Called to Heal the Sick.
In high school, Lincoln Wentworth Lawson saw a one-act performance of Camelot and
could not stop dreaming about it. He didn’t want to be an actor, exactly. He wanted to be
in Camelot. Only years later would he understand why: in the story, Sir Lancelot kneels
over a knight he has struck down in a joust, and through prayer, brings him back to life.
That dream carried him into the theater. He earned a Kennedy Center scholarship
sponsored by Irene Ryan — Granny of The Beverly Hillbillies — and majored in theater
performance at a performing arts program in Georgia. He understudied the Ghost of
Hamlet’s father with the Atlanta Classical Theater, signed with an agent and began
booking commercials.
Then came the break. An open casting call for an Uncle Ben’s Rice commercial, looking for
five athletic men to row a raft down a river, earned him his first national spot, his Screen
Actors Guild card and his first flight in first class. Soon after, a chance meeting in New
York led to a last-minute audition for Bad Company, a Joel Schumacher film starring
Anthony Hopkins and Chris Rock. Lincoln arrived at nine in the morning in a black suit he
had bought for the occasion. Schumacher took one look and told his assistant director,
“This is the one.” Cast as CIA Officer Parish, he spent six months on the film: two in
Prague, where he flew on a private jet for the first time, and the rest in New York and New
Jersey.
The doors kept opening. Working under the stage name DeVone Lawson Jr. and signed by
Don Buchwald & Associates, he booked more than twenty national commercials and
appeared on television series including Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, The West Wing,
The Sopranos, The O.C. and The Bold and the Beautiful. It was a short career, but a real one,
long enough to earn him a Screen Actors Guild retirement.
And yet something was missing.

Lincoln walked away from Hollywood and went into the woods of North Carolina, where
he spent seven years in prayer and meditation. There, he began to see visions of healing
people and healing animals. The dream of Lancelot’s miracle was no longer a role to play.
It was a calling.
Led by those visions, he spent four years serving with an international healing ministry,
traveling the world and serving as lead coordinator for a crusade in Mexico. In a dream
during those years, the great healing evangelist Kathryn Kuhlman appeared to him and
handed him a gift: a convertible Mercedes. “I’m giving you something I barely used,” she
told him. He understood the car as a ministry — the personal, one-on-one healing
ministry that would become his own.
On July 7, 2015, Lincoln was taken up to heaven. There, he was struck by what he
describes as liquid electricity, and he returned changed: seeing detailed visions, and
feeling the pain of the people he ministers to. In September 2016, in Tanzania, Jesus
appeared to him in a vision and placed a mantle around his shoulders, and his hands lit up
with fire. From that mantle came the name of his ministry.
The Mexico crusade opened his heart to the Mexican people, and they invited him back.
In Xalapa, he began standing outside the CEM hospital every day from 3:30 in the
afternoon until 9:00 at night, praying for anyone who came: patients, hospital staff, and
families visiting their loved ones. Word spread, and soon hundreds of people were lining
up each day. He called it the Hospital Healing Line.
From that line on the sidewalk came a church. He named it the Hospital Healer Church,
and it grew to more than 8,000 members before COVID.
Today, Prophet Lincoln leads the Miracle Mantle Ministry, The Right Hand of God, home
of Called to Heal the Sick. and Cancer Is Cancelled. He has ministered in stadium crusades
across Africa, served as a wellness advisor for healing to the royal family of Saudi Arabia,
ministered healing to elephants in Botswana and horses in Mexico, and conducted
thousands of healing sessions in person and by video call around the world.
The boy who dreamed of Camelot never got to play Lancelot.
He was called to something greater.
