught with dangers, with robbers who specialize in the aggravated theft of time, of peace, of tranquility, of courage, of faith, and of God—who, after attacking, leaves countless victims in the agony of despair and hopelessness, riddled with deep wounds—called passions. That is, we who are made in God’s image, once wounded, are infected with the venom of hatred and become like the other—that is, nearly dead. Like a cold shower, this Gospel rips us away from the fantasy of advertisements and restores us to the reality of daily life; yet, at the same time, it reveals to us and assures us of the reality of the Great Physician, the eternal Traveler, Who—though He came specifically to seek and heal—constantly gives the impression that all healings are mere coincidences: “the right person in the right place.”

So the first Gospel assures us of two great realities: first, that each of us harbors within ourselves illnesses that are more or less evident but also deadly if left untreated; second, that we are not alone in our suffering, that God knows perfectly well where we lie, who has harmed us, and how we can be healed —He knows because we are not being observed from above through a magnifying glass, but God is right beside us—close by, near us—and once found, we are taken to the guesthouse and cared for. Furthermore, the cause—or the deadly germ—is known here for each of us, namely, the gradual dilution of love within us until it ceases entirely—which is why the Gospel begins with that dialogue about love, which is the lifeblood of the soul—a person who hates is a person with a heart of ice, cold, and spiritually dying.

The second Gospel…

…of Zacchaeus the tax collector, confirms that healing is available to all, but only those who desire it receive it; only those who seek Christ are healed, and the search is valid even if it has the feeble intensity of this tax collector. His unassuming curiosity brought about salvation, for our search is the most beautiful invitation we can extend to God, Who invites Himself into the soul of every spiritually curious person. Although God asks nothing of Zacchaeus and makes no remark—or even a hint—about his greedy way of life, Zacchaeus “injects” into himself the medicine of self-giving, received mysteriously through the Savior’s presence in his life, in his home—“for the Son of Man came to save the lost.”

The Third Gospel…

…continues the story of the man who fell into the hands of robbers, who, taken to an inn, receives high-quality, professional, and gracious service, for the “host” truly knows how to welcome and care for “guests”—who are in fact brought by God, one by one, on His donkey—that is, His humility, for drawing someone into the Church is God’s mysterious work within every soul. The host is well-trained and, above all, endowed with power, with grace, with the life of Christ within her, and possesses all the tools and medicines with an unlimited guarantee—the Holy Sacraments. They are so effective that they can “heal every disease and every infirmity among the people.” Another quality is the offering of these “medical services” as a gift from a gift.

The Fourth Gospel…

…makes it clear to us that everything good we receive from God is given to us neither as a reward nor as an obligation, but simply out of a love that is as selfless as it is supernatural; it pleases God to take away our infirmities and bear our diseases just to see that beautiful and benevolent smile on our faces. The prophet Isaiah, mentioned in the Gospel, shows that this wonderful quality of the Father involves the immediate and uncompromising assumption of His children’s sufferings—an attitude, moreover, demonstrated by every parent who has children. That is why healing is free, selfless, without demanding anything in return, without judgment, without calling us to account, and without holding anything against us. God does not expect grandiose gestures of gratitude, especially since He often has nowhere to lay His head, finding no refuge in our souls, which, perhaps at times, exploit such moments for their own gain.

The Fifth Gospel…

…offers in its text a word upon which all of humanity relies with its very existence, namely the Bridegroom’s “delay”—that is, God’s extraordinary and often (to be honest) unjustified patience regarding our desire for return and healing. “By the Saint’s mercy, we cast a shadow upon the earth,” Mihai Eminescu said so precisely, encapsulating in a single verse the entire mystery of our lives. It is not unnatural for the oil in our lamps to run out, but it is an outrageous act of defiance not to at least try to refill them—pure madness. The categorical refusal of help, of God’s outstretched hand, inevitably leads to eternal and permanent isolation from Him.

The Sixth Gospel…

…represents the culmination of the work of healing, but above all, it represents the quintessential contrast with the Second Gospel. Zacchaeus and the Samaritan woman—two seekers, two witnesses, two sufferers, two similar ailments (the same dark and evil spirits), two recipients of healing—one “today,” the other “at that very hour.”

We can glean some profound truths from this, namely:

The universality of healing, both in terms of those eligible for healing (it doesn’t matter what race or origin they are, but rather their desire to know and to love) and in terms of the ways of healing—every person is unique and different from others, and God respects this quality and offers Himself to be discovered in as many ways as there are hearts.

Both possess incredible courage: one publicly confesses that he is a thief and an unjust man, while the woman of a different ethnicity publicly confesses that she is a dog—from this we learn that the very desire and act of healing one another requires “a ton of courage,” and that definitive liberation comes as a result of an explosive confession in confession, of the passion associated with it. Today, it has become a trend to consider oneself a sinner—it’s a cheap ploy to soothe one’s conscience; what is truly courageous is to name the passion that dominates you (it is harder, or even impossible, to call ourselves vipers, traitors, fornicators, scorpions, envious people, etc.).

Another great truth hidden here is the one that Saint John Chrysostom reveals, namely that “most of the time we do not truly desire what we ask of God. We do not receive not because we do not ask, but because we merely pretend, frightened by the responsibility that comes with the help we desire.” Consider how we pray for our children now and how we would pray if they were in mortal danger—we can see the difference. That is why the Canaanite woman is a true teacher and mentor of sincere desire, unshaken by anyone or anything, not even by God. That is why St. John Chrysostom urges us to pray thus: “Lord, help me to truly desire what I am about to ask of You.”

The seventh Gospel…

…comes and gives us the “pride” of being sick, of being sinners. It is very interesting that this pride is effective only when one becomes aware of this condition. Alcoholics, when they first begin recovery therapy, stand up and acknowledge before everyone, “I am an alcoholic,” and 50% of the therapy is already complete. Only those who consider themselves sick and in urgent need of help sit at the table with God. Those unaware of their own weaknesses belong to the “elite” described in the fourth Gospel: “the dead who bury their own dead.” You are truly healthy when you consider yourself profoundly ill, and you are truly alive when you stubbornly see yourself as dead.

The Sacrament of Holy Unction represents the mysterious yet real presence of God beside us, a presence that brings comfort, courage, and the power of life.