The New York Times reported on March 31:
Prayers offered by strangers had no effect on the recovery of people who were undergoing heart surgery, a large and long-awaited study has found.My first reaction to this study was that here was another blow to the faithful from the hands of the skeptics. Then, I thought, what would have happened if the opposite turned out to be true? What if the study had found that prayer significantly improved the outcome of surgery patients?
Ms. Jones kept her room dark. Ever since she found out her she needed open heart surgery as soon as possible, she has been depressed, lying in her hospital bed with the light off, talking to almost no one. I entered, and flipped the switch on the wall. The god of incandescence routed the darkness.
"Ms. Jones, it's Dr. Hebert." I tried to sound cheerful. She turned up towards me. She had been crying again.
"I am sorry to tell you this," I began, "but we had to put your surgery off again until next week."
"Next week!" she sobbed. "You said I needed the surgery as soon as I can get it. I don't understand. What is going on?"
"We are having trouble getting prayer consultants. The surgeon said he won't operate until he gets one. Ever since that study came out showing that prayer decreases post-operative mortality by 39%, no surgeon will operate without the prescribed quantity of prayers."
"I don't get it. We can get anyone to pray. That shouldn't be a big deal."
"It is not as simple as that." I pulled my ragged copy of the study out of the pocket of my doctor's coat. There had been so much discussion of the paper that I resorted to taking it everywhere for personal reference. "The study looked at whether the prayers of strangers help with surgical recovery. So, to follow the study guidelines, we have to use strangers. But even more important is this metanalysis that came out in the Lancet two months later." I produced a second report. "It broke out the praying individuals by religious denomination. It turns out that that the faith of the praying individual matters a great deal."
"I don't understand, doctor."
"Well, it's like this. Two factors determine the effectiveness of a prayer -- who is praying and what that person's faith is. Nuns seem to have the most effective prayers. This is followed by priests and ministers, then monks, then gurus and shamans, and finally tele-evangelists.
"The research also indicates that when people of different faiths pray, their prayers work best for only one thing. For example, Methodists work best for heart disease. Baptists, oddly enough, cure diarrhea. And Catholic prayer seems to reverse infertility."
Last week, authorities had caught a group of Catholics in Chicago praying outside a pharmacy. Police rushed inside, but it was too late: there were pinholes in all the condoms, and the birth control pills had turned to salt.
"What about Muslims?"
"Turns out, their prayers only make oil." Millions of Muslims have been praying towards Mecca for centuries, and the city turns out to be floating atop the world's largest oil reserve. Go figure.
"Methodists seem like nice people. Why won't one pray for me?"
"Oh, they will. It's just that all the Methodist churches in town are backed up with other cases. The earliest I can get you an appointment is next week."
"And the Lutherans are booked up too?"
"They have an opening on Tuesday. But they don't take your insurance."
Ms. Jones turned to the window. Her shoulders shook as the tears rolled out.
"I am sorry," I said calmly. "We are still working on it. I think if we can get a pre-certification from your insurance company, we may be able to get a few Mormon families on the case. Your insurance company recommends Seventh Day Adventists as a generic alternative to Methodism, but we are fighting that. The Adventists don't have good heart disease data, even though they are very useful for wound healing."
"I know you are doing all you can."
I bowed my head to indicate that I had nothing more to say, turned the light off and walked into the corridor. As I approached the nursing station I saw an Episcopal minister leaning against the wall, a crowd of pretty nursing students ringed around him. He looked up and curled his lip into a crooked smile. I recognized it as the same who-the-heck-are-you-flea look I got from the neurosurgery residents back when I was a lowly medical student.
After I recorded my assessment in the patient's chart, and I wrote an order for one hour of Pat Robertson tele-evangelism programming three times a day with meals. Although new research suggested TV prayer was no better than placebo, I figured it couldn't hurt.
Ms. Jones was my last patient, so I stepped down the back stairwell and exited the hospital through the side fire door. It was further to the doctor's parking lot that it used to be, since our lot had been pushed back to make room for the new reserved clergy spaces.
As I headed out, the Unitarian minister tooted hello from his new Bentley. Now there was a guy who was cleaning up. Because of his non-specific beliefs, HMOs were reimbursing him as the preferred generic treatment for almost every diagnosis.
Finally, I was at my car. I got in, turned the key, and the engine sputtered and then stopped. I quickly surveyed the dashboard and spotted the problem. The gas gauge was on E. Luckily there was a gas station right around the corner, within easy walking distance. I checked my wallet. No money at all, my credit cards all cancelled. Doctors didn't make the money they used to before medicine was taken over by people who had earned the confidence of the Almighty.
"Drat!" I said. "I knew I should have converted to Islam when I had a chance."