February 4, 2018 - Epiphany 5B

Lectionary Readings

In the name of God ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

            “Have you not known? Have you not heard?” That refrain is found in our reading from Isaiah this morning and it sets the stage for considering the passage from Mark this morning. The fact that Isaiah asks those questions about having known and heard assumes that it would be easy to miss the salvation of God that he is talking about. The same can happen to us – we get so wrapped up in the busyness of our day-to-day routines, we get caught up in the news, or we get stuck in the specifics of our own crises that we might forget about God’s salvation for us.

January 28, 2018 - Epiphany 4B

Lectionary Readings

In the name of God ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

            What difference does Jesus make in your life? It’s a seemingly simple question, but the answer makes, literally, all the difference in our lives. Sure, we all say that religion is at the core of our principles and priorities, but judging by the society that we live in, that’s little more than lip service. We might notice that people of faith seem to fare no better than staunch atheists when it comes to income, health, or just sheer luck; and then the question is whether or not the demands of faith are worth it. And so instead of giving 10% to charity, we settle on 2%. Instead of keeping the Sabbath with rest each week, we only take a break on vacation. Because, at the end of the day, do the disciplines and ideals of a 2,000 year old religion that was established in the Middle East really have anything relevant to say to our time and culture beyond “be nice” or giving us some comfort in difficult times? In other words, does faith in Jesus actually have anything to do with our world and lives today?

August 21, 2016 - Proper 16C

Lectionary Readings

In the name of God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

            We all know that there are two kinds of stories. There are stories, and then there are stories that are more than stories. Stories such as me telling you about what I did on vacation are simply stories – there is no larger point to them. They might be informative, they might be entertaining, they might remind you of a similar experience, but they’re just a series of details. But there is a second kind of story, you might call it a fable, a myth, a legend, a parable. In these sort of stories, the details are just the skeleton that holds up the larger point or moral. Some stories are more than just a series of facts, but they are symbols which carry a meaning larger than themselves. The Bible is full of these second kind of stories, and today’s Gospel text is a story that is much more than just a story.

September 6, 2015 - Proper 18B

Lectionary Readings

            Today’s gospel passage contains two separate stories: the healing of the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter and the healing of a deaf man. Each of these passages really is robust enough to stand on its own; the lectionary could have put these two stories in different weeks, but by keeping them together, as Mark did in his writing of the gospel, a connection becomes apparent that we might miss if we were to read these stories separately. What we see in these passages is that hearing leads to speaking, and specifically, to sharing the Good News.

June 28, 2015 - Proper 8B

Lectionary Readings

In the name of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

            I can’t imagine. Can you imagine it? We use those phrases when we encounter something that stops us in our tracks, whether it is good or bad. Sometimes when we rhetorically ask “can you imagine?” it is because in our horror and disbelief we, ourselves, cannot actually imagine it. We hear stories of the violent atrocities committed by ISIS and we shake our heads, saying “can you imagine that?” That reality simply does not fit into our frame of reference. But sometimes we lack this imagination in the positive sense of the phrase. “She donated a kidney to a complete stranger,” or we see a beautiful painting and say I can’t imagine. Sometimes we observe something that seems to be larger than life, full of more beauty or compassion than we thought was possible. When we hear this reading from Mark, a fitting response very well might be “I can’t imagine.”

October 19, 2014 - Feast of St. Luke

Lectionary Readings

In the name of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

            Today we celebrate the Feast of our patron, Saint Luke. Whenever we remember a writer of a Biblical text, I like to point out the passages that are unique to their writings, so that we can fully appreciate their contributions to our faith and understanding of Jesus.

June 9, 2013 - Proper 5C

In the name of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

            Well today is a busy day- we have two young children to welcome and initiate into the household of God through the Sacrament of Baptism, and during the announcements we’ll be recognizing Mike Taylor for his exceptional and dedicated ministry at St. Francis as our facilities manager as he departs to work for Habitat for Humanity in Wilmington.

            The lectionary this morning presents us with two very similar stories about widows who lose their only sons and God’s power to redeem those broken situations. Both women found themselves in very desperate situations. The widow of Zarephath, from 1 Kings, is living in a time of extreme drought and famine. There is little food for anyone, and so the charity that a widow would depend on has dried up as well. And in that culture, a widow was in very dire straits, as without a husband or son, she would be unable to negotiate deals, earn a living, or have many civil rights. And so when her only son dies, she is losing much more than her beloved child, which would be a painful enough loss, but she is losing her lifeline to many social structures.

            And the widow of Nain, in Luke, is likewise in a tough situation being a widow losing her only son. She too was not only mourning the loss of her only son, but had lost her male protector and provider. And though it sounds rather sexist and misogynistic to our modern ears, it is the simple fact of that culture- without a man to provide for them, these widows were thrown down several steps on the social ladder.

            And so as the text provides these two stories of funeral processions, we can ask ourselves the same questions that they asked. Where is God? Does God even care about me? Is God around? Why am I being made to suffer? Where is God’s justice? No matter how strong our faith, there are those times when it is only natural to wonder how it is that such a loving and powerful God seems to standby while so much evil and sadness happens. These widows were likely pondering similar questions in their tears.

            Often we think of Elijah and Jesus as very holy men, mouthpieces for God, or in the case of Jesus, God incarnate. But Elijah and Jesus must have decided to skip class the day that pastoral care came up, as they both would receive an “F” for their intrusions in the lives of these widows. First, Elijah comes to a widow in a land of famine and asks for food. Rather rude isn’t it? Imagine going up to the homeless person and asking them for dinner. But he does it anyway. She protests that only has a few morsels left for her and her son, and if they don’t have that, they will die of starvation. But Elijah insists, just do the best you can.

            I wonder what was going through this widow’s mind. She probably wanted to throw him out for being such a demanding guest, not to mention for being the prophet of the God who was causing the famine. But she responded instead with hospitality and trust. We are reminded of the disciple on the shores of the Sea of Galilee that asked, “how will feed all of these people with only five loaves and two fish?” And we recall that in our generosity, in our ability to loosen our grip on our possessions and fears of scarcity, that God’s abundance is made more visible. In her generosity, she opens herself to the miracle of there being food enough. So let us remember, there is always enough to be generous.

            Jesus, likewise, intrudes rather poorly into the funeral procession. Imagine the scene. A solemn procession heading towards the cemetery, people crying, and a complete stranger approaches the mother of the dead son and says “stop crying.” That’s certainly not what they teach in seminary. And this woman, instead of slapping Jesus, or asking a relative to remove this rude intruder, watches as he approaches the bier and touches the casket. Perhaps she wanted a reason to stop crying and wanted to see what this holy man might do.

            Isn’t that the way that God often enters the picture? How often does God come to ask us to take on one more task, to write one more check, to shed one more tear when we’ve already done all we thought possible. God’s intrusions into our lives are not always welcome, sometimes they seem rather crazy. Now to be sure, the widow doesn’t know what Jesus will do. She doesn’t know that her son will be brought back to life, at this point in the gospel, Jesus hasn’t done anything on that level yet. But like the widow at Zarephath, the widow at Nain was open to receiving what God was offering. I’ve shared it before, and I’ll share it again, as St. Augustine said- “without God, we cannot; without us, God will not.” We can either be open to what God might be doing in our world and lives, or we can stay closed off from these holy intrusions.

            And in being open, both of these widows find hope. Elijah asks God to send life back into the son, and Jesus tells the dead son to “rise.” And in both instances, the miracle of God’s redemption is seen. In Luke, the author is trying to portray Jesus as the new Elijah, so this link shouldn’t be overlooked. In the Greek text of both readings, the exact same phrase is found, “he gave her back to his mother.” In both instances, the hopeless widow is recast as the joyful mother.

            What is fascinating is that these stories differ from other miracle stories in the gospels. These healings are not based on the faith of the people involved. The widow at Zarephath isn’t even Jewish, she doesn’t follow the God for whom Elijah is a prophet. She certainly didn’t expect the God of Israel to do anything for her. She lived in the land of the Baals, another deity in the region. And the widow at Nain didn’t ask Jesus for a miracle as the Roman centurion did in the reading last week. She wasn’t seeking Jesus out, she wasn’t expecting a miracle from Jesus, she wasn’t even expecting a card in the mail from him. These stories demonstrate, not the faithfulness of the widows, but the faithfulness of God.

            These two women were open to God, they responded to the intrusions not with anger or hostility, but with hospitality and grace. And they became witnesses to God’s faithfulness. We often focus on our own faith. How we pray, how we give, how we share, how we read the Bible. And those are important things. But how often do we consider God’s faithfulness?

            When we find ourselves in tough situations, it’s very easy to go inward and look for solutions to our problems. We live in a culture that makes pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps a virtue. Our political commentary casts people in poverty as moochers that take government handouts, because somehow they can’t overcome the systems of oppression designed to keep the rich rich and the poor poor. When our President reminds us that we didn’t build the schools and the roads that lead to our individual success, we call him a socialist instead of acknowledging the truth that “no person is an island.” Our culture today would likely condemn both of these widows with terms such as “illegal,” “dependent on government welfare,” or “hopeless.” We take pride in our own success instead of God’s faithfulness.

            David Brooks recently wrote a great op-ed piece in the New York Times about individualism and amorality. He notes that Google has recently made available a database of words used in books published between 1500 and 2008. It’s just a list of how many times a word is used. And he notes that in the last 48 years, words such as “personalized,” “self,” “unique,” and “I can do it myself,” have risen is usage, while words such as “community,” “share,” “united,” and “common good,” have decreased. Over the same time period, words of humility have dropped by 52%, words of compassion have dropped 56%, words of virtue such as “bravery” or “fortitude” dropped by 74%, and words of gratitude and appreciation have dropped by 49%. And he concludes that these gradual shifts in language reflect tectonic shifts in culture. We write less about communal bonds, obligations, and reliance on others because they’re less central to our lives.

            What Brooks is saying is similar to what these widows are witnessing the faithfulness of God. These women receive grace, not through belief, not through their faith, not because they deserved it, or earned it, or even asked for it, but instead because they were open enough to receive God’s faithfulness.

            Consider today’s Psalm- Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning / You have turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy.

            As these widows and the Psalmist show us, though we will experience pain, God’s faithfulness will also show us joy. But how you might ask?  I’ve never had any of my dead loved ones come back to life. It was rather easy for these widows to rejoice, their dead sons came back to life. But as far as miracles go, resuscitating a dead person back to life is just a cheap parlor trick. Now I’m sure many of us would like this to happen in our lives, but if we’re talking about the Creator of the universe, it’s not really all that spectacular.

            But what is worthy of our wonder and awe is God’s ability to raise those who merely live and breathe to living a true life. Simon Weil wrote “the extreme greatness of Christianity lies in the fact that it does not seek a supernatural cure for suffering, but a supernatural use of it.” What is amazing about these stories is not so much that these dead sons came back to life, but it is the transformation of their situation. Those sons both died again at some point, it wasn’t a lasting miracle. What was so powerful about these acts is the way these events changed the people that witnessed the miracles, the way it changed tears of sadness into tears of joy, the way it reminds us that God’s grace comes not because we deserve it, but because God is faithful.

            Theologian Karl Barth said “where [humans] fail, God’s faithfulness triumphs.” We need not obsess over all of our problems, we don’t need to see failing as the worst possible outcome. Because it is in our failings, in our deepest needs that God’s faithfulness will be there. Some pains, such as the loss of a child, will never go away; some scars will never fully heal, but just as those wounds remain, God’s faithfulness remains with us. Grace and healing come not through our individual accomplishments, but through God’s faithfulness.

            And isn’t this what Baptism is about? God being faithful to us, who can’t earn God’s grace. It’s why babies are the perfect sort of people to baptize, people that are completely dependent on others, who receive God’s grace instead of earning it through a confession or class. And we’re setting them on the path to live a life full of moments of God’s faithfulness. And we thank Mike Taylor for his witness to God’s faithfulness through his humility, his care, and his dedication to St. Francis.

            These widows remind us that sometimes when God enters the picture, it can be a rather rude and unwelcome intrusion. But if we can respond with hospitality and openness, we can be witnesses to God’s faithfulness, which will be the true miracle- the miracle of living a life that truly matters, the miracle of a legacy that will endure long after we are gone, the miracle of having God transform our sackcloth into joy. As the refrain of the great hymn proclaims- Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness / Morning by morning new mercies I see / All I have need of thy hand hath provided / Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

July 1, 2012 - Proper 8B

In the name of God- Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

            In the spirit of the upcoming celebration of Independence Day, you might entitle this sermon “In God We Trust.” It’s printed on our money and assumed as our national motto. But what does trusting in God actually mean?

            Our reading from the Gospel according to Mark deals with this issue of trust, especially as it relates to healing. It seems that both trust and healing are in short supply. We are distrustful of so much. Thanks to the internet, anyone can be an “expert” on any subject without knowing anything; tv networks do a “Fact Check” segment after a politicians speak; and as the trial of Jerry Sandusky reminds us, trust is too easily broken.

And healing is something of which there is more demand than supply. We all need to be healed from some ill- whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual. If you don’t think you need to be healed, then perhaps your illness is being too sheltered or the inability to recognize brokenness. The wars that rage on around the world and children dying of hunger are ills that we all suffer from. We need more healing, and we need more trust.

These two issues are addressed by Jesus today. This reading is an example of what scholars all the Marcan sandwich- it’s a story in the middle of story. So the encounter with Jairus is the bread, and the hemorrhaging woman is the peanut butter. When you read through Mark, you’ll find sandwiches all over the place, and often these sandwiches involve a contrast between the circumstances but a harmony in meaning.

So what does today’s sandwich offer us? Well, we start with Jairus, who, as our text says, is a leader of the synagogue. Today, you might call him a bishop or a senator. He was well known, powerful, and had lots of resources at his disposal. So we start with him coming to Jesus and begging that his daughter might be healed. The story is then interrupted.

On the way there a woman who had been bleeding for 12 years comes to him for healing, but in a different way. This woman would have been a societal outcast because her bleeding made her unclean. She would have gotten dirty looks from everyone, people would go out of their way to avoid walking by her on the road. So she knows that she cannot dare approach Jesus and speak to him. She walks up behind Jesus and touches his cloak and was healed. Jesus catches her in this radical act of faith and tells her that her faith has made her well.

We then find ourselves back at Jairus, going from the lowest rung of society, back to its upper echelon. And it appears to be too late, as the girl is dead. This little incident with the woman slowed Jesus down and he missed his chance. Jesus goes into the house and tells her to get up, and she does.

The contrast between this unnamed woman and Jairus couldn’t be any starker, and that is part of Mark’s point in using this sandwich technique. Two people who would never cross paths, who would never be mentioned in the same sentence are now linked for all eternity in the proclamation of the Good News. They have different truths in their life- different lifestyles, different socio-economic classes; in many ways, they didn’t even live in the same world. But they also shared a very powerful truth- they both experienced the healing of Jesus through their trust in him.

They both trusted in the power of Jesus and his healing touch. Jairus comes to Jesus and asks him to lay hands on his daughter, and the woman just wants to touch the hem of his robe. We all know the power of touch in our lives. Touch, in the form of a slap or punch, can destroy relationships, or in the form of a hug, can build up. Touch can violate boundaries, or it can initiate a relationship in a handshake. I’m reading in baby books the importance of the loving touching of a newborn, but we also remember the ways touch has been used to exploit young children by predators. Touch can nurture and touch can tear apart. Some of the most powerful experiences I’ve had as a priest have come at the touch of hands. When I was ordained and had hands laid upon me, I felt as if I was in the throne room of heaven. When I touch the bread and wine at Eucharist, I feel a great sense of awe. When I anoint the sick with holy oil, both parties are greatly moved. When I distribute communion, I find the touch of hands and bread to be powerful. And while I understand the need for Safe Church policies, I really lament that sometimes we have to throw the baby out with the bath water when it comes to touch.

Jairus and this woman both understand the power of touch. The thing about touch is that it requires us to be very close to one another. You can’t touch each other through a video chat or letter in the mail. There is something about being with each other that is powerful. But to be close enough to each other to touch, we must have a trusting relationship with one another. To be touched is to be vulnerable, but often healing only comes through touch, so we must trust.

I was struck by the line in Mark where it says that the woman knelt down to Jesus and told him her whole truth. The text doesn’t say it, but this very well might be first instance of Confession in the gospels. Confession is one of those sacraments that doesn’t get very much play in the Episcopal Church, but it should. The old adage about Confession is that “none must, some should, all may.” The Confession that we say before in the service each Sunday is really meant as to be a communal confession, not as a replacement for the sacrament of Confession.

In the Prayer Book, you’ll find that it’s called Reconciliation, which is what it’s about all about- restoring relationships so that we can be closer to God and each other, close enough to touch each other without being afraid. It is such a powerful sacramental experience because it doesn’t talk about some vague promise of forgiveness, but rather is about having an actual experience of being restored and renewed. Forgiveness is not the rewards for changing your life, but rather it is the source and condition of that change.

So I want to take this opportunity to uphold the ministry of reconciliation to you all, and invite you to participate in the holy work of Confession. And unlike the movies, you don’t have to be a mobster who just whacked someone to come to Confession. We all have a truth to tell, and Confession is a great way to tell that truth in the trust and confidence of the Church of Jesus Christ. In being forgiven, we come closer to God and closer to God’s healing and saving touch.

In this reading today, Jesus says “do not fear, only believe.” But that’s not always easy to do. It’s especially tough when we long for healing and don’t find it. Sometimes I really wish I could rewrite parts of the Bible. Or not so much rewrite, but add some stories about Jesus. I really wish there would have been a time where Jesus went to heal someone, but they died instead of getting up and walking. Because, that’s life. I read this story about Jairus’ daughter, and part of me really doesn’t understand why it is that she gets to live and so many others don’t.

Before I was born, my parents had a happy and healthy baby girl. But an unexpected medical emergency came up, and she died in surgery when she was two days old. I bet my parents prayed as hard as Jairus did, I bet they begged God just as much as he did; they wanted healing as much as the woman did. But my sister stayed dead.

Preachers often talk about how healing doesn’t always equal a cure, but sometimes I really wish that we had a story about Jesus encountering that reality. Wouldn’t it be nice to have Jesus take a stroll through Moses Cone and send everyone home happy and healthy? But it doesn’t work that way.

And this where fear comes into play. We fear that miracles aren’t possible; or that they were possible in Jesus’ day, but not here and now. Or we wonder if our sins have precluded us from experiencing this sort of healing. But as I’ve already said, we are forgiven, we are loved. Or perhaps we fear that we don’t have enough faith. And as Paul suggests in today’s epistle, we are judged based on what we do have, not what we do not have. Faith is not a contest, nor is there anything such as too much or too little faith. Perhaps you have the faith to move a mountain, and that’s great and wonderful. Maybe you have faith that struggles to move a piece of paper during a windstorm, and that’s okay too. Don’t beat yourself up over having enough faith. So what gives? Where’s the healing?

            Fear is a tough thing. As Jesus says, “don’t fear, but have faith.” That is, don’t be afraid, but instead live in trust, and live in love. The renowned preacher Peter Gomes once wrote that “fear is the absence of courage and poverty of imagination.” When we fear, we are unable to act; we are unable to feel God’s touch. When we are afraid we act out of our lowest possible emotional intelligence. Fear casts out things such as reason, hope, joy, and wonder. Fear can crush the spirit and closes the door to opportunity. Gomes also says that we fear what we don’t know and the mother of fear is ignorance.

            So Jesus cautions us against fearing. When we are ignorant, or unaware of, the touch of God going on around us, it’s awfully hard to be healed. When we are blind to the needs of others, it’s quite hard to help them out. If we focus on our sin, we cannot live freely in our forgiveness. If we fear that miracles are impossible, we probably won’t see them when they do happen.

            Sometimes I wonder if Jesus was ever afraid during these healings. Did he ever think to himself “what happens if the girl doesn’t get up? Then I’m going to be in trouble.” If Jesus did have that fear, it certainly didn’t show. Perhaps this is because the opposite of fear is not courage, but instead is compassion; and Jesus was a man full of compassion. We cannot fear what we love, and so compassion leaves no room for fear in our doing of God’s work.

            When you’re the new kid at school, your fear can get you eaten alive. And if you show too much courage, you’re treated as the kid who’s full of themselves. But the kid who comes in and is full of compassion will often fit right in. It’s hard to be afraid of someone who is nice; and if you’re focus is on loving others, it’s tough to be afraid of them.

            Now will compassion bring the dead back to life? Probably not. But if compassion ruled in every interaction, there would be a lot more healing in our world, and that would be miracle enough for me.

            Well, I hope that this Marcan sandwich was enough to hold you over until brunch. We are all in need of healing, and we yearn to trust in something that will not let us down. Whether we relate best to Jairus or the hemorrhaging woman, we come to Jesus seeking his healing touch in our lives. We are invited to tell our whole truth, in order to restore relationships; that we might trust each other enough to be close enough to touch. Jesus demonstrates that fear is cast out by compassion. So that in seeking to follow the example of Jesus’ compassion, we are given the opportunity to abound in the healing power of Jesus.

In God we trust. Amen.

February 12 - Epiphany 6B

In the name of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

            Today we are presented with readings that deal with issues of healing and compassion. So that we’re all on the same page, healing in both our reading from 2 Kings and Mark means “to make clean or pure.” Note that the language here is about ritual purity, not medical healing, nor is it the language of salvation. The other word which we run into is compassion. The word itself doesn’t actually show up in either reading, but it is implied throughout. Compassion is a compound word in Latin, with the com meaning “together” or “with;” and the passio means suffering- so “suffering with.”

            Here at St. Francis Episcopal Church in Greensboro, we have as our core values- simplicity, compassion, and hope. So today it is good for us to consider the value of compassion, reflecting on the way that we can take compassion from a slogan to being a way of life.

            The way I’ve structured this sermon is to take a look at the three people involved with these healings in 2 Kings and Mark. First we’ll consider the healed person, then the agent of the healing, and finally the healer.

            In both of our readings, the presenting issue is leprosy. The deeper issue really isn’t the actual medical diagnosis, perhaps they had Hansen’s Disease, perhaps it was some other skin condition. What mattered is that they were both unclean, they were contaminated. Society viewed them in the same way that we viewed the first HIV/AIDS patients in the 80s. These are people that were kept away from others, they were quarantined, lest they infect others.

We have the benefit of modern science and we now know that leprosy is not very contagious and is transmitted not through touch, but by breathing in the cough or sneeze of an infected person. Furthermore, about 95% of the population is naturally immune to this disease. What plagued Naaman and this man was not leprosy, but it was a cultural stigma. They were deemed to be unacceptable- not for who they were, nor for what they said or did, but they were cast out because of fear. The fear of compassion. People were afraid that if they spent time with these people, that they would literally be suffering with them. And as I mentioned, this fear was misplaced. Had people taken the time to minister to these lepers, they would have seen that they themselves would not have been infected.

And the same is true of those people whom we avoid like the plague. If you minister to the homeless, you don’t lose your house. If you have same-sex marriages in your church, you don’t erode the sanctity of marriage or family values. If you visit someone in prison, you don’t become a felon. If you pray with a Muslim, you don’t become a terrorist. If you’re a Republican, by talking to a Democrat you don’t become a socialist. If you’re a Democrat and you converse with a Republican, you don’t become a ruthless capitalist. If you drive your car through a Hispanic or African-American neighborhood, you don’t have your windows shot out. Maybe we don’t run into lepers on a daily basis, but we sure do treat a lot of people like they have leprosy.

The reason why I’m making this point so that we don’t do what many people do when they read the Bible. They say “I’m so glad that we now understand leprosy and don’t treat people like that” or “this story is 2,000 years old and has nothing to do with me.” Modern day leprosies exist because of prejudice, our own actions of pre-judging people, our insistence that we know what the other side will respond with before we even say anything.

We do treat people like lepers, but sometimes we need to be healed too, and these readings have something important to say to us, who needing healing, as well. The first thing to notice is that healing takes a while. Naaman has to bathe seven times in the river. He even had to go through a process. A modern translation of the story would read a bit differently. Naaman would have started by seeing his primary care physician, and then he went to the local specialists, but they didn’t have an answer. So he had to call his insurance company and go back and forth with them for a while about being allowed to see an out of network specialist at a large university hospital the next state over. But the dean of medicine there decides that he doesn’t have a clue what’s wrong and doesn’t want to deal with it. And eventually he gets healed by some faith healer on the outskirts of town. I know many of you are facing health struggles, and if you aren’t, I’m sure you know someone who is, a parent, a sibling, a friend, a neighbor. As a priest, I’ve gotten to know my way around Greensboro nursing homes, Cone and Long hospitals, even Baptist in Winston; there is a lot of hurt in our lives Don’t we all wish it was as simple as a quick healing? But as we see in Naaman’s case, sometimes it takes a while.

And for the man in Mark, it wasn’t any easier. He had likely had leprosy for years, he had likely give up hope. But he heard of a new drug trial, he heard that this man was going throughout the region healing people. Now Jesus wasn’t the first messiah figure to be running around Israel, he had probably heard of other such “faith healers” and had been disappointed by their robust promises. But this man had a lot of trust in God. He didn’t come up to Jesus and greet him the way that most sick people in the Bible did. He didn’t say “have mercy on me, Son of David,” he didn’t even call him Lord. He just said, if you choose, you can make me clean. What faith!

What if Jesus though didn’t cure him? A lot of people have hope and faith that rivals this mans, and yet they die of cancer or other diseases. Mark wasn’t exactly a doctor, he really didn’t know if this man had leprosy or not. Maybe he did, maybe he had some other, more serious skin disease. Again, remember that in the text of these readings, Jesus didn’t technically heal anyone, he just made them clean. And in being made clean, these people were allowed to rejoin society. Maybe this man died 2 weeks later of a more serious ailment. But what Jesus did for him allowed him to live those two weeks fully. Jesus took away the stigma, Jesus made it so that he could rejoin society, so that he could again see his family and friends. And the same is true for us in our dealings with disease and death. Sometimes people recover, sometimes they don’t. But what God offers us is the opportunity to have a good life, and a good death.

We don’t have to be alone in our diseases, we don’t have to face our fears alone. And now I’m talking about more than medical diseases, I’m back to modern day leprosies. If we follow Jesus in showing compassion, in standing up for justice, in seeing the dignity in every human being, then we too can help to make sure that everyone has a good life that ends with a good death.

And one final point on those who are healed. They took part in their healings. The man in Mark answered Jesus by saying “I do choose to be made clean.” Naaman sought the help of others and went through the ritual washing, which seemed ridiculous to him. Isn’t that how healing is? Sometimes we do have to go to strange places and take part in strange rituals. But what is important is that we take the step in doing so. Healing would not have come to either of these people if they had not been resilient.

Next, I’d like to turn to the agent of the healing. Sometimes translators of the Bible get things wrong, and they completely struck out in this Mark reading. Our translation this morning says that Jesus was moved with pity, which really is a nice sentiment and makes for a nice story. But the problem is that scholars agree that the more accurate and historical translation is that Jesus was angered or annoyed. Sure does change the story, doesn’t it?

Why would Jesus be angry with someone asking for help? Have you ever had someone come up to you and ask “I hope I’m not bothering you, but I just need…”  Or about the letters that you get from various charities asking for money? Or how about the church, do you get angry when you hear a stewardship sermon or get that pledge card in the mail?

If you’ll think back to our reading from last Sunday- Jesus did a healing, then went to pray and said “let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” So here’s Jesus, all excited about his mission, energized to go out and preach about the Kingdom of God, and he can’t even take a step towards the next down without being held back. Does that ever happen to you? You get set to do something, and then life happens? If I had a dollar for every daily schedule that I’ve had to readjust because of funerals and hospital visits, well, I couldn’t quite retire, but I’d have a nice stack of cash. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t want to minister to people, it’s just sometimes I have, in my mind, things that I need to do. It’s when you have dinner reservations to a nice restaurant and a friend calls to say that they really need you to come help with a bout of depression, a lost dog, a sick child. Getting sidetracked isn’t something that most of us enjoy.

This is really where the etymology of compassion really comes into play. Showing compassion is hard because it means to suffer with. When you are interrupted to do the work of compassion, it does drain you. Being compassionate with your time makes you busier and might add to your stress level. Being compassionate with your money means you have less of it. I know it’s basic math, but if you give 5% of your income to charity, then that’s 5% less to go on vacation with or put towards debt. Everyone thinks homeless shelters are good things, but who wants one built next door to their house? Jesus told this man not to tell anyone about the healing. Why? Perhaps because Jesus knew that compassion would cost him some freedom. As his reputation grew and grew, more and more people would sidetrack him. Or maybe he was worried that word would get out that he had touched a leper, and he himself would now been seen as unclean and he’d be unable to do his ministry of preaching. Compassion does cost us- it will cost us time, money, freedom, emotions, and energy.

So why do we bother with showing compassion? Why should be concerned with healing others? After all, shouldn’t we take care of ourselves? Frederick Buechner once said “compassion is the fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else’s shoes. It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too.” Compassion is one of those God given gifts that we have. You know that queasy feeling you get in your gut with you refuse to look at the homeless person on the street, when you refuse to fill out your pledge card, when you don’t make the time to call a friend in need? Some of it stems from guilt, but it’s a part of feeling compassion. It’s you suffering along with them. As long as there is suffering in our world, you too will suffer. It is our task to build the Kingdom of God so that there won’t be any more suffering to suffer with.

And finally, let’s take a look at the healer, that is the source of the healing. I hope that we can all recognize this as God. One of the things we see in these readings is that God’s focus and care isn’t too global to care about our local problems. A lot of people think things such as “God doesn’t care about my problem, my illness, my fear because there are genocides, famines, wars, earthquakes, and dictators in the world. Those are real problems, and God should focus on them.” And that’s half right. God is working in the hearts and minds of people around the world on the “big” issues like war and hunger. But God too cares about your being out of work or your nagging pain in your back. After all, Naaman was a rich and powerful leader, his disease wasn’t a huge hardship for him, Naaman wasn’t even a believer in God until after he was healed. But yet, God has compassion for him, just as God has compassion for all of us.

God is the source of our healing, the strength that allows us to embrace our brokenness and hope for rebirth. But it’s important to remember that healing doesn’t always mean a cure. Good things happen and bad things happen. That’s simply the nature of the world that God created. We have free will, so does nature, so does cancer. It is not that God chooses to heal some people and ignore others, but rather that God loves us and trusts us enough to give us that free will. But when that free will leads to suffering, when it leads to death, when it leads to evil, God is a God of compassion, a God who will suffer with us. As I’ve said before, what God gives us is maximum support, with minimum protection. The glory of the Resurrection only comes after the suffering of the Crucifixion.

We’ve covered a lot today in examining healing and compassion. Healing is a process that requires us to take a part. Healing isn’t always about the cure, sometimes is about being given the grace to live. Those who act as agents of God’s healing find it to be a challenging task, as they are called to suffer with people in showing compassion, but we do this work to make our world whole. We do all of this knowing that true healing comes from our compassionate God, who deeply loves and cares for each and every one of us.

It has been said that if we don’t make a difference by trying, we’ll make a difference by not trying, and the same is true in showing compassion. The way to healing our own hurts, the way to healing our world, is in showing compassion; in taking the time to be with others, to hear about their suffering, and to suffer with them. Remember, our task is not to be healer, that is God’s role in this process. But let us constantly seek ways to bring the grace and compassion of God to those in need of healing.

Let our prayer today be in the words of our Psalm today, verses 11-12, if you’ll allow me this paraphrase- “be with me, O Lord, and show me your compassion. O Lord, be my healer. You can turn my crying into dancing; you can relieve my suffering and clothe me with the joy of redemption.” Amen.