A Sermon preached on
Sunday, July 1 (Proper 8), at St. Augustine’s, Wiesbaden
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15;
Mark 5:21-43
In this morning’s Gospel, you heard a “Markan
Sandwich.” No I don’t mean a marmite sandwich which contains a mysterious sticky
black savory substance much beloved of some English, and strongly disliked by
the rest of the world, but Markan,
from Mark. It describes his technique of placing one story inside another. They
are supposed to reinforce each other, often one story acts as a commentary on
the other. For example, in a later “sandwich” (Mark 11:12-21) Jesus’ cleansing
of the Temple is inserted in a story of how he curses fig tree for not bearing
fruit, which then withers and dies: clearly a commentary on the fate of the
Temple because its guardians have not borne the fruit God intended.
But today for example, the healing of the woman
who had been suffering from hemorrhages for 12 years is sandwiched between two
halves of another healing event, the story of how Jesus brings Jairus’ 12-year
old daughter back to life. The two anonymous protagonists have a couple of
things in common: they share the last 12 years, both are healed by Jesus, both
are female sufferers and described as daughters. One has a loving father, the
other seems to be alone, but both know God’s love. And putting these two
episodes together reminds us that Jesus came for everyone, for the powerful and
the powerless, for the leader of the community and for the outcast woman. All
are welcome, all are recipients of God’s grace.
On his way to Jairus’ house to heal his
daughter, Jesus heals the woman simply by touch, her touch. Both out of
desperation, 12 years is a long time to suffer and as we heard she had endured
much under many physicians, and out of hope sustained by her faith in Jesus’ power
she reaches out to him, convinced that “If I but touch his clothes, I will be
made well.” (Mark 5:28) And she is. But her healing is not yet complete. Only
when Jesus looks into her eyes and says the words, “Daughter, your faith has
made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease,” (5:34) is she truly
healed. Before she was an outcast, unclean and unwelcome, now she is a beloved
child of God. When Jesus says, “Go in peace,” he us using the word “shalom,”
which means much more than a lack of war. This peace is health, well-being, and
wholeness. Her body has been healed and her relationships have been restored.
Once again, she is part of her community. She was not physical dead, but
socially. And so, in one sense she was also brought back to life.
What does Jesus mean with the words, “your
faith has made you well?” Did she heal herself? No, but her faith opened a
channel for Jesus’ healing power, even when he had not intended to heal her. We
see the reverse effect in the next chapter of Mark’s Gospel, when Jesus visits
his hometown and due to their unbelief, “he could do no deed of power there,
except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them.” (Mark 6:5)
His power was as strong in Nazareth as elsewhere. But they were not open, their
minds and bodies were closed, they saw no need for healing.
Jairus on the other hand, the loving father,
was moved by a strong faith. Faith allowed him to overcome the embarrassment of
asking, begging an itinerant rabbi for help. “Come and lay your hands on her,
so that she may be made well, and live.” (5:23) Faith sustains him even after everyone
tells him his daughter is dead. He has just seen a demonstration of Jesus’ power.
Can it work for her too, can it bring her back from the dead? “Do not fear,
only believe,” (5:36) Jesus says, reassuring him. It is rewarded. With the
words ‘little girl get up’ or rise up, the same verb used for Jesus’ own rising
from the dead, she is restored to life.
In the Gospels, only she and two other people
are brought back to life: the widow’s son at Nain (Luke 7:11-17) and most
famously Lazarus (John 11:1-44). Why only these three? Why does Jesus often
leave a town or area before everyone there has been healed? While Jesus was moved
by compassion to help, or in the case of the woman with hemorrhages that help
is taken even when not explicitly offered, he did not come into the world to be
a one-man National Health Service. His purpose was something much greater. He
came to heal the breach between us and God, to heal the division between one another.
In his letter to the Corinthians Paul writes: “For you know the generous act of
our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became
poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich.” (2 Cor. 8:9) In his letter
to the Philippians (2:7) Paul uses a different analogy, Christ Jesus “emptied
himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.” In both
cases Paul is describing what we call kenosis,
Jesus emptying himself of his divinity to become human, to share our humanity
and to show us that we all share this humanity, and deification, his offer of transformation, of taking us up with him
into God.
As I am reminded just before the beginning of General
Convention, sometimes our Episcopal Church is a little prone to focusing purely
on the physical healing and on matters of social justice. There is a tendency
to political activism, and to passing lots of well-meaning resolutions, which
will have little to no impact outside of the convention center. The motto of
ERD is “Healing a hurting world.” None of this is wrong, but we won’t be able
to truly and fully and completely heal the world without bringing God into it.
But it would equally be wrong to focus solely
on the spiritual. This seems to be problem of the Corinthians. They take great
pride in their spiritual endowments. They excel, Paul says, “in everything—in
faith, in speech, in knowledge, in eagerness and love.” (2 Cor. 8:7) But not it
appears in putting all these qualities into action! Therefore, Paul talks about testing the genuineness of their love. The action
Paul wants them to complete is an act of generosity and financial support for
their beleaguered brothers and sisters in Jerusalem. It is wonderful, Paul goes
on, that you want to help: “now finish doing it!” (8:11)
Now I don’t want to overdo the sandwich metaphor.
But just as a sandwich needs both the flavor of the filling and the protection
and extra nourishment of the bread covering, so to faith and action must go
together. Action – or works to use that term so beloved of Reformation era
Protestants – without faith will not have a long-term impact and will not bring
about the transformation that God offers us. Faith without works is dry and without
effect. To claim to be a faithful Christian without the visible marks of our
faith, without acting as our Lord acted and taught is just not plausible, just
not convincing.
All Anglicans share what are called the Five
Marks of Mission. They express, and I quote, “the Anglican Communion’s common
commitment to, and understanding of, God’s holistic and integral mission.”[1]
They are holistic as they cover both our faith, and our call to transport and
transmit that faith, as well as the different ways in which we are called to
heal: people, society, and creation. Here they are:
- To proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom
- To teach, baptize and nurture new believers
- To respond to human need by loving service
- To seek to transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and to pursue peace and reconciliation
- To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth
This is – borrowing Paul’s phrase – a fair
balance. Our faith makes us well, and our faith calls us to make all things
well in and through Jesus’ name.
Amen.
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