Through these times in which we live it seems the pace of life escalates. Multiple responsibilities and conflicting schedules frazzle many of us much of the time. An economy in recession effects each and every one of us daily. Stress, stress, stress; contemporary life runs thick with stress. Imagine, then, the stress Jesus’ disciples endured as they rode out the nighttime storm on the sea?!
Although we know today of all the geographical and meteorological particularities of the Sea of Galilee, people of Jesus’ day lacked scientific understanding to explain the rather nasty storms and squalls still common there today. They explained their cosmos through a myriad of spirits, some benevolent, some malevolent and they believed that bodies of water were especially prone to evil forces. No wonder the disciples were beside themselves in their 26-foot boat on the tossing dark sea with their beloved Master left on the shore! It is a story about us, as well!
In oh so many ways, we are like a boat at night in a storm- tossed sea, both in our personal lives and in the life of the Church today. Nighttime is the occasion when fear steals into our homes and finds us most vulnerable. Some small concern, scarcely noticed in the daylight hours, takes on monstrous proportions in that still, quiet time before dawn… A letter too long neglected; grief over a lost loved one; a telephone call left unanswered; a careless word or action that may have hurt a loved one or friend, or perhaps by them may have hurt us.
Fear and anxiety do not confine themselves to that hour of the night, of course. In fact, they control much of what we do. Fear about financial security motivates career choices for many, or constricts our relations to the needs of others. Fear for our relationships moves some of us to cling and others to flee. Fear that our efforts will amount to nothing produces an obsession that robs vocation of its pleasure. Fear that our material security is not as secure as we would like restricts the joy of generosity.
St. John’s story of Jesus walking on the water is, first and foremost, a story about Jesus and His recognized identity. Yet in the process we are also told a story about human fear. Fear characterizes the atmosphere of the whole story. The disciples are separated from Jesus and their boat is seriously threatened by a storm. Knowing the sea’s treachery, we fear for them. Despite Jesus’ acts of healing, and the feeding of the 5,000 in the preceding scene, the disciples can only assume that the figure who walks toward them is a ghost and they react with terror.
St. Matthew’s version of this event adds another scene to the story. The ever-precocious Peter cries out to Jesus to prove that it is He by commanding him to come to Him on the water. He becomes frightened and sure enough down he goes, crying “save me!” Peter took his eyes off Jesus and his faith off Him as well and he began to sink. Thus it is with us so often. Rather than focusing on the eyes of Jesus, on the face of Jesus, on the presence of Jesus; we focus instead on the storm which is raging in our lives and we start to sink. In the middle of the nastiest storms of life (and the storms of life can be so very nasty); it is essential to keep our focus on Jesus Christ and the strength and power of God, rather than on the turbulent tempest. At the core is Jesus’ statement: “Take heart, it is I, have no fear.”
We are perpetually afraid of the next chapter in our lives. We fear the dark storms of life: the report from the doctor, a relocation from our home we have known for years, the loss of a job, the break-up of a relationship, and death – death of one we hold so dear and of ourselves. The list of our storms in life goes on and on and into those storms miraculously walks Jesus to take our hand as we feel ourselves losing faith and sinking…”Take heart, it is I, have no fear.”
Yet we still are anxious in the dark. Fear happens. People we love die. Storms beset us. As we feel ourselves sinking like Peter reaching out for the saving hand of Jesus, He grasps us oh so tightly while scolding us like Peter, “Oh you of little faith!” Will Peter fear again? We know the answer to that. But as surely as he fears, he knows whose name to call and whose hand will catch him.
Through over three decades of ordained ministry my experience with congregations, church agency boards, and vestries has brought me to the observation that many tend to operate out of scarcity rather than abundance, plagued by fear and doubt. We don’t do that here at Messiah Parish as we set goals of ministry in this place and anticipate an exciting new era with calling a new rector rather than scramble to close a gap in a budget.
Time and time again, when we step out with the conviction of faith, Jesus reaches out His hand and a miracle occurs. When we live with an attitude of scarcity, fear threatens to turn us in on ourselves. Yet God provides resources, reminds us to focus on the presence of His Son, and declares that we are not left adrift in the storm if we but have faith. The variety of faith granted human beings does not banish fear. No amount of moralizing or pleading will make it so. Faith does, however, teach us whose name to call and who waits to calm us, for faith knows who is powerful over the deep of our fears as over the deep of the waters.
Amen.
July 22, 2012 - Father Mark D. Stuart
I normally finish composing my sermon for Sunday by the end of the prior week. As I was just putting the finishing touches on a nice little homily on today’s Gospel reading with a couple of funny jokes I thought you might like, I heard there had been some sort of shooting in Colorado. By the time I watched the evening news which revealed the extent of the horror and carnage, I knew I could not preach the sermon I had prepared and, so set it aside.
Unfortunately, in my years in the ministry I have had the difficulty of having to address some sad and tragic events from the pulpit. I think people know that in seminary we are not given a box with all the answers to life’s most difficult questions and dilemmas which we can magically open up and dispense the answers to questioning parishioners. Still, people look us and expect us to address these tragedies from a Christian viewpoint. Thus, I have had to make an attempt with some terrible events: the Columbine High shootings; the Oklahoma Federal Building bombing, the Virginia Tech shootings; the earthquake in Haiti; the tsunami in southeast Asia; Hurricane Katrina; and of course the events of 9/11. The unfortunate fact of our human condition is that these things sadly happen and we struggle with “why.”
That is a question that has been asked many times before in the 2,000 years since Our Lord came among us. In the 13th Chapter of St. Luke's Gospel we hear this story:
"There were some who told Jesus of the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. And he answered them, 'Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all Galileans, because they suffered thus? Or those eighteen upon whom the tower of Siloam fell and killed them, do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, No…'"
Then as now, a common simplistic explanation to life's occurrences is that a loving God rewards good people and punishes bad ones. Therefore, the people who were violently put to death worshipping at the Temple by the Roman authority (Pontius Pilate, interestingly enough) must have had it coming. Jesus emphatically rejects that notion and adds to it another current event of his day. He asks if the eighteen who were killed by the tower falling on them were the worst sinners in Jerusalem.
The questions remain: are my sufferings the result of my sin? Or, does God send suffering as a test of faith? This view sees tragedy as a curve ball pitched to us by God either to see how we will hold up or else as our just deserts. These are unacceptable answers for Jesus. He clearly rejects the connection between our own sins and the bad things that happen in life. Jesus opens up the possibility that bad things happen to good people. In Matthew 5:45 Jesus tells his disciples that our God "makes the sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust."
Why do bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people? Why isn't life fair? Sometimes we take our free will and make bad choices that hurt ourselves or others. If I put my hand in the fire I will get burned. That's the way the world works; actions have consequences. It is the result of my bad decision, not God punishing me. God gave us free will and, likewise the natural world. What if I put my hand into the fire and did not get burned? In a world like that someone could go out and get drunk and drive their car quite confident that God would protect them behind the wheel. In a world where God makes everything we do work out fine, no matter what choices we make, removing all the consequences of our actions; then our choices would not be real choices and no matter what we did everything would work out just the same. That is not free will. I shall resist addressing here the flagrant availability of firearms in America or the rise in spectator violence promoted by Hollywood today, but you can draw your own conclusions regarding the effects of these on the recent tragedy in Colorado and on our society as a whole.
Much more troublesome are the so-called "acts of God." But sometimes even their effects may have some complicity on our part. If I decide to go walking in an open field in the middle of an electrical storm and get struck by lightening, it may not be entirely fair to place all the blame on God. Or, if I choose to build my house in a known flood plane on the Missouri River or on a Florida beach and it's washed away, or hit by a hurricane; I better rethink whether that was a good location to choose.
However, one cannot explain away all the suffering in the world and there are many tragic things that cannot be explained at all. Where is God when we suffer through no consequence of our actions?
Our with-us God came and lived among us in the person of Jesus of Nazareth: it was then and remains God's boldest experiment. If you are in a quandary of dismay over why bad things happen in life, then maybe you haven't been paying attention to the story; or else you've missed the point. Our blessed Lord suffered the most shameful torture and death yet could have come down off the cross and been carried by the angels to heaven. But God humbled Himself to become human and did not change the rules of the world, even taking on the worst the world had to offer.
So, the victims of Pilate's massacre and the people on whom the tower of Siloam fell can be redeeming as we struggle with trying to understand those events. Jesus says that suffering binds us together in our common humanity…one shared by God through Him and Jesus invites us to come into the very heart of God. That is why He ministered to so many people unfairly suffering. Through all the circumstances of life God is there. God gave us and the natural world free will and so introduced the possibility of suffering in this world. God entered our world, with all its joys and sorrows and suffered as one of us, not just to see how humans live, but to show us how much God cares.
In the unfair, uncertain world we live in, we are called to stay fixed on the certainty of God. Because it's our redemption through the cross that gives us the courage to place our sufferings and the sufferings of others on the broad shoulders of Jesus as he hangs on that cross, taking all the redemptive suffering of the world upon himself, offering it to God. Over the long sweep of human history there have been millions of us who have believed and continue to believe that there is a God who never lets us go. He is a God who doesn't just shares his power but insists that we discover our own power in all the tangled joys and tragedies of life.
He is a God who takes the leftover bits and pieces of our shattered hopes and broken dreams, our heartaches, doubts and disappointments and dares to look at them through our tears – tears that create a prism through which all the colors of life can be seen.
Amen.
Unfortunately, in my years in the ministry I have had the difficulty of having to address some sad and tragic events from the pulpit. I think people know that in seminary we are not given a box with all the answers to life’s most difficult questions and dilemmas which we can magically open up and dispense the answers to questioning parishioners. Still, people look us and expect us to address these tragedies from a Christian viewpoint. Thus, I have had to make an attempt with some terrible events: the Columbine High shootings; the Oklahoma Federal Building bombing, the Virginia Tech shootings; the earthquake in Haiti; the tsunami in southeast Asia; Hurricane Katrina; and of course the events of 9/11. The unfortunate fact of our human condition is that these things sadly happen and we struggle with “why.”
That is a question that has been asked many times before in the 2,000 years since Our Lord came among us. In the 13th Chapter of St. Luke's Gospel we hear this story:
"There were some who told Jesus of the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. And he answered them, 'Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all Galileans, because they suffered thus? Or those eighteen upon whom the tower of Siloam fell and killed them, do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, No…'"
Then as now, a common simplistic explanation to life's occurrences is that a loving God rewards good people and punishes bad ones. Therefore, the people who were violently put to death worshipping at the Temple by the Roman authority (Pontius Pilate, interestingly enough) must have had it coming. Jesus emphatically rejects that notion and adds to it another current event of his day. He asks if the eighteen who were killed by the tower falling on them were the worst sinners in Jerusalem.
The questions remain: are my sufferings the result of my sin? Or, does God send suffering as a test of faith? This view sees tragedy as a curve ball pitched to us by God either to see how we will hold up or else as our just deserts. These are unacceptable answers for Jesus. He clearly rejects the connection between our own sins and the bad things that happen in life. Jesus opens up the possibility that bad things happen to good people. In Matthew 5:45 Jesus tells his disciples that our God "makes the sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust."
Why do bad things happen to good people and good things happen to bad people? Why isn't life fair? Sometimes we take our free will and make bad choices that hurt ourselves or others. If I put my hand in the fire I will get burned. That's the way the world works; actions have consequences. It is the result of my bad decision, not God punishing me. God gave us free will and, likewise the natural world. What if I put my hand into the fire and did not get burned? In a world like that someone could go out and get drunk and drive their car quite confident that God would protect them behind the wheel. In a world where God makes everything we do work out fine, no matter what choices we make, removing all the consequences of our actions; then our choices would not be real choices and no matter what we did everything would work out just the same. That is not free will. I shall resist addressing here the flagrant availability of firearms in America or the rise in spectator violence promoted by Hollywood today, but you can draw your own conclusions regarding the effects of these on the recent tragedy in Colorado and on our society as a whole.
Much more troublesome are the so-called "acts of God." But sometimes even their effects may have some complicity on our part. If I decide to go walking in an open field in the middle of an electrical storm and get struck by lightening, it may not be entirely fair to place all the blame on God. Or, if I choose to build my house in a known flood plane on the Missouri River or on a Florida beach and it's washed away, or hit by a hurricane; I better rethink whether that was a good location to choose.
However, one cannot explain away all the suffering in the world and there are many tragic things that cannot be explained at all. Where is God when we suffer through no consequence of our actions?
Our with-us God came and lived among us in the person of Jesus of Nazareth: it was then and remains God's boldest experiment. If you are in a quandary of dismay over why bad things happen in life, then maybe you haven't been paying attention to the story; or else you've missed the point. Our blessed Lord suffered the most shameful torture and death yet could have come down off the cross and been carried by the angels to heaven. But God humbled Himself to become human and did not change the rules of the world, even taking on the worst the world had to offer.
So, the victims of Pilate's massacre and the people on whom the tower of Siloam fell can be redeeming as we struggle with trying to understand those events. Jesus says that suffering binds us together in our common humanity…one shared by God through Him and Jesus invites us to come into the very heart of God. That is why He ministered to so many people unfairly suffering. Through all the circumstances of life God is there. God gave us and the natural world free will and so introduced the possibility of suffering in this world. God entered our world, with all its joys and sorrows and suffered as one of us, not just to see how humans live, but to show us how much God cares.
In the unfair, uncertain world we live in, we are called to stay fixed on the certainty of God. Because it's our redemption through the cross that gives us the courage to place our sufferings and the sufferings of others on the broad shoulders of Jesus as he hangs on that cross, taking all the redemptive suffering of the world upon himself, offering it to God. Over the long sweep of human history there have been millions of us who have believed and continue to believe that there is a God who never lets us go. He is a God who doesn't just shares his power but insists that we discover our own power in all the tangled joys and tragedies of life.
He is a God who takes the leftover bits and pieces of our shattered hopes and broken dreams, our heartaches, doubts and disappointments and dares to look at them through our tears – tears that create a prism through which all the colors of life can be seen.
Amen.
July 8, 2012 - Father Mark D. Stuart
“And Jesus said to them ‘A prophet is not without honor except in his own country…’ and he marveled because of their unbelief.”
Our Lord returns home… not quite to the welcome any of us, even He might anticipate! File this one under “familiarity breeds contempt. It’s human nature, I suppose. It’s like the maxim in our culture (not even excluding the Church, I might add) that an “expert” is someone with a briefcase who lives more than 100 miles away. Or it’s like the old saying that “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.” People are all-too-seldom able to perceive the value in the familiar. He could do no mighty work, or deed of power there because of their unbelief. Strange how “mighty work” and “belief” are so solidly linked. Strange how hardened hearts can cut even God off at the pass. “Where did this hometown boy get all this? Isn’t He the carpenter, just the son of Mary & Joseph?” So it went and they took offense at Him.
It is important to remember what a prophet really is. Not a future teller, but a speaker of the truth and one who calls the people into judgment. Prophets are really often without honor even in places outside their homelands. The truth of God is frequently uncomfortable, troubling, confrontational, and conscience-prodding. But the fact is that God will provide the life-giving and life-saving values that lead to meaning, joy, and fulfillment. God can connect us with love, grace, and forgiveness. However, God’s power goes unused if we are not faithful enough to accept what He has to offer… Jesus could do no mighty work in Nazareth because of the people’s unbelief.
The issue which runs deeper than “familiarity breeds contempt” with even greater devastating consequences is the scandal of the Incarnation. It hounded Galilean hearts and minds then, as it hounds us now. “The Word made flesh” is both our only salvation and the greatest bugaboo of modern culture and piety. Yes, by God! He was the carpenter, the son of Mary and Joseph. The mystery of the Incarnation holds our greatest solace and comfort; namely that wherever we go in suffering, in hurt and sorrow and despair, God has gone there first, goes with us, and shows us the way… if we are but people of faith and love as shown us in His son.
Would you be surprised to know that the first greatest heresy in the Church was not the denial of Christ’s divinity, but the denial of His full humanity?! The Nicene Creed we recite every Sunday was the Church’s response to these errors. Yet, we still struggle with it because we really want a two-fisted super-hero God who kicks tail and mounts the winds with thunder and lightning. Instead we get a bumpkin blue collar carpenter who puts himself at our mercy and who now and then resembles our good ol’ boy neighbor Fred. Yep, His mama was Mary and He was a precocious little boy and as a young man He sawed wood and got splinters in His fingers and scraped His knees and got sore muscles. And he considered God His father, whom He called “Dad” (Abba)– our parent too, He tells us. When we begin to seek God in the ordinary, daily things and find that God is really there, then “mighty works” begin to happen: Works of mercy and compassion. Works of healing and empathy. Works of forgiveness and understanding and of great joy. I agree with the theologian who maintained that miracles do not evoke faith as much as faith evokes miracles.
This past week Americans celebrated the 236th birthday of the nation. As time inexorably distances us from the founding fathers, I wonder if the country we know is what they envisioned in the Declaration of Independence. It seems like the pure altruism of liberty they projected for humanity has led us from self-freedom to self-centeredness, loneliness, superficiality, and harried consumerism. Dare I observe how “free” many of our citizens feel with overstocked medicine cabinets, security systems, growing ghettos, gang violence, and a pervasive drug culture? To me the freedom we celebrated on the 4th of July should be a freedom and independence from poverty, fear, and injustice; not a freedom to exploit others for personal gain and decide who is worthy by our standards to have equal rights under the law, and from whom we will withhold civil liberties. Can we honestly say that in this “one nation under God” there truly is “liberty and justice for all”?!
Sadly, the human condition displays many symptoms of our fallen nature, in Jesus’ day and in ours. That is why God came among us to show us another way. This truth is found in the simplicity of outpouring compassionate love. A truth so simple and yet profound that the Nazarenes among us “take offense” at it. But for the shining examples of the holy ones throughout the ages, we might join our Lord and marvel at the unbelief of humanity. For those of us who choose to follow the gentle carpenter from Nazareth we can indeed be instruments of compassion and hope, liberty and justice; allowing him to perform his mighty work and deeds of power in our community and world, which he could not in his own hometown.
Amen.
Our Lord returns home… not quite to the welcome any of us, even He might anticipate! File this one under “familiarity breeds contempt. It’s human nature, I suppose. It’s like the maxim in our culture (not even excluding the Church, I might add) that an “expert” is someone with a briefcase who lives more than 100 miles away. Or it’s like the old saying that “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.” People are all-too-seldom able to perceive the value in the familiar. He could do no mighty work, or deed of power there because of their unbelief. Strange how “mighty work” and “belief” are so solidly linked. Strange how hardened hearts can cut even God off at the pass. “Where did this hometown boy get all this? Isn’t He the carpenter, just the son of Mary & Joseph?” So it went and they took offense at Him.
It is important to remember what a prophet really is. Not a future teller, but a speaker of the truth and one who calls the people into judgment. Prophets are really often without honor even in places outside their homelands. The truth of God is frequently uncomfortable, troubling, confrontational, and conscience-prodding. But the fact is that God will provide the life-giving and life-saving values that lead to meaning, joy, and fulfillment. God can connect us with love, grace, and forgiveness. However, God’s power goes unused if we are not faithful enough to accept what He has to offer… Jesus could do no mighty work in Nazareth because of the people’s unbelief.
The issue which runs deeper than “familiarity breeds contempt” with even greater devastating consequences is the scandal of the Incarnation. It hounded Galilean hearts and minds then, as it hounds us now. “The Word made flesh” is both our only salvation and the greatest bugaboo of modern culture and piety. Yes, by God! He was the carpenter, the son of Mary and Joseph. The mystery of the Incarnation holds our greatest solace and comfort; namely that wherever we go in suffering, in hurt and sorrow and despair, God has gone there first, goes with us, and shows us the way… if we are but people of faith and love as shown us in His son.
Would you be surprised to know that the first greatest heresy in the Church was not the denial of Christ’s divinity, but the denial of His full humanity?! The Nicene Creed we recite every Sunday was the Church’s response to these errors. Yet, we still struggle with it because we really want a two-fisted super-hero God who kicks tail and mounts the winds with thunder and lightning. Instead we get a bumpkin blue collar carpenter who puts himself at our mercy and who now and then resembles our good ol’ boy neighbor Fred. Yep, His mama was Mary and He was a precocious little boy and as a young man He sawed wood and got splinters in His fingers and scraped His knees and got sore muscles. And he considered God His father, whom He called “Dad” (Abba)– our parent too, He tells us. When we begin to seek God in the ordinary, daily things and find that God is really there, then “mighty works” begin to happen: Works of mercy and compassion. Works of healing and empathy. Works of forgiveness and understanding and of great joy. I agree with the theologian who maintained that miracles do not evoke faith as much as faith evokes miracles.
This past week Americans celebrated the 236th birthday of the nation. As time inexorably distances us from the founding fathers, I wonder if the country we know is what they envisioned in the Declaration of Independence. It seems like the pure altruism of liberty they projected for humanity has led us from self-freedom to self-centeredness, loneliness, superficiality, and harried consumerism. Dare I observe how “free” many of our citizens feel with overstocked medicine cabinets, security systems, growing ghettos, gang violence, and a pervasive drug culture? To me the freedom we celebrated on the 4th of July should be a freedom and independence from poverty, fear, and injustice; not a freedom to exploit others for personal gain and decide who is worthy by our standards to have equal rights under the law, and from whom we will withhold civil liberties. Can we honestly say that in this “one nation under God” there truly is “liberty and justice for all”?!
Sadly, the human condition displays many symptoms of our fallen nature, in Jesus’ day and in ours. That is why God came among us to show us another way. This truth is found in the simplicity of outpouring compassionate love. A truth so simple and yet profound that the Nazarenes among us “take offense” at it. But for the shining examples of the holy ones throughout the ages, we might join our Lord and marvel at the unbelief of humanity. For those of us who choose to follow the gentle carpenter from Nazareth we can indeed be instruments of compassion and hope, liberty and justice; allowing him to perform his mighty work and deeds of power in our community and world, which he could not in his own hometown.
Amen.
July 1, 2012 - Father Mark D. Stuart
The attention and concern of the nation recently poured out to 7 year-old Max Page (the “little Darth Vader” in the Volkswagen commercials) who had to undergo open heart surgery. His sweet angelic looks combined with such a serious medical condition captured the hearts of the public. Is there anything that gets our attention quicker than a child in distress?
It’s not surprising, therefore, in our Gospel lesson today to see Jesus hurrying through the crowd in response to the frantic plea of Jairus, a prominent citizen and leader of the synagogue. He abruptly confronted Jesus urging Him to come to the rescue of his 12 year-old daughter who was mortally ill. When I was the director of different church social services programs in my past ministry I would sometimes become frustrated with the many interruptions to my administrative duties which experienced regularly. However, I would have to stop and remind myself that the interruptions were also an important part of my work and ministry. Someone once said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re making other plans!” Often we find the interruption is of greater consequence than what we thought was the important work we were doing.
Jesus left the crowd of many to minister to a single person. Jesus was never too busy to respond to the needs of individuals. His public ministry of only three short years was constantly centering on particular persons: a blind man by the side of the road, an epileptic youth brought by a distraught father, a troubled tax collector worried about his spiritual life, a widow mourning her deceased son.
Yet even Jesus, the Son of God, could not minister to everyone. As you and I look at the vast needs of the world we are overwhelmed. Yes, we want to help, but we hardly know where to begin or where to stop. The temptation is to despair, wring our hands and feel that anything we might do would be of so little help or no significance. Quite the contrary; where your ability and the world’s needs intersect is where you are most needed and have the potential to do the most good. Did not Jesus say, “inasmuch as you’ve done it to one of the least of these, you have done it to me”?
Jesus went hastily with Jairus to his home and on the way was interrupted yet again, not so noticeably this time. From behind he feels the flick of fingers on the fringe of his outer garment. Immediately he stops and says to his disciples, “Who touched my clothes?” The disciples all but laughed as they responded, “You see the crowd pushing in on you and you ask who touched you?!” Surely they tried to hurry Jesus on to Jairus’ house, since he was an important community leader. But Jesus would not be deterred.
Then the person came forward: a woman who related her sad story of suffering from a debilitating and chronic illness for twelve years with no cure despite many attempts by the medical professionals. This is another classic example of Jesus’ response to a poor outcast soul – she was not only ill, but because of her hemorrhaging she was considered “unclean” by the religious laws of the time. But Jesus expresses his immediate affection for her by calling her “daughter” and then pronouncing that her faith has made her well. In that instant she went from nobody to somebody to everybody.
Sixteen centuries ago St. Augustine affirmed that God loves each of us as if we were the only person on earth, yet God loves all as God loves each. Think about it: There’s no one on earth today that God loves any more than God loves you, nor is there anyone God loves any less than God loves you.
That realization should give us reassurance of our own self worth as well as the self worth of all other persons.
The woman in our Gospel never gave up hope, no matter all the frustration and disappointment she experienced over many years. Still on the way to Jairus’ daughter, the news comes that she has died. Upon arriving at the house Jesus is confronted by much lamenting and mourning, no doubt in extravagant Middle Eastern fashion, and proclaims, “Why are you making such a commotion, the girl is only sleeping! Then he takes her hand and she gets up.”
I preached a couple of weeks ago about the “us and them” world of Jesus’ day (not unlike our own). In today’s Gospel we see Jesus again dramatically smashing barriers in a divided world. A woman who is considered unclean due her hemorrhaging illness is freed from her bondage and received into the fellowship of hope. A synagogue leader has his daughter restored and gathered into the community of those who receive the good news of Christ.
Throughout his ministry Jesus will eat with sinners, fellowship with the unclean, gather in the Samaritan, and accept the stranger. One of the reasons people tend to see faith as a religion about God instead of a relationship with God, is the sense that they are too insignificant. But time and time again (like we hear in the Gospel today) Jesus demonstrates a relationship with a compassionate God. He teaches that faith is not about rules, regulations, and religion. It is about reaching out to God, who reaches out to us through Jesus Christ into our pain and anguish.
Today’s readings reinforce for us the undeniable reality that suffering is not unique to us or to our times. Wars, hunger, economic disasters abound and may bring us to despair; personal illness, pain, and loss may cause us to lose hope. Sometimes we feel as if we are alone in our pain and may ask, ‘Why me?’ There is much to fear in this country and in the world today: fear of “the other”, fear of losing a job and not being able to pay the mortgage, fear of crazy people with guns, fear of a hit and run by a drunk driver, fear of not succeeding, oh so many fears! How do we confront them? The psalmist’s answer is to wait for the Lord; St. Paul’s answer is to remember what Jesus did for us; and Jesus’ answer is to be whole. This wholeness, or “holiness” is possible only when we are focused on the one who brought us new life with a trust so complete that it takes away fear, even fear of death.
“Who touched my clothes?” And we confess, “We touched you Lord, for we are afraid.” And then he says to us, “Your faith has made you well, healed of the evil that swirls around you, free of the fear that is being proclaimed on the street corners, released from the need to squander your energies on things that do not matter.” All we need to do is to approach Jesus, bleeding and believing. Come to the hem of his garment and claim your rightful place as a child of God; because you are God’s sons and daughters.
And Jesus took the little girl’s hand and said, “Get up.” And then told them to give her something to eat. Hear what he says and approach his table now in gratitude, free from fear.
Amen.
It’s not surprising, therefore, in our Gospel lesson today to see Jesus hurrying through the crowd in response to the frantic plea of Jairus, a prominent citizen and leader of the synagogue. He abruptly confronted Jesus urging Him to come to the rescue of his 12 year-old daughter who was mortally ill. When I was the director of different church social services programs in my past ministry I would sometimes become frustrated with the many interruptions to my administrative duties which experienced regularly. However, I would have to stop and remind myself that the interruptions were also an important part of my work and ministry. Someone once said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re making other plans!” Often we find the interruption is of greater consequence than what we thought was the important work we were doing.
Jesus left the crowd of many to minister to a single person. Jesus was never too busy to respond to the needs of individuals. His public ministry of only three short years was constantly centering on particular persons: a blind man by the side of the road, an epileptic youth brought by a distraught father, a troubled tax collector worried about his spiritual life, a widow mourning her deceased son.
Yet even Jesus, the Son of God, could not minister to everyone. As you and I look at the vast needs of the world we are overwhelmed. Yes, we want to help, but we hardly know where to begin or where to stop. The temptation is to despair, wring our hands and feel that anything we might do would be of so little help or no significance. Quite the contrary; where your ability and the world’s needs intersect is where you are most needed and have the potential to do the most good. Did not Jesus say, “inasmuch as you’ve done it to one of the least of these, you have done it to me”?
Jesus went hastily with Jairus to his home and on the way was interrupted yet again, not so noticeably this time. From behind he feels the flick of fingers on the fringe of his outer garment. Immediately he stops and says to his disciples, “Who touched my clothes?” The disciples all but laughed as they responded, “You see the crowd pushing in on you and you ask who touched you?!” Surely they tried to hurry Jesus on to Jairus’ house, since he was an important community leader. But Jesus would not be deterred.
Then the person came forward: a woman who related her sad story of suffering from a debilitating and chronic illness for twelve years with no cure despite many attempts by the medical professionals. This is another classic example of Jesus’ response to a poor outcast soul – she was not only ill, but because of her hemorrhaging she was considered “unclean” by the religious laws of the time. But Jesus expresses his immediate affection for her by calling her “daughter” and then pronouncing that her faith has made her well. In that instant she went from nobody to somebody to everybody.
Sixteen centuries ago St. Augustine affirmed that God loves each of us as if we were the only person on earth, yet God loves all as God loves each. Think about it: There’s no one on earth today that God loves any more than God loves you, nor is there anyone God loves any less than God loves you.
That realization should give us reassurance of our own self worth as well as the self worth of all other persons.
The woman in our Gospel never gave up hope, no matter all the frustration and disappointment she experienced over many years. Still on the way to Jairus’ daughter, the news comes that she has died. Upon arriving at the house Jesus is confronted by much lamenting and mourning, no doubt in extravagant Middle Eastern fashion, and proclaims, “Why are you making such a commotion, the girl is only sleeping! Then he takes her hand and she gets up.”
I preached a couple of weeks ago about the “us and them” world of Jesus’ day (not unlike our own). In today’s Gospel we see Jesus again dramatically smashing barriers in a divided world. A woman who is considered unclean due her hemorrhaging illness is freed from her bondage and received into the fellowship of hope. A synagogue leader has his daughter restored and gathered into the community of those who receive the good news of Christ.
Throughout his ministry Jesus will eat with sinners, fellowship with the unclean, gather in the Samaritan, and accept the stranger. One of the reasons people tend to see faith as a religion about God instead of a relationship with God, is the sense that they are too insignificant. But time and time again (like we hear in the Gospel today) Jesus demonstrates a relationship with a compassionate God. He teaches that faith is not about rules, regulations, and religion. It is about reaching out to God, who reaches out to us through Jesus Christ into our pain and anguish.
Today’s readings reinforce for us the undeniable reality that suffering is not unique to us or to our times. Wars, hunger, economic disasters abound and may bring us to despair; personal illness, pain, and loss may cause us to lose hope. Sometimes we feel as if we are alone in our pain and may ask, ‘Why me?’ There is much to fear in this country and in the world today: fear of “the other”, fear of losing a job and not being able to pay the mortgage, fear of crazy people with guns, fear of a hit and run by a drunk driver, fear of not succeeding, oh so many fears! How do we confront them? The psalmist’s answer is to wait for the Lord; St. Paul’s answer is to remember what Jesus did for us; and Jesus’ answer is to be whole. This wholeness, or “holiness” is possible only when we are focused on the one who brought us new life with a trust so complete that it takes away fear, even fear of death.
“Who touched my clothes?” And we confess, “We touched you Lord, for we are afraid.” And then he says to us, “Your faith has made you well, healed of the evil that swirls around you, free of the fear that is being proclaimed on the street corners, released from the need to squander your energies on things that do not matter.” All we need to do is to approach Jesus, bleeding and believing. Come to the hem of his garment and claim your rightful place as a child of God; because you are God’s sons and daughters.
And Jesus took the little girl’s hand and said, “Get up.” And then told them to give her something to eat. Hear what he says and approach his table now in gratitude, free from fear.
Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)