My wife's brother served in Vietnam. He
died fifteen years ago from the effects of exposure to Agent Orange.
Since that time—and even long before it—Marilyn has been a
tireless advocate for returning veterans of all conflicts. She
collects food and supplies for a homeless vets' shelter, supports the
Yellow Ribbon organization in sending care packages to deployed
troops, and does many other admirable acts in furtherance of this
cause.
I admire what she does and, I must
confess, if not for her I probably would not have as much awareness
of the plight of returning military. I do know that a lot of
the guys who served in Vietnam never really seemed to come home from
the conflict. I remember, back in my California days, regularly
running into a homeless vet named Stanley on Sunset Boulevard in L.A.
He was a nice enough guy, but he just couldn't get it together after
all he'd experienced. He used to panhandle on the street. One day I
gave him a twenty dollar bill and he teared up, came to attention,
and saluted me. I often wonder whatever happened to him. There was
something poisonous in the way our society treated those men back
then—telling them not to wear their uniforms back home in order to
avoid controversy. No parades, no welcome, no thanks. No wonder so
many drank or became homeless like Stanley.
Today, however, those same wounded and
abused vets are the biggest supporters of our currently serving
military. Their organizations mobilize to make sure that this
generation of troops is treated better than their generation had been
treated. They are the first to organize and advocate politically for
care of the ones who return, and they always show up in force at
homecomings. I respect their lack of bitterness and honest desire to
be of service. To me, this looks like healing.
In the appointed gospel for the Fifth
Sunday after the Epiphany (Mark 1:29-39), we see Jesus perform an act
of healing which then results in service. Peter's mother-in-law is
sick with a fever, a condition which, in the world of the text, could
very likely be fatal. But Jesus takes her hand and lifts her out of
bed, back onto her feat. Immediately she is restored and begins to
serve Jesus and the others of the household.
A detail I really dig about the way
Mark tells this story is the fact that Jesus takes her by the hand.
This is a pretty personal thing to do in that society with a lady to
whom one is not related. To me, it suggests God's tender care for
those who are weak, and the intimacy and tender compassion of God
with us during our time of distress.
Granted, the story does seem a bit
sexist to our modern ears. After all, the poor old lady was just
lying at death's door, and Jesus drags her out of bed to put on her
apron and start cooking for the men. We might wish that he'd give her
a chance to recuperate and catch her breath before he sends her back
into the kitchen. I mean, wouldn't it be a nice thing if some of the
guys offered to take her place just this once?
But in the world of this text, Peter's
mother-in-law serving at table is the way we know that she is fully
and completely healed. In her society, this was her job. The fact
that she was back doing it proved her restoration.
Yet the story gets me wondering about
what exactly Jesus did when he lifted her off her sickbed. Part of
his way of healing was showing a tender regard for this lady as a
person. However, I wonder if she served because she had been healed,
or was she healed because she was lifted up to serve? As with the
Vietnam vets, when the decision comes to give ourselves over to
caring for others, God begins to do the work of healing. I believe
that if a dying congregation were to dedicate itself to the healing
of its neighborhood, new life would dawn upon it. Conversely, those
who have received the gift of a healing, be it physical, emotional,
financial, or otherwise, should, out of gratitude to God, make an
offering of service to those who are weak and suffering. If we don't
rise to that obligation we aren't really survivors of our
affliction, we're just former victims of
it. True healing has to bring with it the baptismal promise of
renewal.
A few
other things cross my mind about this appointed passage: First, Jesus
doesn't permit the demons to speak (v.34). This is explained as being
part of the “messianic secret,” the fact that Jesus doesn't want
anyone to know he's the Messiah until the time comes. Personally, I
think there's just some common sense in silencing the voice of
illness and brokenness. Referencing the previous state of sickness,
addiction, unhappiness, etc. just gives too much power to it. Healing
can mean knowing when to let it go. Secondly, Jesus renews himself by
the practice of prayer (v. 35). This should speak for itself, don't
you think? Thirdly, Jesus is not preaching with words, but through
actions of compassion. The healing mission is
the gospel. Finally,
whether we are healed to serve or serve to be healed, we still need
to hold the hand of Jesus.
Thanks
again for visiting, my friends. May you be healed and be healers in
whatever way God calls you.
No comments:
Post a Comment