Ephesians 2:14-22
For Christ is our peace; in his flesh he has made both
groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility
between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that
he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making
peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross,
thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed
peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him
both of us have access in one Spirit to the Creator. So then you are no longer
strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of
the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets,
with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is
joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Holy One in whom you also
are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that
they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all
by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had
no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by
themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there
on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As Jesus went ashore, he
saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep
without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.
When they had crossed over, they came to land at
Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once
recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick
on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or
cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that
they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were
healed.
***
Will you pray with me? You who are, bless each of us
today; open our hearts and spirits to your healing grace, so that we in turn
may share that grace with others. Give us courage and wisdom and understanding,
that we may be present with others in their time of struggle, be with them as
they seek healing, and stay by their side as they become whole again—and may we
teach them, and ourselves, how to not only live as whole people again but to
reach out to others, offering them this life beyond healing. In all your names,
amen.
I have some questions about some of the healings and
others stories we read about Jesus. What happened to the man whom Jesus told to
take up his bed and walk? The man who had been blind from birth before Jesus
cured him—what did he do for a living? That little girl Jesus cured—did she
ever have children of her own? In other words, what happened next? What was the
next chapter in their lives? What did they do once they were healed?
We don’t know, do we? We aren’t told what the rest of
their lives were like, these people whom Jesus cured. Very rarely, we can catch
a glimpse—for example, Simon of Cyrene, who carried Jesus’ cross, is referred
to as the father of Rufus—so presumably Rufus was someone known to the early
church, and therefore we can guess that Simon became a Christian and so did his
son. But mostly we don’t know. And I think that’s disappointing.
We don’t really see any models in the Bible for just
“being church,” do we? We read about crises—the persecution, the conflicts over
whether gentiles had to follow Jewish dietary laws and what should be done with
donations from other churches—but apart from a couple passages about gathering
together to read Scripture, to pray and sing songs and share a special meal, we
don’t really know what their worship was like, or the church structure or even
their buildings. We can make some guesses, but that’s all.
So we don’t know what happened after those dramatic
events were over. We don’t know what “just church” looked like. We don’t have a
model for that.
What happens in our churches after someone is
“healed,” or becomes comfortable, settles in to church? Do they drift away,
ready to face the world again? Do they become part of us, a member of our
community? Do they go away, and then return later?
Someone once described our denomination in general and this congregation
in particular as being like a MASH unit—a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, as in
the TV series from the 1970s—yes, I know some of you weren’t even born then,
but I am sure you’ve seen it in reruns. We take in the wounded, the ones hurt
by marginalisation and the hatred of the world, and we offer them the healing
love of Christ. Some people recover and we don’t ever see them again. Some of
them go to other hospitals after the crisis is over—they are on their way to
healing, comfortable with church again; they often end up in another
denomination, usually the one they grew up in, but now healed. Some of them
cycle through—they’re in the forefront of the battle and so we see them back
here periodically. And there are some who stay after they are healed, and
become part of the staff, so to speak. I am not talking about the clergy or the
Board, really—although this indeed applies to them, to us. But each one of us
here is a minister of Christ—not only those of us who have had hands laid on us
in ordination or consecration or who have chosen by you to lead the church.
Each member of the church, each baptised person here
today, from the newest and youngest member on up, is a minister of God. We represent Christ to the world.
When people who don’t go to church, the “unchurched,” in church jargon, when
they are looking for Christ’s image, where do they look? Not to politicians,
not to teachers, not to the sky—they look to the church, capital C church—they
look to the Christians they know; and that image we project, we share, of
Christ, is what they think of as Christ.
Why would they be looking for the church? People say
the church is irrelevant these days, most people don’t want that kind of
commitment. Maybe we have it wrong, though. Maybe people need more commitment—perhaps they are hungry
for more of a call on their lives, a
continuing presence even after they are on the road to spiritual recovery.
I am not talking about working in the church—we need
people to care for our finances and make sure we have communion wafers and lead
Bible study—those are all important. But what we need just as much are people
who pray; people who read and study the Bible and other writings about God;
people who think hard and long about what God is calling them to do, here in
this place. People who are looking not just for healing, but for a life beyond
that healing.
Someone who is hurting spiritually, who yearns for a
place to experience God with others, in community, is seeking to touch the
fringe of Jesus’ cloak, just as those people did when Jesus was here on earth.
They look for the places where they can touch Christ’s presence in their lives,
through community and mutual support and love.
Paul tells us in Ephesians that all Christians are one
community—no matter how we pray or order our service, what language we use or
what we use for Communion, what colour our skin or what hymns we use, we are
all sisters and brothers in Christ, a community based on the love of Christ for
the world, that great foundation stone. So when people find that healing, the
fringe of Christ’s cloak, in our churches, they come to us and they find, I
hope, comfort and healing. But then what?
There is a life beyond our healed hurts. That renewed
life, that healed life, brings us to new places, offers new hope. And it offers new work, too. Here’s an interesting thing—living that new
life helps us to continue to heal; and as we heal, we can live that new life
even more fully.
To continue our medical metaphor, it’s like physical
therapy. When a knee, for example, is injured and needs surgery and is operated
on, and the torn tendon is repaired, the healing is not done, is it? Not only
must the tendon heal and grow back together, not only must the skin heal from
the incision, but the patient has to learn how to walk again. It’s hard at
first—it hurts and the healing from the surgery isn’t done. But as the person
walks and exercises the knee a bit more every day, that very exercise helps the
blood flow, works towards the healing of the knee. So it is a process—the
exercise that was impossible before is now not only possible, but by increasing
blood flow, hastens the healing process. More healing, more exercise; more
exercise, more healing.
It’s true in our spiritual lives, too. No one expects
that we will able to run a spiritual marathon the first week we attend church;
nor the first month or even year. But what we can do, that is what we do. As an
athlete comes back from an injury by first walking, then running short
distances and then longer ones, so too do we heal from spiritual pain one step
at a time. The important thing is to keep moving.
So here is the challenge for us, church. When people
look at us, at the church, not only this congregation, but capitol C church—do they
see a place of healing and growth? Are they inspired to hope that here they can
touch the fringe of Jesus’ cloak and be healed, and—here’s the important part—then
live a new life?
A church is a place of healing, most certainly. Every
one of us is testimony to that. But it should also be a place of continued
recovery and growth and hope. Each of us
is, or should be, continuing to grow in our faith, to become more than we are,
more than we think we can be. We are healed not to simply be healed, but to
live more fully the new life we have been given.
Are we doing that, church? Are we using these new
lives, this new hope, our healed selves fully? Do people see the fringe of
Christ’s cloak in us? Do we, as a church and as individuals, offer them a
glimpse of a new life, a healed and hopeful life and a way to move forward? How
do we take that next step—how do we offer that next step?
I don’t think it is a coincidence that Jesus and the
disciples were planning to go on a retreat—to a “desert place”—just before the
crowds came to them. They were preparing to withdraw to “rest a while.” A time
of retreat is crucial to all of us. It might be a physical retreat, a time away
at a camp or cabin or even just a hotel room for a few days. It might also be a
focused time at home, when all the distractions are put away for a while—no TV,
facebook ignored, cellphone silent—to focus on God and God’s presence with you.
Not trying to hear God’s call or to hear what God has next for you to do—but
simply resting in God. You’re not there to get your next set of marching
orders, but to renew a relationship and rest.
I recently went on retreat—and I want to thank those who made it possible for me
to go on that retreat. I had no revelations, no life-changing experiences. I
read: I spent a lovely hour in their bookstore and spent too much money; I
walked by the river and found a hawk’s wing feather; I slept late; I listened
to my favourite music and had some of my favourite foods; I thought; I
daydreamed; I wrote; I prayed. I rested.
I rested.
It can be so easy for us who are committed Christians,
who are active in our church, to think we must always be doing, must always
have a plan in motion or a task to do. I think we would do well to learn from
the contemplative monks and nuns, who understand that quiet prayer in a
secluded place is as important as storming the barricades when it comes to
changing the world. I know many of us have trouble, for various reasons, with
being still. Physical movement and action are visible ways of doing something
in the world—but times of silent contemplation and prayer, of “doing nothing”
are crucial too.
When we take those times of quiet, we are not only
healing ourselves, but we are preparing to lead others to healing. Jesus withdrew
and rested in order to have the resources to heal. When you fly, you are told,
in that pre-flight lecture no one listens to anymore, that “in the unlikely
event that the cabin loses pressure, your oxygen mask will drop from the panel
above you. Secure it about your face, then assist small children or the elderly
who may be travelling with you.” Secure your mask first. You can’t help others
until you have your mask on.
I am not saying that only people who are 100% perfect
can help others. But we must be aware of our need for healing and working on
it. Those who think they don’t need help can’t help others. It is in our very
need of help that we recognise other people’s need.
As we heal, as we rest with God, we are given the
resources, the courage, the strength, the grace, to continue to do God’s work
of reaching out, of offering healing and hope—of being the fringe of Christ’s
cloak.
In the many names of the one God, amen.
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