Grace Presbyterian Church
March 15, 2015, Lent 4B
2 Kings 5:1-14; Mark 1:40-45
When the Community Is Broken
April Riley. Betty Squires. Dominic Bruzzese. Dub Geiger. Barbara Griseck.
Dorothy Nevill. Dick
Ramer. Annette McGee.
When a pastor
looks at a Prayer List like this (and this is only the beginning, as you well
know), and then looks at the healing stories from both Old and New Testaments
upon which he has committed himself to preach the coming Sunday, said preacher
feels a bit like an idiot.
Particularly this is so when said preacher remembers that if he’d simply
stuck with the lectionary’s appointed readings for the day, he could be
preaching on John 3:16. (On the
other hand, attempting to preach on such an extremely familiar verse has its
own plethora of pitfalls, so perhaps that would not be so much easier.)
The persistence of
illness and injury among our number, as with any church, makes preaching on a
healing story a difficult and sometimes painful challenge. Still, there is something in this
particular story, brief though it may be, that we as would-be followers of
Christ must struggle with and ultimately take into our own lives. It’s too important to bury on the Sixth
Sunday of Epiphany, a Sunday that doesn’t even happen when (like this
lectionary cycle) Easter falls early enough in the year that the approach of
Lent truncates the season of Epiphany after only five Sundays.
Since it’s been
over a month ago that we were last in this first chapter of Mark’s gospel, it
might be a good idea to refresh our collective memory on how this chapter has
proceeded so far. John the
Baptizer appeared in the wilderness, where Jesus came to be baptized by him,
and as he came up out of the water Jesus saw “the heavens torn apart” (v.10) and the Spirit coming upon him like
a dove, with a heavenly voice saying “You
are my son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased”. (v.11) Immediately Jesus was driven into the wilderness to face
temptation, after which he returned preaching the core message, his thesis
statement, the good news of God: “The
time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in
the good news.” (v.15). He
calls his first handful of disciples, casts out an unclean spirit while
teaching in the synagogue, and heals Simon’s mother-in-law, which leads to
large crowds of would-be patients seeking healing. From this place Jesus, after going off to “a deserted place” to pray, gathers his
disciples and heads out into the neighboring towns of Galilee, with the
intention of engaging on a preaching and teaching tour. That’s where Jesus is at the end of
verse 39.
Given that background,
verse 40 almost seems like an interruption in the story rather than its
continuation. Mark doesn’t make it
entirely clear whether this leper appears in the middle of this preaching tour
or not; it doesn’t seem to be in a public place like the previous casting out
of the unclean spirit, and it’s not even clear whether his disciples are
present to witness the incident.
It could have almost been dropped into any section of the gospel without
its point being particularly damaged in any way.
But here it is,
and an unusual story it is. The
reading from 2 Kings reminds us of another somewhat familiar story of a man
being healed of leprosy. It’s a
different story of course; the leprosy victim is not an anonymous stranger, but
a powerful and famous general from another land, one that threatens Israel with
its might. The agent of healing is
not even present in the story; the prophet Elisha sends out a messenger to give
Naaman instructions on how to have his affliction cured. The prophet is certainly obedient to
God’s command, but you might say he’s not all that emotionally involved.
Aside from leprosy
being involved, this account from Mark seems totally different. The leprosy victim is quite anonymous,
and seems almost to think that the healer he has approached will refuse to heal
him – “if you choose,” he says.
And Jesus’s reaction is anything but detached.
The Bible
translation you read probably says something along the lines of “moved with pity” or “moved with compassion” in describing
Jesus’s reaction to the leprosy victim.
Many of the manuscripts and fragments that contain this passage use that
word (or the Greek version of it), and it is perfectly logical and believable
to think of Jesus being moved – moved all the way down to his deepest parts, it
says – this way.
But there are
other fragments or manuscripts, of equal antiquity and credibility, that have
another word instead of “compassion” or “pity.” Jesus was moved, they say, with anger.
Anger? Since when does Jesus get angry? Of course, those who remember last
week’s sermon remember another occasion, much later in Jesus’s ministry, when
amidst the commotion and noise of Temple commerce Jesus started flipping over
the tables and loosing potential sacrificial animals and “teaching” about the
Temple as a “house of prayer for all
nations” being turned into a “den of
robbers.” In that case, Jesus
was angry at a system in which The Way Things Are became an impediment to the
worship of God and prayer, instead of its aid.
Even though that’s
a later story, it might just help us make sense of this story too. You see, in Jesus’s time leprosy was at
least as powerful a social stigma as it was a disease. It wouldn’t necessarily kill you, but
it would, could, and did bring an emphatic end to your public life.
You could neither
be touched nor touch another person.
You could not enter a city or town. You could not be around other people. If you were walking on a road and saw
other people ahead of you, you were required to cry out “unclean! unclean!” in
order to warn those people to stay clear of you. And obviously, forget about making a sacrifice or praying in
the Temple; the only possible reason you could think of going near the Temple
was to approach a priest to have him confirm that you were healed, to be
declared legally and ritually clean.
So the man who
approached Jesus was about as alone, isolated, and cast out as a person could
be in Jewish society of the time.
Even to approach Jesus was a violation. And there were possible consequences for Jesus, too; he
himself could be rendered ritually unclean if this person came in contact with
him. There’s a lot at stake here,
folks.
So we could argue
that, as in the later incident in the Temple, Jesus is again angry at a system
that cuts people off, leaving them isolated from community in this case with no
hope of restoration, leaving them governed by the fear and ignorance of others
rather than allowing for any hope of healing or restoration. Given what we know of Jesus, that makes
sense.
Of course, we
moderns would never do such a thing.
We would never turn others into pariahs, cut off from society and
community because of illness.
After all, there was never any stigma against victims of AIDS in this
country, right? No hysteria driven
by fear and ignorance, no societal condemnation, none of that, right? No hysteria over the ebola virus,
locking people up as virtual prisoners because they had been doctors trying to
exterminate the disease.
Oh, wait, those
both happened, didn’t they?
So, I suppose we
aren’t really in that much of a position to judge, are we? There’s always some big scary disease
somebody can convince us we have to treat as cause for expulsion or exclusion. We are no less hasty to turn into
frightened, angry people ready to throw others out at even the slightest hint
of disease.
In terms of
systems of behavior, laws and customs that cut off the vulnerable and weak from
society, this is another situation that could be read as provoking Jesus’s
anger. And given what we know of
Jesus, this kind of anger would make sense as well.
I can’t help but
think, though, that there’s something else that Jesus might be angry about as
well. Remember that this story is
happening very early in Jesus’s public ministry. The way Mark tells it, it’s happening virtually immediately
after that eventful day of Jesus’s public debut – the casting out of an unclean
spirit in the synagogue at Capernaum, the healing of Simon’s mother-in-law, the
numerous people of Capernaum who crowded around to be healed thereafter. A lot of human brokenness in one
day. And then, just as Jesus is
leading his disciples off to the Galilean countryside to get back to preaching
and teaching, another broken body appears. Another soul whose physical illness had led to isolation and
exclusion.
Here, whether we
read our text as pointing to Jesus’s compassion or anger, here is another clue
to understanding what Jesus seeks: wholeness, completeness, fullness. Anything that breaks that wholeness or
completeness or fullness moves Jesus, agitates him, “churns up his insides” as
my mother would have said. Again,
I don’t think we have to stretch too far to understand. How many of us are even now
experiencing the feeling of frustration, exasperation, or even anger at the
many of our church family who are facing illness or physical brokenness right
now?
Three years ago
this August I was diagnosed with rectal cancer. I had just finished my second summer of seminary language
school, getting ready to start my second full year of study. Even though no doctor associated with
my treatment ever suggested this diagnosis was in any way terminal – it was
caught early, it wasn’t too aggressive, it was easily operable and treatable –
don’t for a second think I didn’t have my share of anger, anxiety, depression,
and frustration. Really, God? Here I’ve walked away from a
career I loved to do this crazy seminary thing and pursue being a pastor, and
this is what I get to deal with? Oh,
yes, I was angry.
I was also worried
about being cut off from a community I had found at seminary, much to my
surprise. Although it’s true that
seminaries now welcome many more “second-career” or other older students
(right, Dorothy?), it was still true that a majority of my classmates were an
awful lot younger than I, the age of people who would have been my students
just a year before. And yet, in
this case, those “kids” stepped up and didn’t let me get cut off from
community. I wasn’t left in
isolation. This is what the church
does when it’s working the way it’s supposed to; we step in and care for those
felled by illness. We draw them
in. We don’t let them slip through
the cracks. We take turns carrying
one another. We don’t resort to
fear or ignorance. We continue to
love and care for our sisters and brothers in need.
But there is one
more thing. I kind of wish there
wasn’t but there is.
Jesus, moved by
compassion or anger or maybe even both, reaches out and touches the leper, heals him, and sends him off – practically
barking at him to go present himself to the priest to be declared clean. He does so with one word of warning; “See that you say nothing to anyone” (v.
44).
It’s part of that
confusing thing scholars call the “Messianic secret,” a repeated pattern in Mark
in which Jesus repeatedly orders those he has healed not to talk about it. There are possible theological reasons
for it (if you want to know more you can join us for the Lenten reading group
next week), but some scholars also suggest a very practical reason; the more
word got out about Jesus’s healings, the harder it was for Jesus to be about
the work of preaching and teaching.
And sure enough, exactly that thing happens here. Ignoring Jesus’s warning, the man goes
off and blabs to everyone and anyone, and Jesus couldn’t even go into towns
anymore without being mobbed, and even staying out in the countryside he and
his disciples were swarmed by multitudes.
Alyce McKenzie,
professor of preaching and worship at Perkins School of Theology at Southern
Methodist University, describes the failing this way:
To be a disciple in Mark's gospel is to "follow" Jesus
(akoloutheo). This is not just
a spatial following, but is, rather, a technical term for discipleship. The
healed and exorcized are to "follow" Jesus as a mark of their full
restoration (Thurston, 11). The leper accepts his cleansing but fails to accept
his commissioning. He confused bragging about his blessing with living out the
good news of sacrificial love for others in imitation of Jesus Christ.
If we're going to truly have a blessed day, it will necessarily
involve being a blessing to others.[1]
If we’ve been
blessed, if we’ve known healing in our own lives, it’s our vocation – our
calling – our responsibility to live out that healing in ministering to those
who are bound by illness or brokenness.
Yes, we rejoice, but not to the point of failing to live out our
discipleship in our community and in the world. You’ve probably heard the saying “blessed to be a blessing”;
this – reaching out in compassion and community and love – is how it works.
For restoration,
for fellowship, and for discipleship, Thanks
be to God. Amen.
Hymns
(PH ’90): “O For A Thousand Tongues” (466), “O Lamb of God Most Holy” (82), “When
We Are Living” (400)
[1] Alyce McKenzie, “Blessed
to Be a Blessing: Reflections on Mark 1:40-45,” Patheos Preachers “Edgy
Exegesis” 12 February 2012, found at http://www.patheos.com/Resources/Additional-Resources/Blessed-to-Be-a-Blessing-Alyce-McKenzie-02-06-2012?offset=1&max=1
Credit: www.progressiveinvolvement.com 2/6/12
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