Igreja de Nosso Senhor do Bonfim (Church of Our Lord of the Good End) in Salvador, Bahia, Brazil. 

In the north of Salvador, on our honeymoon, we visited this church. Devotees here pray to Nosso Senhor do Bonfim who represents both Jesus and Oxalá, a god whose tradition was brought to Brazil by slaves from west Africa. As I understand it, he was the creator of human beings, including people with disabilities—and this may explain why the church has become a destination for pilgrims in need of physical healing.

In a small room inside, hundreds of ill people and their families have posted requests on two of the walls. There are hand-scribbled notes on dirty scraps of paper, small polaroid photographs and bright images from inkjet printers, highlighting the varied reach of Brazil’s economic transformation. The notes describe all kinds of illness— cancers, infections, injuries—and call for the help of Nosso Senhor do Bonfim. The photographs are a showcase of the diverse problems that affect our bodies: thin, frail people, few of whom can bare to look at the camera, show their catheters and tubes, reveal their distended bellies, uncover their bandaged wounds. The walls are a collage of the suffering caused by disease. 

The two other walls in the room have a strikingly different tone—they are stories of gratitude to Nosso Senhor do Bonfim. Numerous notes describe recoveries, both miraculous and ordinary, from illness. Some of the pilgrims have hung photos of themselves, back to their normal lives. One of the most moving posts is a high school diploma, placed there by a father who never believed his daughter would survive to be an adult. Many notes also thank Nosso Senhor for a different kind of “good end.” People express gratitude for time with a loved one, for a comfortable death or for emotional healing after a loss. 

The problems that bring people to this church are the same ones that bring them to our hospitals. The church gives out colorful bracelets that petitioners wear until they break, which is supposed to make one’s prayer come true. We offer a different kind of bracelet and marshall evidence and technology to fight disease. We, correctly, invest years in training ourselves to care for the conditions that people describe. But too often we forget the basic human concerns that bring people to see us, the concerns that are pasted to the walls of this church: “I hurt.” “I’m afraid.” “I don’t want to die.” “I wish I was like I used to be.” A visit to Igreja de Nosso Senhor do Bonfim inspires close attention to the human and spiritual side of providing medical care.

Our visit also inspired another thought. American hospitals—especially our academic centers— often look like giant, sterile monuments to science. This church has become a tribute to the humanity of the people who seek help there. Wouldn’t it be interesting if our hospitals tried to incorporate that spirit?

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