Sermon: Belonging to Christ (February 25, 2024)

Lent 2B
February 19, 2024
Mark 8:31-38

INTRODUCTION

Today’s series theme is “Expectant Joy.” What I hear in that, just below the surface is, “Joy is coming, but it’s not yet fully here.” There is excitement and hope in that, but also some growing pains in the waiting, and we will see that in our readings. 

We’ll hear the Abrahamic covenant today, in which God tells Abraham, who is 99 years old, that he and his spritely 90-year-old wife, Sarah, will be father and mother of a great nation, even though they have until now been barren. Paul will tell us in our reading from Romans how remarkable Abraham’s faith in this covenant is. 

Our Gospel reading benefits from a bit of context. Just before this, Jesus has asked his disciples to declare who they believe him to be. Peter rightly responds, “You’re the Messiah.” This is a powerful title: the Messiah, the anointed one, was expected to be a kingly ruler who would overcome the current political powers, beat back the oppressive Empire, and restore Israel. Yet back at the beginning of Mark, Mark told us that Jesus is not only Messiah, but also the Son of God – and that latter title implies a necessary path of suffering. See, Peter only got it half right… and when Jesus goes on, in today’s part of the story, to describe the son of God part, Peter feels pretty freaked out by that (what kind of Messiah suffers??). Peter wanted the joy at the end, but the journey to get there was less appealing! (Which I can totally understand!)

As you listen, recall a time when you experienced expectant joy – you knew something better was coming, but that the road getting there would be difficult – and find what good news there might be here for such a time. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Last week, those who stayed after worship got to hear Pastor Imani Olear present the results of our Congregational Vitality Assessment. If you couldn’t be there, I hope you had a chance to look at the results, or better yet, watch the recording of the presentation, both of which were linked in the Monday email this past week.

The gist was that we are strong and vibrant in a lot of areas, which is great! But, there were also a lot of areas in which people answered more apathetically, checking the box (usually the second listed answer, if you remember filling it out) that basically says, “Yeah, we kind of do that.” Not bad, just not a lot of excitement about it. Several of these areas, Pastor Imani pointed out, had to do with a sense of belonging and participation and a feeling of mutual ownership of our ministry together. She asked some questions like, “What creates a sense of belonging? How did Jesus create belonging? How do you establish connection, and create trust?”

I have been mulling over these questions all week, and that word, belonging, has been especially loud in my mind. I love the work of Brené Brown, who is a researcher on shame, vulnerability, connection, and courage. She distinguishes between belonging and fitting in. In her wonderful book, Daring Greatly, she writes, “Fitting in and belonging are not the same thing. In fact, fitting in is one of the greatest barriers to belonging. Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be in order to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn’t require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.” I’ll say that last part again: belonging doesn’t require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are. 

In a world so full of expectations, there are not a lot of places that allow the gift of true belonging. Hopefully our families, though not always. Perhaps a few close friends. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, if church, and specifically this church, were one of those places of belonging – not just for you or me, but for anyone who walks through the door? If people could walk in and feel like wherever they are in their understanding of God, or their knowledge of the Bible, whatever messiness is going on or has gone in their lives, however disruptive their kids are, or what they are wearing… no matter what, that they, you, we, and all the brokenness and gifts we bring, belong in this place? Is this a place where people feel not only welcomed, but also known, included, supported, and connected?

With all this still buzzing in my mind, I took a look at this week’s texts. At first look, I admit, this passage from Mark does not say “belonging” to me. The opposite, in fact – it sounds exclusive, setting the bar impossibly high for discipleship. “Deny yourself,” Jesus says, “And take up your cross. Lose your life if you want to keep it. Don’t set your mind on human things, but divine things.” That’s a tall order! 

And yet, I believe in my heart that belonging is something so foundational to the Gospel. God says it in Isaiah: “I love you. You are mine.” Jesus identifies himself as the shepherd, and we as the sheep who belong to his flock. Paul says we are all members of one body. And we say it in baptism: “you belong to Christ.” And so surely Jesus’ statement here – one of his most famous teachings – cannot be contrary to all that! 

So let’s look at this difficult teaching and see what we can make of it. The most problematic bit for me is this: “deny yourself.” At face value, that sounds like the opposite of Brené Brown’s definition, that to belong means to be entirely yourself, and still be accepted. But what if what Jesus says here is not to deny who you truly are, but to deny the “self” that we put out to the world. To lay aside our masks. To be real, raw, and authentic, so that we can be truly known and make meaningful connections, and so we might then be ready to receive God’s grace, mercy, and love? Deny that self, that armor – lose it, in fact – and follow Jesus. 

Michael and I are watching a drama-comedy on Netflix called Loudermilk, about an addiction counselor who’s got a brash style, and yet manages to create this quirky, beautiful community of recovering addicts. The viewer gets to drop in on their meetings each episode, as well as see some of the struggles some of them deal with in between. There is a real beauty in it – these broken individuals, sharing their broken hearts with each other, and holding each other accountable with honesty and understanding (if not always kindness!), and even finding some joy in each other’s presence. They come exactly as they are, raw and messed up, deeply desiring a change and yet unsure exactly how to get there. When someone new comes to the group, they are greeted, welcomed, shown a seat, given coffee, invited to share, and found a sponsor to walk with them on their journey. Honestly, the church could learn a thing or two from this kind of community!

Not that it is an easy path, of course, which the show portrays well. If there is expectant joy in this room of addicts, it is definitely more expectant than joy at this point – there is no glossing over the hard work of recovery! But their efforts show that the process of recovery is a process of denying themselves – denying those destructive patterns and mindsets, and their habitual coverup of them – in order to find new life. And yet, wherever they are in their process, they are accepted – welcomed, known, included, supported and connected. In short, each person who walks in the door belongs, and is encouraged in their journey toward a new way of living.

Just because we belong somewhere, you see, that doesn’t mean that we are off the hook and can just stay the same. It means we recognize the current reality for what it is, even as we hold and support one another in our mutual effort to be the best we can be. This is another thing you see in recovery programs: the first important step toward turning away from destruction and toward new life is accepting that you have a problem that needs addressing – that there is something that needs to be lost, needs to die, in order for new life to be found. Or in Christian terms, something we need to leave behind if we want to follow Jesus’ difficult but life-giving path. And, we are absolutely loved, cared for, supported, and connected as we make those difficult changes. That is what it is to belong – to a church community, yes, but more broadly, to Christ. 

And difficult though that path may be, there is expectant joy in it, because we know the path leads ultimately to resurrection. Jesus’ suffering and death, that he describes and Peter rebukes, must happen to break the power of sin and death. Expectant joy comes from the assurance of the resurrection that follows. It cannot come without the suffering; in order to rise, Jesus must first fall. In order to resurrect, he must first die.

Resist it though we may, this is also true for us. Something in us must die. The expectant joy of that experience, is to look toward the resurrection to come. The new life – sobriety, restored relationships, hope, peace, opportunity, safety. These are the “divine things” we cannot fathom as long as we continue to walk in the “human things” of our old, destructive ways. 

So let us, then, deny ourselves, my friends. Let us walk the difficult path, leaving behind our baggage, our guilt, our regrets. Empowered by the expectant joy Christ has promised and shown us, let us walk together in newness of life, for we do belong to one another, and to God. 

Let us pray… God of expectant joy, we wish we could get to the joy part without having to go through the loss part. Yet you have shown us that after death comes life. Encourage us, that we could deny our false selves, lose our lives, and follow you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE. 

Making Space for Joy: My Lenten Exercise

 "What needs to pass away in order for you to feel truly joyful?"

The Joy of Life by Francois Girard

This was the question that guided my Ash Wednesday sermon, to start off my congregation's Lenten theme, "A Seed of Joy." Since I first saw the question in the preaching notes for Ash Wednesday I have been mulling it over for myself. Joy is something for which I am always searching, and I'm always trying to discern what might be getting in the way of it. 

One thing I've realize consistently gets in the way of joy for me is simply feeling cluttered. The physical clutter certainly wears on me (two kids + ADHD husband = near constant mess), but there is also a lot of mental clutter, and all of this crowds out the possibility of spiritual depth outside of what is required for my job. 

So for Lent this year, I am focusing on creating space. Here is how I plan to do it:

Mental Space: I have enjoyed the past couple of years doing wardrobe challenges. Back in 2022, I did a 100 Day Challenge, wearing the same dress for 100 days straight (yes, I washed it, but the merino wool didn't need as frequent washing - only every 10-14 days or so). I realized early on how much mental energy this challenge freed up, and have enjoyed some other, shorter challenges since then. I didn't realize how much energy I was using right at the beginning of the day, just to decide what to wear!

So during Lent, I'm doing two back-to-back challenges. First, a 10x10 capsule challenge. I have chosen 10 items, which I will wear in different combinations for 10 days. Then I will continue with a 30-day dress challenge, in a comfy, classy purple dress (Lent colored!). Despite these being called "challenges," I actually find it easier to live this way. I'm looking forward to this exercise in simplicity! (And I do get a gift card from the company for completing the challenges, which I'll use to replace a worn item.)

Physical Space: Like many houses, ours has, over the years, collected things in the various nooks and crannies. I'm committing to declutter one small area each week. This weekend it will be our snack cupboard. Next week, maybe under the bathroom sink. Maybe with my family's help, we can address some larger areas, too (hello, attic!), but I'm being reasonable; it's Lent, after all.

(Related to this, we are doing a Lenten spending freeze - so very little new stuff will be coming into the house, which will also help!)

Spiritual Space: The good thing about being a pastor is that I am forced to engage with scripture and prayer on a regular basis. The bad thing is that because I do this all week for other people, it leaves little energy for me to do it for myself, to address my personal spiritual life. So this Lent, I am making the space. In my various attempts at a meaningful personal prayer life, I find most success when I journal. Something about writing, especially by hand, opens my mind to be receptive to God speaking to me. But journaling became harder when kids came along. So, I'm going to do it when I'm not at home: after I eat lunch, at work. Journaling will be in the form of letters to God, using our Lenten devotional which often includes questions for reflection. I'll discuss these questions with God. 

I read recently in a book how God sometimes works through subtraction, not addition. I'm hopeful that the above equation will end up balanced: subtract mental energy of dressing, subtract some physical clutter, and leave space to add more intentional spiritual reflection for my own well-being. And altogether, with less stuff all around and within me, there might be more space for joy to come and stay around.

Ash Wednesday Sermon: Sin and the bathroom sink (Feb. 14, 2024)

Ash Wednesday 2024
Isaiah 58:1-12
Psalm 51

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

I joked on Sunday that I couldn’t think of anything more romantic on this Valentine’s Day than having ash smudged in your face and being reminded of your mortality. Obviously, I was being funny (or trying to be!), but the truth is, while not romantic, per se, I wasn’t kidding about today being all about love – that is, Ash Wednesday, and the season that follows, is all about preparing our hearts and making space to notice and receive God’s immense love for us. 

Allow me to explain. We often think of Lent as being kind of a downer. I mean, it starts with a Kyrie, “Lord, have mercy,” and an extensive time of confession, and then receiving an ashen cross and being told you will, like all things, return to the dust. Lent continues with six weeks of penitence, and deprivation (Lenten fasts), and so many minor key hymns. And it ends with the most somber days of the Church year, as we follow Jesus to the cross, ending Good Friday in complete darkness…. I mean, really – whose idea was it to dwell on sin and sorrow for six and a half long weeks?? Who wants to do that?

Well, let me answer that by asking you another question: we’ve all dealt with problems, struggles, pain, and fear in our lives. Have any of them ever gotten better when you’ve just ignored them? Does simply hoping a problem will disappear make it so?

In my experience as a human, not usually. Generally, we have to face them in some way. Naming things out loud is the first important step in moving past the point of just letting that thing sit heavy in your heart. Sure, naming it can hurt at the time. It can be terrifying to face those hard truths with vulnerability, and sometimes, like a rough chemotherapy treatment, the initial backlash or reaction to this treatment feels worse than the disease itself. “It was better,” we think, “when I was ignoring it! Why did I have to go and stir all this up?” And yet, also like a cancer, letting something just sit there may go all right at first, but eventually it will overtake you.

Ash Wednesday is about naming the thing out loud – in particular, naming the thing or things that are keeping us from living joyfully in God’s promises. I have heard Ash Wednesday called the most honest day of the Church year, when we join together in faithful community, and admit that our relationship with God is not yet where it should or could be. We face head-on the reality that while we long for positive change, we also resist it… but that in the end, a resurrection and rebirth cannot happen unless something first dies. We know that resurrection comes in an exciting way on Easter, and we are given this season of Lent, these 40 days, to discern what needs to be faced head on, and what needs to be cleared away, if we are to make way for that resurrection to happen also in us. 

A couple days ago, Monday, my alarm went off as usual at 6:45am. I stumbled, half-awake, into the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, I noticed, for the thousandth time, that our sink was not draining as it should be. For weeks, the water has reluctantly drained out of this, our primary bathroom sink, leaving things like spit out toothpaste and soap lather to dry along the bowl of the sink. And so, with that Monday morning motivation, I got to it. I pulled out the stopper and you can imagine, it was thick with gunk, a layer of dark grossness made up of… I shudder to think. And then of course there was the hair and gunk inside the drain. Isn’t this just how everyone wants to start the week? But I was in it now. I was committed! I dug in, not thinking about what germs I was getting my hands on, and began slowly but surely pulling weeks (or months!) worth of yuck out of that little drain. Blech.

But then you know what happened? I replaced the stopper, squirted some soap into my hands, lathered, rinsed them off… and the water went right down that nice clean drain. I smiled, feeling suddenly lighter. It was not a pretty job, my friends, not by a longshot, and even now I want to gag a little. But having faced what was blocking the flow, and dealt with it, now everything was flowing freely.

“Wash me through and through from my wickedness,” David writes, after being confronted with one of the worst strings of sinfulness of any character in the Bible. The prophet Nathan has named David’s sin for him (covetousness, adultery, and murder, to name a few) and David has owned this for himself – the first step in restoring his relationship with God. “Cleanse me from my sin,” he prays. “For I know my offenses.” His words are so real, so true to life – this Psalm, which we always read on Ash Wednesday, gives us the words to face our own sin, our own patterns and ways that block our relationship with God, and inhibit our flow.

And, that inhibit our ability to experience joy. That is our theme this Lenten season: “A Seed of Joy.” It seems an unlikely theme for Lent; isn’t joy for Easter? Lent is for all the sadness and sorrow. And yet, if Lent is the season in which we make way for that Easter joy, who is to say that joy can’t show up in glimpses along the way? As God is “creating in us clean hearts,” and “renewing right spirits within us,” we may very well find ourselves “restored to the joy of God’s salvation,” even before we get to the big Easter celebration at the end.

You see, I told you today is all about love! It is about a God who loves us so much that he won’t let us continue along a joyless path, but instead offers us a space to take those first steps of naming our sin and our ways of mortality, even as we trust that God will receive those things, and restore us to the joy of salvation. Who needs a box of chocolates, when we’ve got a promise like that?

So this is my question for you this Lent – and I am actually going to make you think about it right now, and write it down on the index card in your bulletin, so listen carefully. Here’s the question: What must die, or pass away, in order for you to feel truly joyful? What gunk is blocking your flow? What tangle of hair is keeping you stuck? What needs to be removed, to pass away, in order for you to feel truly joyful? Write it down on your index card, with as much vagueness or specificity as is helpful to you. You can sign your name, or not. I’ve asked Jon to play a longer introduction to the hymn to give you time to reflect. Then, as you come forward in a moment to receive ashes, to remember God’s promises to you in life and in death, place your stated gunk, whatever it is, in the font – not in the water itself, but in the spaces along the bowl. My promise to you, if you’ll entrust me with this, is that I will hold those things in prayer for you during this season – that God would wash you through and through, and restore you to the joy of his salvation, so that when Easter comes, we truly will be able to rejoice in the new life promised to us.

Let us pray… Restoring God, there is so much that gets in the way of us feeling the joy of your salvation. Help us to see it, and to name it, so that with your help, we can also be washed clean of it, and step into the joy of your presence. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.

Sermon: Head place and heart place (Feb. 11, 2024)

Transfiguration (B)
February 11, 2024
Mark 9:2-9

INTRODUCTION

Always on this last Sunday before the beginning of Lent we celebrate Transfiguration Sunday, one of the church’s high holy days (you can always tell it’s important when we use white paraments!). It is the culmination of the season of Epiphany, the season of light, and we celebrate by hearing the story of Jesus on a mountaintop, shining brighter than anything we’ve ever seen on earth. It is also a turning point: in Mark’s Gospel, this is halfway through, and where the first half of the Gospel has been really fast-paced, now things will slow way down as we walk down the mountain with the disciples to enter into the end of Jesus’ life and the story of his passion, which for Mark is the main event. 

We also hear another miraculous story today, that is less familiar to us: the story of Elijah being whisked away in a chariot of fire, leaving Elisha to fill his shoes. A bit of backstory on this: Elijah was a prophet who, 7 or 8 year prior, had plucked Elisha out of a field to be his protégé. The two have been inseparable since then, but now, Elijah realizes it is time to go to the next thing. Elisha knows the inevitable is coming, but is not too keen to leave his mentor’s side. They have become so close, he even calls Elijah “father.” Some roaming prophets warn Elisha of what is coming, and he wants to hear none of it. Finally, it happens: a flaming chariot comes down to take Elijah away, and Elisha is left alone with his grief, and Elijah’s mantel (a symbol of the prophetic life). Like the disciples in Mark’s story, he has to pull himself together after this incredible event, and keep on doing God’s work. It’s a stunning and heartbreaking story of the fear and difficulty of change. 

As you listen to these texts today, let them, with all their emotions, just wash over you. They are colorful and dramatic texts, so rather than analyze them, just visualize them, and imagine you were there watching it happen. Let’s listen.

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Theophanes the Greek and workshop. Transfiguration, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59721 [retrieved February 12, 2024].

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

This week my Facebook feed suggested a post they thought I’d like. It was a quote from Ernest Hemingway. It said: “It takes two years to learn to speak and sixty to learn to keep quiet.” I felt more than a little targeted! 

Truth is, that was already exactly what I was hearing in our readings today. In the first reading, I chuckled at Elisha’s response to the roaming prophets, as he is anticipating Elijah’s departure. They say, “Hey, guy, did you know your master is departing soon?” And Elisha is like, “I know. Shut it.” The NRSV translation we heard makes it sound so nice with the words, “Keep silent,” but I think we can imagine the tone with which an undoubtedly fearful Elisha spoke, as he anticipates that he’s about to be stepping into some pretty big shoes, and without his mentor around to help. And then in the story of Jesus’ transfiguration, I always love Peter’s take – in response to this incredible, indescribable moment on a mountaintop, rather than just taking it in, Peter does exactly what I would do: he has no idea what to say, but he starts talking anyway. “He did not know what to say,” says Mark, “for they were terrified.” And then that voice from heaven, announcing who Jesus is – God’s son! – and then, a message that seems tailor-made for Peter and all of us who relate to him: “Listen to him!” (Stop talking, Peter, and listen!)

It takes two years to learn to speak, and sixty to learn to keep quiet! 

But in truth, Peter’s response is so human, and so like my own experience of faith. I come from a long line of people who were blessed with both deep faith, and lots of education. My family tree is replete with deep thinkers – theologians, historians, educators, writers, ethicists, philosophers – and so it is no surprise that I have always approached both life and faith head-first. If something is a mystery, if I come across something that I cannot understand, well then that is just a reason to do more reading, more digging, more talking, until it can be understood. 

That’s what I see from Peter in this story. Here, in this moment of Jesus’ transfiguration, and this stunning appearance of Moses and Elijah alongside him and having a chat, he is confronted with something so beyond his understanding, that he scarce can take it in. He cannot merely accept it as the glorious mystery that it is, but must try to make sense of it, sort it out, place it neatly into three dwellings that he can understand. That seems like the right thing to do, and when we are at a loss, sometimes doing or saying something, anything, is the only way we know how to respond. As theologian Karl Barth is credited with observing, “The Word became flesh – and then, through theologians, it became words again.”

More than once, my spiritual director has told me to get out of my head, and to drop into my “heart place.” What does that mean to you? How would you define a “heart place” and how do you let yourself drop in there? I suppose that a heart place is not so focused on trying to understand, as it is about experiencing. It is less Peter, chattering away through this glorious event and trying to say and do the right thing, and more the other disciples present, those who simply sit there in awe at what they are seeing. A heart place allows for tears, like Elisha’s, to flow, if that is what comes, and doesn’t try to shove the emotions away. A heart place doesn’t fill the space with words, but allows for the experience to wash over and permeate. 

When we are in such a heart place, perhaps it is also easier to listen. Without the noise of our thoughts, and our messy minds, perhaps we find ourselves in a place more ready to do as that voice from heaven said: Listen to him. Listen to Jesus. As we all know, when we are busy thinking about the next thing to say or do, we are not really in a place to listen. And yet here it is, clear as day: listen to Jesus.

This week as we descend the mountain of the Transfiguration with Jesus and the disciples and enter into the season of Lent, I will be holding onto this hope and intention: that by getting out of my busy, messy brain and into my “heart place,” I might be able to make space to listen to God. I mentioned in my February newsletter article that one way I plan to do this during Lent is by journaling in the form of writing letters to God. When I journal, especially by hand, I am more able to get out of my own way, and let God’s hope and intention flow through my pen. Our Lenten theme this year is “A Seed of Joy,” and I’m also hopeful that by making space to hear God instead of our own thoughts, that seed of God’s joy might also poke up through thr ground more clearly. How often our thoughts get in the way of seeing God’s glory, God’s joy, even when it is right before us! If we can still that busyness, maybe we stand a chance at experiencing Christ’s joy, even in the midst of the penitential Lenten season. 

As we move toward Ash Wednesday this week, I invite you to enter into your own self-reflection: how is it that you respond to God’s glory? What is it that keeps you from getting out of your own way, and simply experiencing it? How do you filter it out – do you, too, try to figure out it with your head? Or do you find it with your heart, or does your body let you know some other way that God’s glory is at hand? And as we enter into Lent, how will you allow God’s joy to permeate your life and journey? Will you find it with your head, heart, or body? Will you stop talking and start listening (even if you are not yet sixty years old!)? 

I look forward to this journey with you, as we hold onto the hope and memory of experiencing God’s splendor, and as we look toward the ways God offers us joy, and finally as we live into the newness of life that God offers to us on repeat, whether we are listening or not. 

Let us pray… God of glory, your shining presence is all around us, but we are often too stuck in our own messy minds to notice it. Help us to get out of our own way, and see the mysterious and wonderful ways that you show up in our lives. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

See the full service HERE.

Sermon: Take my hand (Feb. 4, 2024)

Epiphany 5B
February 4, 2024
Mark 1:29-39

INTRODUCTION

Jesus’ first impression last week, a dramatic healing of a man possessed by an unclean spirit, set the tone for his ministry, and today we see it continue to play out, as his fame spreads. In today’s reading, Mark offers us “a day in the life of Jesus,” as we watch him go from the synagogue to his friend Simon’s house, where he heals Simon’s mother-in-law. That evening, everyone with any sort of ailment comes to the door, knocking for help. His reputation as one who confronts evil and brings healing is growing. But Mark also feels it important to mention that Jesus takes a rest – he stops and takes a moment for himself to pray, before moving on to keep proclaiming the good news. Good modeling, Jesus! 

Isaiah also speaks to the fatigue that comes from, well, from life! Today’s reading brings us back to the time of the exile, actually just as the Israelites are learning that they will be returning to Jerusalem after being in exile for 70 years. The Israelites are understandably worried about the long trip – a 1000-mile journey, on foot! God assures them that, while it will be long and arduous, they will be able to make it, because God will not let them fall. A wonderful promise as we, too, trudge through our own exhaustion.

In both of these stories, and in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, we will see a theme of God empowering the weak and weary, and that this strengthening is ultimately for a purpose: the next step of healing (in body, mind or spirit) is service. As you listen, consider from what you need healing, and how such healing would equip you for serving God and neighbor. Let’s listen. 

[READ]

Christ Healing Peter's Mother-in-Law
WikiCommons

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Jesus is one busy dude. He has just made his splashy entrance into public ministry by very publicly casting out a demon from a man in the synagogue. Word spread fast, and soon enough, just as soon as the sun set up the sabbath day and people were allowed to work again, Mark tells us that “the whole city” gathered at his door, asking for healing. All evening, Jesus heals everything from indigestion to demon possession. Whew! Then, after a busy night he wakes up early to spend some time in prayer – and even there, his disciples hunt him down to report that “everyone” is searching for him. Hardly a moment to himself, just go-go-go, heal-heal-heal.

But tucked in the midst of all this busyness is this short story of great intimacy. Jesus has just called his first disciples, and they go to one of their homes, the home of Simon, later known as Peter. At once, they tell Jesus that Simon’s mother-in-law was sick. I always thought this was with the hope of Jesus healing her, but at this point, Jesus has not actually performed any healings. He has cast out demons, but she doesn’t have a demon. So, I wonder if they were actually letting him know by way of explanation: you see if would be a major faux pax for Simon’s mother-in-law to receive a guest, and not to offer him hospitality. So rather than saying, “She’s sick, Jesus, can you heal her?” it was more, “You can come to our house, but you should know, my mother-in-law is quite ill with a fever. She will not be able to serve us. But please don’t take offense.” You see, in the 1st century, the woman’s place was in the kitchen; indeed, her role in running the household and serving guests was an essential and valued part of how society functioned. For Simon’s mother-in-law, not being able to serve Jesus and his friends was embarrassing and degrading of her very personhood and agency.

So already, this is intimate: we’re in a personal home, and the elder of this home is vulnerable, both physically and socially. We would do well to pause here and appreciate the intimacy of this moment. As a pastor, I am often invited into people’s vulnerability – messy homes, broken relationships, hospital rooms where people are at their very weakest with hair mussed and gowns barely covering their broken bodies – and each one of these moments is immensely sacred, precisely because of that intimacy. 

But then in our story, this intimacy goes even deeper. Jesus comes right up to the woman, and takes her hand. I’m not sure I really appreciated how beautiful this moment is until we were unable to touch each other’s hands during the pandemic. I personally had no lack of touch during that time – I was home with a 3- and 4-year-old, after all – but I know for many who live alone, they had no physical contact with another human for months. And yet touch is such an important part of human connection! One of my favorite things to do in pastoral settings, after I have met or visited with someone, is hold their hand for a prayer. Prayer is already a powerful connection, but when you add a hand hold, you can experience one another’s energy and spirit even more profoundly. I have often seen people emerge from such a moment in tears – sometimes the tears are my own!

And so here, where Jesus takes the hand of this ailing, aging woman – it makes me catch my breath a bit! Suddenly, they become connected, in body and spirit. This woman, who was presently without a purpose, being unable to fulfill her duties of care for her home or offering hospitality, is important enough, valuable enough, for Jesus to stop in the middle of his busy day and hold her hand for a moment. She had been disconnected, even close to dying, and now, she is once again connected.

And then, Mark tells us, Jesus raises her up, and the fever leaves her. Worth noting is that this word, “raise up,” is the same word used for Jesus’ own resurrection. Mark is intentional about details like this – we are meant to make the connection to Jesus’ resurrection. Jesus raises her up – from sickness into health, from brokenness into wholeness, from near-death into life, even into new life. By their interpersonal connection, she has been given a new life.

Mark tells us then that “she began to serve them.” I have often heard feminist grumbling about this verse – “sheesh, she was near death, and now already she’s making them sandwiches?” Yes, on first impression this may rub us the wrong way, but this is not at all meant to evoke fist-shaking at the patriarchy. Remember I mentioned before, that in this society, a woman’s place was in the kitchen. She cared for the home and the family. In this role, she was an essential member of society, and she no doubt took pride in her work and her ability to extend hospitality to someone like Jesus. Without that ability, however, she was without purpose, without value. Now, Jesus has not only restored her to health, but has restored her to purpose. She is whole, and able to serve. (The word used here for “serve,” by the way, is the word from which we get the word “deacon,” so this is very much a sort of faithful service she is doing, and not a begrudging fetching of sandwiches for the men in the room.) 

This exchange is not unlike how God’ grace works in our own lives. We too are lifted out of our brokenness, forgiven for our sins. We are granted grace upon grace, brought from the death of sin, into new life in Christ, and promised everlasting life. We are healed. And our faithful response to this gift and promise is to serve. Martin Luther writes that we are freed from sin, even as we are freed for service, such that when we truly receive God’s grace and promise, good works spring spontaneously from us, whether that is distributing food at a pantry, learning about an issue like housing justice, praying for the health and wellbeing of your community, or simply treating your neighbor with lovingkindness. We’re freed from sin, and freed for service.

I see this woman, Simon’s mother-in-law, as the very embodiment of this concept. Freed from the captivity of disease, she is freed for service of those gathered. She is given a purpose once again, and with it, she becomes whole. She is connected to Christ, and to her community, now able to contribute and connect with others. It is a beautiful moment!

And so what about us, my friends? What is it that holds you in captivity, that keeps you from your purpose as a claimed and called child of God? From what do you need to be freed? Is it fatigue from the difficulties of life? Is it the weight of grief, or the limitations brought by disease of body or mind? Is it the burden of a grudge, or a pain you cannot find your way through? Is it shame, or a lack of purpose or direction? 

Whatever it is, friends, hear this good news: Jesus reaches his hand out also to you. He reaches out to you with the promise of intimacy, and connection, the sort of connection that can heal the soul. We offer to him our vulnerable hearts, and the pain they hold, and Jesus sees us, all of us, and reaches out to us – pulling us from death into life, from captivity into freedom, so that we can once again find the wholeness and purpose that God desires for us. We are freed to serve in newness of life. 

Let us pray… Precious Lord, take our hand. When we are tired, weak, and worn, when the storms are all around, reach out your hand to us, so that we may stand, and step into the new life that you make possible. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service can be viewed HERE. (Actually it starts at the Psalm - if you want to see the beginning, find it from there.)