To Heal Versus to Cure

PROPERS:         PROPER 8, YEAR B    

TEXT:                 MARK 5:21-43

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY, ON SUNDAY, JULY 1, 2018.

ONE SENTENCE:        There is a distinction between curing and healing; one is medical and one is spiritual.

                                    

            A long-time and very dear friend is in the latter stages of what appears to be a terminal illness.  I am heartsick with the course the disease has taken.

            During the past year we have journeyed with him and his wife, albeit from a distance, as medical science has sought to cure him.  Most of those attempted cures have been poisons injected into his body, or dangerous levels of radiation being beamed to the affected area.

            Sadly, none of those attempts at a curehave had long-term effect.  He continues down a steady slope.

            I pray for him and his wife every day.

            His illness has brought to the forefront of my mind that age-old question: If Jesus said we would heal the sick, why can’t we? 

            Other questions:

            What is the meaning of the sacramental rite of unction – the laying on of hands, anointing with oil, and prayers for the sick – if they do not effect a cure?

            How do we talk so facilely about healing when it is patently obvious – with the exception of some charlatans – that we are unable to effect cures?

            And, then, today we have the gospel lesson from the fifth chapter of Mark.  Jesus does a two-fer:  a woman with long-term hemorrhaging is cured of her bleeding by merely touching his cloak, and the daughter of a leader of the synagogue is cured with two of the very few Aramaic words preserved in scripture: Talitha cum – Little girl, get up.

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            Pretty impressive.  Then, in the back of my mind, I hear Jesus’ words from the 14^thChapter of John’s Gospel: “¹² Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.”

            What’s the deal here? My friend is a very faithful Christian. I do my best.  How do Jesus’ words and actions apply to us?

            Through the mental rear-view mirror, I look back.  The deaths I have seen over the years – the deaths of those for whom I have prayed – number in the dozens, maybe even scores.  I would be challenged to come up with even one “miraculous cure.”

            I have stood at the graveside many, many times, and intoned the words of the Book of Common Prayer: “All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.”  For my father.  For my mother. For my mother-in-law.  For my father-in-law.  For cousins.  For aunts and uncles.  And for dear, dear friends.

            For eight years, I served a parish in Mississippi.  Each Thursday, we had an 11:00 a.m. Eucharist and healing service.  It is the service I missed more than any other during my 16 years on diocesan staff.  

            We had a small but devoted group of congregants that attended the service – it ranged from about 12 to 18.  I loved those people.  I prayed with them every week.  I laid hands on them and anointed them with Holy Oil.

            Sadly, several of them have died, having lived long and rich lives.  But the question remains:  Where was the efficaciousness of the prayers?  How did that service make a difference?

            I thought.  I reflected.  I pondered.  I prayed.

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            Intuitively I knew this. But some lessons we have to learn again and again.  As I prepared for this sermon, I looked on-line for the difference between healing and curing.  One site noted this difference, which went straight to the point: Curing means "eliminating all evidence of disease," while healing means "becoming whole."

            The writer of that article said more:  One may be cured without being healed; and one may be healed without being cured.

            Jesus did both in many circumstances – and that was because his perfect love brought about not only a medical cure but would bring the people he touched to wholeness. Wholeness of mind, body, and spirit.

            I have a saying I have used over the years:  Doctors don’t write sermons, and I don’t practice medicine.  I know I am not Jesus, and the best I can hope to do is promote wholeness in those I counsel, pray with, touch, and share the sacraments with.

            A person who has found wholeness is, in the words of theologian Paul Tillich, a new being.  As Paul says in his Second Letter to the Corinthians, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.”  The old anger, resentment, bitterness, compulsions have given way to a striving for union with the ground of our being, the Holy One, the Creator God.

            Loving people toward wholeness – that is something we can all do.

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            Where does that leave my friend, moving inexorably – as are we all – toward death? 

            My friend who has the deadly disease began a journey toward healing more than 30 years ago. He had descended into a life of addiction, and he reached bottom.  He realized that he was broken and he was hopelessly dependent on alcohol.

            With the aid of treatment, a loving wife, dedicated friends, and others he did not know previously, he began to be healed.  He let go of control.  He released his compulsions. He trusted a power greater than himself.

And that healing has continued to this day – more than 30 years later.  He will tell you that he is not cured, but he is healed.

            And in those past 30 years he has helped countless others find healing and new life.  He has seen scores of addicts drag themselves out of the gutter and begin a journey toward wholeness.

            Through his presence and, yes, his ministry, people have been healed.  Those people, like my friend, know that they have to live with the disease, but they know they have been healed.

            And that is very, very close to what Jesus does in the gospel today.  God bless my friend.  He’s closer to Jesus than I am.

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            My friend’s life is not perfect (none of ours is), but in the midst of his brokenness, he found healing for his wounds.  He found wholeness which had evaded him for many years.

            In a short time, I suspect he will know the true fulness of life, which you and I can only glimpse through a glass darkly.

            And it was all the grace of God – the true author of healing and wholeness, who entrusts us with that same ministry.

God as a Surprise

PROPERS:         PROPER 6, YEAR B    

TEXT:                 1 SAMUEL 15:34 – 16:13                

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S, FOLEY, ALABAMA, ON SUNDAY, JUNE 17, 2018.

ONE SENTENCE:        God’s movement in the world typically comes in surprising ways.        

                                    

            The 20^thCentury poet, Ogden Nash, once penned a short rhyme:

                        How odd of God

                        To choose the Jews.

            His pithy little verse spoke volumes about the recurring theme in salvation history: God does the unexpected.

            Consider what our sacred scriptures have told us about the nature of God and how he has moved through history.

            We believe, as heirs of the Judeo-Christian tradition, in a God who reached down and made a covenant with a wandering shepherd, Abraham, and expanded that covenant to include his offspring, ultimately the 12 tribes of Israel.

            He selected a wandering, seemingly-insignificant Semitic people – without land or respect – to be his chosen people.

            As Paul Harvey used to say: “And now you know the rest of the story.”

            But we forget that truth from time-to-time.

            We confine God to a box, and we expected the expected.

            We fail to see God as an active, dynamic presence in the world who has shown us repeatedly – down through salvation history -- that he will do the unexpected.  He will not be constrained. The hand of the divine will not be shortened.

            Think of examples down through the millennia:

·     God, we are told, chose an iconoclastic, stuttering fugitive from Egyptian royalty to lead an enslaved people out of Egypt into a promised land full of milk and honey.

·     God chose a foreigner – a Moabite – named Ruth – to be the forbearer of Israel’s greatest king, and an ancestor of the one we call Christ. 

·     God repeatedly sent his prophetic messages – his unvarnished truth – through people without power or influence – people now known as the Major and Minor Prophets.

·     God selected a young, single woman in a remote country village of a few dozen people – all likely cave-dwellers – to be the bearer of the one we say is the Savior of the World.

·     The anointed one, the Christ, was nailed to a Roman cross, died, and on the third day rose from the dead.

·     His followers – a band of fishermen, tax collectors, and tradesmen – moved out to transform the known world.

·     And, as a final example, a passionate, fiery Pharisee who had persecuted the young church, became the most important missionary in Christian history.

What would be the pay-out if Las Vegas made odds on a story such as that?

So, we should not be terribly surprised – but we should be reminded – of the serendipitous nature of God in the story we have in the first lesson, from First Samuel.

To briefly recap that story:

·     The prophet Samuel, grieving over the unfaithfulness of King Saul, perceives a call to anoint the next king of Israel.

·     He travels to Bethlehem to anoint a son of Jesse – of the tribe of Benjamin.

·     He looks upon seven of Jesse’s sons, but God tells him that none of them is his chosen one.

·     Samuel asks Jesse if there are any others. Jesse tells him that the youngest of the sons is tending the flock.

·     Samuel sends for the youngest, and David comes from the fields.

·     Samuel sees that David is the chosen one and anoints him to be king.

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            It is so easy and tempting to put God in a box – to expect what we expect. It eases our fears and calms our anxieties.  The temptation is to rely on our expectations. We are much more comfortable with a God that can be predicted; whose actions and movements will not surprise us.

            I was in Italy this past week and had the wonderful experiences of seeing the sights of Milan, Padua, Venice, Pisa, Florence, Assisi, and finally, Rome. The great art and monuments speak of the deep appreciation for God during the past 2,000 years, especially in the first 15 Christian centuries.

            And then I remembered.  Something unanticipated transpired during that 16^thChristian century. I remembered how an unknown friar in a small German monastery five-hundred years ago had turned this great and formal culture on its ear.  Martin Luther, a small cog in a very large wheel, began the Reformation. He shook the very foundations of the church.

            The Church was changed.  And we are heirs of that change.

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            As I said earlier, we are much more comfortable with God as something that is predictable, even controllable. It is our hope that if we get enough people on our side, that God can be manipulated. The outcome will be what we hope. An impossible situation will be resolved to our benefit.  

            A term which describes that approach is deus ex machina– God in the machine.

            A more accurate and faithful approach, I think, is to see God working in all things.  While, as Paul notes, we will “see through a glass darkly”, we can rest assured that all thingsare ultimately in God’s hands.  There is no place we can go, no place where life may take us, that is beyond the ultimate redeeming power of God.  As St. Paul says, “Neither height nor depth…”

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            There is an earlier story about Samuel, from when he was just a young lad.

            His then-barren mother had prayed desperately for a child.  She was given Samuel.  As an act of gratitude, she gave him over to service in God’s house. There, he assisted an elderly man Eli.

            One night, while Samuel, slept, he heard a voice call to him: “Samuel, Samuel.” Thinking it was Eli calling him, he ran to Eli’s side.  Eli said, “I did not call you, son.”

            This happened several times, and the wise and elderly Eli saw what was happening. He told Samuel that it was likely the Lord calling to him.  He advised Samuel to respond, “Speak, Lord, for your servant listens.”

            When the voice called to him again, Samuel spoke those words: “Speak, Lord, for your servant listens.”

            And the Lord spoke.  He spoke words of condemnation on the sons of Eli – Samuel’s mentor.  The words were harsh.

            The next morning, Eli asked Samuel what he had heard, and encouraged not to hold one word back.  Samuel told him what the Lord had said.

            Eli’s response was one of great faith – devastating thought the words were. “It is the Lord. Let it be as he wishes.”

            He accepted that this was the providence of God.  It was not what he had hoped for, nor was it what he expected. He knew that ultimately God would be who God would be, and that all things are in God’s hands.

            As the camp song says:

            Surprise, surprise, God is a surprise,

            Right before your eyes,

            It’s baffling to the wise.

            Surprise, surprise, God is a surprise,

            Open up your eyes and see.

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Fosdick's Prophecy

           I recall in the early 1960s sitting in the Sunday worship service at Central United Methodist Church in Meridian, Mississippi, as we sang Harry Emerson Fosdick’s rousing hymn, “God of grace and God of glory.”

            Fosdick had written the hymn in 1930 for the dedication of Riverside Church, where he would serve as pastor.  The nation was in the throes of the Great Depression and was between the two world wars.  However, fascism was already rearing its ugly head on the continent of Europe.  

            Fosdick was an eloquent and highly-regarded preacher. He was known for his concern for the class of poor people created by the Industrial Revolution.  Among the members of his flock was the industrialist John D. Rockefeller – who gave $5 million for the construction of the new church.

            His lyrics were prophetic in both senses – the truth about “now” and the truth about the days to come:

God of grace and God of glory,
on thy people pour thy power;
crown the ancient church's story;
bring its bud to glorious flower.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
for the facing of thls hour,
for the facing of thls hour.

Lo! the hosts of evil round us,
scorn thy Christ, assail his ways!
From the fears that long have bound us,
free our hearts to love and praise.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
for the living of these days,
for the living of these days.

Cure thy children's warring madness,
bend our pride to thy control;
shame our wanton, selfish gladness,
rich in things and poor in soul.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
lest we miss thy kingdom's goal,
lest we miss thy kingdom's goal.

Set our feet on lofty places;
gird our lives that they may be
armoured with all Christlike graces,
pledged to set all captives free.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
that we fail not them nor thee,
that we fail not them nor thee!

Save us from weak resignation
to the evils we deplore;
let the search for thy salvation
be our glory evermore.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
serving thee whom we adore,
serving thee whom we adore.

            In the early 1960s we had moved well-past the challenges of the Great Depression, the rise of fascism, and the First and Second World Wars.  We, in the South, were confronting our own demons – internal, societal demons.  These words from Fosdick’s hymn cried out for divine guidance: Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the facing of thls hour,for the facing of thls hour.

            It was a long and trying journey.  The days of the early and mid-1960s in Meridian were not easy.  The Ku Klux Klan (one of its most virulent arms) was very active in the Meridian area.  There were the murders of three young civil rights workers.  There was a bombing of a synagogue.  There was the attempted bombing of a prominent Jewish businessman.  George Wallace was the political hero of those days.

            I must admit, I hear echoes of those sentiments even today.

            All that came back to me today – but different lyrics from that hymn were on my mind.  As I listened to the President’s comments from the Cabinet Room on the news today, I heard him speak of the financial prosperity this nation is enjoying while he was minimizing the challenges we face and blaming others for all the problems. The message was clear, “Our financial success overshadows all these problems.” Minimized were issues such as class warfare, immigration and its myriad offshoots, international peace, and world trade.

            My internal response was instantaneous: Luke 12:15-21. Here are those words:

¹⁵And Jesus said to them, ‘Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.’ ¹⁶Then he told them a parable: ‘The land of a rich man produced abundantly. ¹⁷And he thought to himself, “What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?” ¹⁸Then he said, “I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. ¹⁹And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” ²⁰But God said to him, “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” ²¹So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich towards God.’

            Then, I recalled the words, from so many years before, of Harry Emerson Fosdick’s hymn, “rich in things but poor in soul.”

            I was stunned by the accuracy of Fosdick’s words, written nearly 90 years ago.  But they bespoke truth.  The combination of those words and Jesus’ teaching about priorities being skewed had the stinging ring of truth to them.

            I was reminded of the prophets who spoke God’s truth to Israel and Judea before the downfall of those two kingdoms.  Those prophets were ignored, rejected, and even killed by the leaders of “civil religion” in their day. Their words are painfully relevant today.  The prophecies of 2,500 years ago need to be read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested today.

            When Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, the leaders of the civil religion asked him to quieten his disciples, who were proclaiming his greatness. Jesus’ words spoke to the religious authorities then, and they should speak to true religious leaders today:  ⁴⁰He answered, ‘I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.’