Paralyzed No More

I am reminded of the Gospel according to Mark second Chapter:

“They came bringing to him a paralytic carried by four men. Unable to get near Jesus because of the crowd,they opened up the roof above him…they let down the mat on’...When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, "Child, your sins are forgiven."Now some of the scribes were sitting there asking themselves,…Who but God alone can forgive sins?" Jesus … said, "Why are you thinking such things in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic,'Your sins are forgiven,'
or to say, 'Rise, pick up your mat and walk?' But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority to forgive sins on earth"—he said to the paralytic,
"I say to you, rise, pick up your mat, and go home." He rose, picked up his mat at once and went away in the sight of everyone.                            

The paralytic man was healed by Jesus, he was healed from the inside out. It is vital for us to accept that the healing this man received that was the most important was his spiritual healing. That was the best healing, the perfect healing, the everlasting healing.

That is the same healing that is available to you and I. A healing so powerful that we are no longer paralyzed. No longer paralyzed by fear, by pain. by anger and resentment nor selfishness, not  paralyzed by something someone might have said or done to you…today or yesterday or 50 years ago… not paralyzed because you have yet to forgive someone. The same spiritual healing experienced by that paralytic man is available to you and I…right now. Christ offers this to us through the sacrament of reconciliation. Yes confession…We can be reconciled not only with God but with our community… Now I know that some folk haven’t been to confession for a long time… some a long, long , long time. But that’s alright… You see God has been in the forgiving business a long, long, long, time.

I’ve heard it said about this sacrament that those Catholics just made up that confession stuff…When I do here that I tell them to turn to James 5:15 …Where it says:

Is anyone among you sick? He should summon the presbyters of the church, and they should pray over him and anoint (him) with oil in the name of the Lord, and the prayer of faith will save the sick person, and the Lord will raise him up. If he has committed any sins, he will be forgiven. Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The fervent prayer of a righteous person is very powerful.

Now when it says confess your sins to one another in order to be healed, look around and think who do I want to tell my sins to? I don’t know who you would choose to hear them… but frankly I choose a priest. Because I know that he can’t tell anyone. I know that he has dedicated his life to the work of God… I know he has been ordained by a bishop…and I know that that bishop received his ordination through a long line of bishops stretching all the way back to Jesus...And so I believe it when he says….  

"God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his

Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church, may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

 

I know after confession that I can pick up my mat and walk… I know that I am no longer Paralyzed by my sins… I can take a step towards goodness… I can march again on my journey…my knees are flexible, my step is light, my joy is abundant, for I am freed not frozen…healed not broken…and saved not lost.

With My faith restored the Lord can ask, me to lift up one of his paralyzed children and with the faith he has given and restored in me gives me the strength to allow His will to flow through me…so I can open up any closed roof…to lift any burden…to truly love my neighbor…to spread the good news of Jesus Christ… for it is easy to be a Christian within the walls of my church…it is easy to sit with those who believe what I believe …It is easy to offer the sign of Christ’s peace to those in our churches week after week after week to those we know will receive it… It is easy to believe that the problems so many of our brothers and sisters face in the world are their problems, not mine…Yet we are called to take his message of love and concern out of our churches and into the world …we are called to bear witness there…we are called to take His peace there, we are called to take what we hear and learn and believe in our churches and be the spirit and love of Christ out there in the world where it is both needed and difficult to do…

We are called to declare the good news, we are called to share the good news, we are called to live the Good news of Jesus…To everyone.

Through My Brothers's Eyes (continued 1)

 

The lady in the blue dress was startled when I walked in.  She jerked her head up and scowled at me. I closed the door and heard it bang shut, and felt the door’s interior latch click loudly. I stood silently for a brief second as everyone in the classroom gawked at me. I kept my attention focused on the lady in the blue dress, trying not to be distracted by all the staring white faces. Then I slowly trudged the long distance from the door to where she sat, the deafening sound of my own steps echoing back at me. I clung desperately to the large brown envelope which identified who I was. When I finally made it to her desk I handed her the documents. That was when I noticed the dark palm prints on it made by the sweat from my hands. The lady in the blue dress hesitated a moment before reaching out to take the envelope from me.

She didn’t say anything and the look in her eyes didn’t reveal her inner feelings. She opened the envelope and read for a moment. I stood silently, not knowing what to do with my hands or my eyes. Finally she raised her head from the papers she had extracted from the envelope and said, “You must be Mr. Arthur Miller.” I stood frozen, a thousand eyes staring at me--no, staring through me. I tried desperately not to notice the rows of kids sitting right in front of me, but their presence hung heavily around me. The lady in the blue dress sat stiffly in her chair, behind an old wooden desk that had piles of papers and books stacked in one corner. A green ink blotter lay haphazardly in the middle of the desk. It had odd doodles and pencil scratches from earlier usage. She tried a tight smile but it came from her lips, not from her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m Arthur Miller.” I tried to smile back at her, but from her reaction I knew I must have grimaced.

“Are you okay?” Her alarm was evident as she quickly backed away from me, her smile immediately draining from her face. “You look like you might be sick. You’re not going to throw up on me, are you?” Disgusted. That was how she looked. Disgusted, disgusted with me.

“No, ma’am. I’m fine,” I quickly answered, embarrassed as much by how loud she was as by what she said. The kids in the classroom started giggling, and I knew they were giggling at me. There must have been 25 or 30 of them seated in five rows of desks in the room. I decided not to look at any of them; looking past the lady in the blue dress seemed a safer place to stare. Just as the giggling began to end, a loud retching sound exploded from the back of the room, splintering the air like the menacing bark of an angry dog. It caused the giggling to start again, but this time in earnest. The laughter came in waves and crept inside me, mocking me. I stood alone in the crowded room not knowing what to do or where to go. The lady in the blue dress had turned from me and was looking down at the folder that had my name on it, not acknowledging the giggling and noise that was so obvious to me. She did not offer me a place to hide, so I tried to disappear like the invisible man. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that when I opened them I’d be someplace else, some place where everything was safe and familiar. I wanted to be any place, any place but here. I waited and wished it to be so. But when I slowly opened my eyes again I was still there, in that strange classroom that smelled like old cheese, with that lady in the drab blue dress sitting in front of me, in a room crowded with strangeness, and I knew I was still there because I saw my feet through my squinted eyes and heard the giant tick tock of the school clock on the wall. I was standing by myself very much alone. I waited silently, praying to be invisible.

After what seemed like an eternity, the giggling ended. It was only then that she spoke again. “Seems you have very high test scores...math… reading…Not bad, not bad. But--” she hesitated, and glanced towards me but without seeing me. She had a look in her eyes that I couldn’t read. “I wonder how you’ll do here.” She had cigarette-stained teeth that were revealed by her counterfeit smile. The lady in the blue dress kept smiling. I wasn’t certain if it was a threat, a challenge, unbelief, or what. But with no other choice I stood up straight, something I had forgotten to do until that moment. Mom and Dad’s admonition to always stand straight ricocheted around my brain, their words demanding a strength I never knew I needed. I looked at the kids and the lady in the blue dress with the disgusted look on her face and cigarette-stained teeth and wondered, “How on earth can I fit in?” They all looked at me. I was in their territory. I was the outsider, the new kid, and everyone knew it.

"To be continued..."

true love

Abu Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace
And saw, within the moonlight of his room
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom                                                                    
An angel writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold
And to the presence in his room he said                                                                
'What writest thou?' The vision raised its head
And with a look made of all sweet accord                                                          
Answered: 'The names of those who love the Lord
'And is mine one?' said Abu. 'Nay not so'
Replied the Angel: Abu spoke more low
But cheerily still and said 'I pray thee then
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men'
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 
It came again with a great awakening light
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed.                                              
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest."

This well known verse written by 19^th century poet James Henry Leigh Hunt, makes the point that true love of God and true love of our fellow human being are like two sides of the same coin. One cannot exist without the other.

May God Bless us all.

Through My Brother’s Eyes

Thursday, September 20, 2012

“Through My Brothers’ Eyes”

Foreword

“Road trip!”

 I looked at Pete. A sly grin slid across his face as he giggled like a teenager.”Well, bro‘, it’s D.C. or bust.” Our destination, Washington D.C., was 2000 miles away. It was August 17, 2009, and my brother and I were about to leave Albuquerque, New Mexico en route to our nation's capital. I had flown in from my home in Connecticut just the day before to join him for the journey. Pete had accepted President Barack Obama’s offer to be the new Assistant Secretary of Energy. A new and grand adventure lay ahead and we both looked forward to the drive across America. We both looked forward to what was coming--the conversations, the laughter, the memories of our long-ago youth. We grew up together, sleeping in the same bed for most of our childhood. As we grew older, we grew even closer.

I have come to realize this journey of life on which we travel can be extraordinary, it can be dreary; it can be fraught with danger or joy. I suppose it all depends on which road we take or avoid, or on which road we are placed when we begin our journey. I only know that mine has been delicious. I have been to many places in my life and have experienced many things, from my birth on Chicago’s Southside in 1945 to my arrival in Connecticut in 1989. My life’s journey has taken me to jail when I was barely 18 years old, when I sat in protest against the brutality of racism which scarred the very soul of America. Four years later, in 1967, I traveled across the Pacific Ocean to Southeast Asia and fought for this country even though the rights for which I fought were not always afforded me. Yet I stand in defense of the ideal of what America can be, with the hope that it could be attained in my lifetime.

I’ll start this book by telling you about an awakening. It wasn’t something I understood way back when I was 12 years old. I must confess I’m not sure whether I have truly awakened as of yet. All I know is that I am obliged to open my eyes and take notice that it is time to wake up, and confront what I believe to be the truth of this country.

I could begin this story where it ends, but that would be too easy. The end of a story never really tells us the whole truth. The end of a story reveals only the conclusion.  Concentrating only on the conclusion robs a story of the pathos and beauty in it, and that I refuse do. So permit me to start from the beginning, at least the beginning as I remember it. It was the first day of school the day after Labor Day, Tuesday, September 3, 1957.

Chapter One

Schooling

I peered through the glass in the top half of the old oak door and saw a woman, my new teacher, working at her desk. The secretary in the school office had told me her name but I had quickly forgotten it. The only thing I could recall was the room number, 108. For whatever reason that number stuck: 108.That was it, room 108. When I left the principal’s office I turned to the right as the school secretary had instructed and ventured into a place that I was not familiar with, into a world that would probably reject me. There were two things I noticed about the school when I entered the building that morning. The first was the smell. In my old school the fragrance of polished wood was permanent. The janitors kept the school spotless. The floors in the hallways, the wooden beams on the ceilings, and the doors in every room were always clean and shiny. The aroma of the polish the janitors used penetrated my memory. I missed that smell terribly. But now I was here, in this school, and there was something peculiar about how the place smelled. It was kind of sharp, like old cheese, something I would someday have to get used to. But not this day.

The second thing I noticed about the school was the floors. They were tiled in white and black squares, making the hallways look like a giant checker board. The sound of each step I took echoed off the walls, like the quick sound of someone rapping on a closed door. The noise was unlike the soft, muffled sound that I remembered when I walked on the wooden floors at my old school. Here even the noises seemed alien to me.

As I made my way down the empty hallways I could hear the muted sounds of children and teachers talking as I passed each classroom. The hum of unfamiliar voices mixed inharmoniously every time my foot hit the tiled floor.

I searched for my assigned room and found it easily. It wasn’t difficult, since the numbers were prominently displayed in shiny jet-black ink just below a window set in the top half of each door. When I found it I didn’t go in immediately. I stood motionless, staring through the glass window of room 108.

What I was able to see in the classroom wasn’t very clear. The glare of the sun, which streamed through the windows on the other side of the room, cast ghost-like shadows on everything. The only things visible were shimmering silhouettes of children seated in rows of desks, kids I would soon have to face. In front of them sat a woman, evidently my new teacher. The hem of her dress was the only thing I could actually see clearly, because it fell around her ankles and the desk shielded it from the glare of the sun. It was blue. She hadn’t noticed me, nor had any of the kids in the classroom, maybe because the bottom of the window in the door was at eye level, so only my eyes and the top of my head could be seen from the inside. I dreaded entering the room and walking to her desk, which was about 25 feet from the door. The walk to where she sat was going to be terrible. The distance from that door to her desk may as well have been 25 miles.

I stood frightened and unsure, wondering whether I should just walk into the room or knock on the door. I wasn’t at my old school, McCosh Elementary, anymore, the place where I knew all the rules. This was Dixon Elementary, on the far Southside of Chicago. I was in a new school, maybe with rules I didn’t know....

I had walked to the school alone that morning, insisting to my mom that I was big enough now. My dad had to go to work early so he wasn’t around, and so Mom, being the only parent at home, had to take my brother Marty to his new school. I honestly felt that was best, since he was younger than I was and he wasn’t going to the same school. When we moved to this new neighborhood we found out that in this school district children in fifth grade, as Marty was, attended Jane A. Neil School, which was for kids up to the sixth grade. Then they would go to Dixon Elementary. I was 12 years old and in the seventh grade, so I attended Dixon. I felt that I was old enough to go to school by myself.

But now I felt very much alone, and regretted my boastful decision. At that moment I didn’t feel so big or confident. What I really wanted was my mom.

As I stood looking unnoticed into my future, trying to decide what to do, I heard someone coming down the long corridor. The thud of the unfamiliar steps echoed off the walls, the crash of each footfall more threatening than the fear in front of me. Not wanting to face the creator of those thunderous steps, I made my decision, and I reached out and grabbed the door knob, pulled on the heavy door and quietly entered the room. I didn’t knock; I just walked in.

To be continued.....

Good Friday Good Hope

 

All of us have the capacity for good and evil. We offend as well as being offended, yet we think of ourselves as being basically good people. We acknowledge that at times we do things that wound others: we carry gossip about others, hedge on our commitments, do spiteful things to others because, for lack of a better word, we just feel uncharitable. Yet we still think of ourselves as being good and decent people, but with a human dimension. We tend to separate our good selves from our sometimes bad acts. This happens in and with all peoples.

Looking at others through the same lens may help to understand that we all do bad things at times and all of us have the need of giving and receiving forgiveness. Separating the act from the actor is a big step towards understanding. We can never forgive an act of injustice or evil, but we can forgive the perpetrator. An evil act will always be an evil act and can never be swept under a rug, yet those persons who commit those acts are made in the image of God and have, however small, some good in them. Maybe they had a bad day, or maybe they are going through a difficult moment…maybe a sickness or divorce, or maybe they endured humiliating abuse or perversion during their lives and believe they have no other way to protect themselves. We don't always know the real reason a person acts unjustly or cruelly.

I was on a peace march in Hartford earlier this year…It just so happened to be on Good Friday… The march was to bring attention to the fact that over 250 people have been murdered in Hartford since this decade began. To bring greater attention to this tragedy we carried crosses with the names of each of the victims…

Too often the community reacted to these violent happenings with revenge… the need for vengeance is a constant threat to peace. As I marched with the one hundred or so other peace activists, the thought kept rattling around in my brain… When will it end?.. When we’re all dead? But I had to step back… Too many don’t care if they die and in fact so many expect to die…or go to jail… They are lost. They have suffered desperately and many have lost hope. Lost hope in themselves, lost hope in their leaders, and lost hope in God.

I am familiar with that, losing hope, I saw it play out in newsreels. I’m certain that most saw the tragic incident that happened a couple years ago on Park Street in Hartford. The entire country saw the newsflashes, 100’s of news articles carried the message. “People walk by as elderly man lays crumbled in the streets of Hartford”.

All of the news outlets showed the horrible pictures of the elderly man who was struck by a car, his body tossed in the air like an old rag doll…Then his broken body lying in the street as people seemingly walked or drove by…The person who hit him fleeing the scene, no concern about helping but only concerned about being caught…The pictures were brutal in their imagery and stark in the message of hopelessness.

It was time then, it is time now, and it will continue to be the time to come together to do something, to confront the truth of how so many of God’s people live. That truth is this; many live in an environment that is beyond harsh, where life is not cherished but diminished… no value…no worth…and certainly no hope.

When I participated in that rally for peace…I joined with others walking and marching for peace. Along the way I spoke with a man in the street. I listened as the man said.

“It doesn’t matter that you all come here. Nothing will ever change. We got to live on these streets every day, we aren’t just visiting when the T.V. cameras are here. Don’t nobody want to live like this but it is the only way we know how to survive.”

 
Hope has been lost for so many of God’s people. There is suffering, and suffering without hope leads to self-hatred, suffering without hope leads to depression and anger. Suffering without hope leads to denial of self-worth, suffering without hope leads to destruction. We are called to community, every community, to be community. So we cannot turn our backs, we must embrace every person as a child of God, we must never allow the streets to destroy God’s people. That young man may have lost hope but we must not. Even though I admit there are times when I don’t understand, when I question God. I have come to the conclusion that God works in and with his children…and if I expect God to act in a situation maybe it is me that God is using. And God leaves it up to me whether or not to act.

 
Later that same Good Friday afternoon God showed me a miracle…St. Michael and St. Justin Churches…joined together for their Good Friday procession…we walked from St. Michael Church on the Northend of Hartford to St. Justin Church a mile to the north on Blue Hills Ave… along the way I spoke with those who watched the procession… As we walked I noticed another young man, his head down, his pants low on his hips, he walked with the familiar gate, which screams out “street tough don’t mess with me”. I approached him and asked if he needed prayer. He looked at me with surprising unguarded eyes… He said“Yeah! I put my arm around him and we prayed together…right on the street…in the middle of it all, we prayed on Good Friday…Two weeks later I saw him on the streets and he recognized me and said…Thanks for the prayers… I needed them…And then he walked away. Thank you God, I need them too.

Organized Religions

I am often puzzled when I hear people declare that the reason they don't practice their faith or don't attend church services is because they have become disenchanted with organized religions. Personally, I have never seen a disorganized religion because they don't last very long. A few disorganized churches maybe, but not a disorganized religion.

I have come to believe that if a religion organizes itself around the love and the good news of Jesus Christ, then somehow it just plain works. Obviously we are then to make certain that our churches are obviously and clearly centered on and organized around the teachings of Jesus Christ. We can do this by acting like Christians, by being open and welcoming, where no one is a stranger, a place where the people reach out to the sick and bereaved, the homeless as well as the hopeless. Because it is in our churches that the act of love becomes fulfilled and I would submit to you that one of the first acts of love is hospitality.

We are called not only to open our churches but also our hearts because it is there that the act of love begins and the word of God is received and then made manifest.

There is an additional challenge we have, and that is to make certain that our homes are places of welcome to our friends and our families. This last challenge may require a transformation, because before our homes can change, our hearts may need to change. When we are filled with resentment or anger it leaves little room for love.

Anger and hate closes our hearts to the joy and openness that God so much wants for us. Where hate lives, whether in our hearts or in our homes, love can't exist. It is the places of anger and hurt that the dust from the feet of the disciples finds its place.

 Hospitality begins with a heart that is open, a heart that is willing to undergo a change by the transforming power of the Good News. When our hearts are filled with the love of Christ, our love of neighbor automatically flows from it. It is then that we can truly know the love of God. It is then that WE become that special place.

When our home and our hearts become that special place it will be a place where everyone is welcome, where no one is a stranger. A place where you often here those words, those special words that one day we hope to hear.

 “Come on in there is always room for one more.”

 

Where to go During Difficult Moments

Recently I was in a Deacon's prayer group... We were given several scriptural passages to read...: John 14 vs 1-4. was one of them.

When/if you have a chance to read it please do so.

I have read that passage literally 100's of times...and yet something different came to me...something came anew. That new insight that came to me surprised and excited me. I realized that if I enter into a place in my heart that is troubled, broken, hurting, terrifying, irritating, horrifying, frightening, or the myriad of other places my human heart often leads me... I can choose to turn to what Jesus has said and begin quieting my troubled heart. In quiet contemplation I can enter into the place where I have allowed Him to take up residence. It is then that I begin to rest in His peace. That place where He has promised to meet me.

It isn't always easy...in fact it is rarely easy...This world has a strange way of speaking loudly, so loudly that I can't always hear Him within me, gently calling me.... But...but when I do... Oh Lord when I do...all I can do is raise my hands in joy and proclaim: Thank you Jesus...thank you.

Never Be The Same

The following is the poignant letter my cousin Bill Green sent out a few days after the tragedy of September 11, 2001. Every year he sends it out on the anniversary of that dreaded day. With his permission I offer it to you.

May God Bless us all

Deacon Art

                                                    

September 2001

from the desk of

Bill Green

Never Be The Same

Dear friends. . .

Although I have thought long and hard on the issue at hand (that being the terrible tragedy that occurred last Tuesday), and its impact on me, I realize that a response leaves me vulnerable to the judgment of others.

 

Yet, with the constant barrage from so many who seem to share a singular point of view of rage, hatred, and revenge, I, too, feel that it is necessary for this one voice to be heard as well...

As deeply saddened as I am by last Tuesday's tragedy, a sadness that seems to deepen with each passing day, I struggle with the underlying message that has surfaced from the media ever since – that message being that this country will never be the same as a result of last Tuesday's unimaginable act of violence and subsequent grief that has followed.

Whereas it is undeniably true that, for me, things will never be the same, the question that keeps rattling around in my brain, and from that deep place of sadness in my heart, is what, then, for me will be different?

What am I willing to change?

 

Will I look more deeply than ever to realize the many privileges of living in such a land as America as something that the greater portions of the world can only imagine? 

Will I therefore look upon my brethren – African-American, Arab-American, Asian-American, European-American, Jewish-American, Mexican-American, Native-American – Christian, Buddhist, Hebrew, Muslim – and all the many other cultures, races, and religions, far too many to name, as equal parts of a greater whole called humankind?

Or, will I seek to justify hatred, when loving forgiveness demands too much from my finite soul? Will I ask what can be done to heal this gaping wound inflicted upon my country – a country that has oft times invisibilized me – as opposed to asking what must be done to inflict more wounds, while knowing fully well that my world as I know it is already so overwhelmed with a grief that will never heal?

Will I seek Divine guidance as I search the innermost regions of my vulnerable heart to try and try to understand the impossible, as well as the unforgivable? 

Will I justify vengeance, blindly, under the guise of God?

Will I take it upon myself to recall the devastation's dealt out by my country during my brief lifetime – the atom bomb, Viet Nam, social injustice and blatant racism – with indifference?

Or will I take it upon myself to confront the limitations of a human heart such as mine that will be tempted to say, Oh, well, that's different...?

Will I love differently that which I don't understand?

Or will I allow my cultural ignorance's to remain my personal justifications to continue to treat those unlike myself as if they don't exist?

Will I become an advocate for harmony in diversity?

Or will I once again succumb to the hollow cry of, America, love it or leave it!! . . .?

Will I teach my children to love in ways that I never thought of before last Tuesday?

Or will I self-justifiably condemn a whole people for the acts of a faceless circle of hatred? And will I then place the faces of the seen on the circle of those unseen and call my revenge justified?

 

What I do know is that I hurt -- I hurt for the innocent, and for the unknown faces of those who are left to make sense of all of this, as well as for those who have departed -- those souls that although I have never met, I grieve for as if they were my own. . .

When I seek to respond to the comment that things will never be the same, I can only hope that, for me, this is true. Because I dread to think that I would stay the same, and would therefore become a willing member of a silent party to this frozen moment in history repeating itself. . .

I hope that, with the guidance of my God, I will find the courage to search my soul and be willing to do what will be required of me NOT to stay the same... And to do all I can to ask the same from all those living souls that I encounter along the way. . .

 Peace.

Bill

For Richer or Poorer

"When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a large crowd gathered around him, and he stayed close to the sea. One of the synagogue officials, named Jairus, came forward. Seeing him he fell at his feet and pleaded earnestly with him, saying, “My daughter is at the point of death.

Please, come lay your hands on her that she may get well and live.”
He went off with him, and a large crowd followed him and pressed upon him.

There was a woman afflicted with hemorrhages for twelve years. She had suffered greatly at the hands of many doctors and had spent all that she had. Yet she was not helped but only grew worse. She had heard about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak. She said, “If I but touch his clothes, I shall be cured.” Immediately her flow of blood dried up. She felt in her body that she was healed of her affliction. Jesus, aware at once that power had gone out from him, turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who has touched my clothes?”

But his disciples said to Jesus, “You see how the crowd is pressing upon you, and yet you ask, ‘Who touched me?’” And he looked around to see who had done it. The woman, realizing what had happened to her, approached in fear and trembling.

She fell down before Jesus and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has saved you. Go in peace and be cured of your affliction.”

While he was still speaking, people from the synagogue official’s house arrived and said, “Your daughter has died; why trouble the teacher any longer?” Disregarding the message that was reported, Jesus said to the synagogue official, “Do not be afraid; just have faith.” He did not allow anyone to accompany him inside except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they arrived at the house of the synagogue official, he caught sight of a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. So he went in and said to them, “Why this commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but asleep.” And they ridiculed him. Then he put them all out. He took along the child’s father and mother and those who were with him and entered the room where the child was. He took the child by the hand and said to her, “Talitha koum,” which means, “Little girl, I say to you, arise!” The girl, a child of twelve, arose immediately and walked around. At that they were utterly astounded." (Mark 5 vs 21-43)

St. Mark’s Gospel Chapter 5 vs. 21-43: is long and it seems to be broken, for a new story begins before the first story ends, a story within a story. Anytime we see this happen in scripture we are to take notice, pay close attention to the relationship the stories have with one another.

 

This gospel story is about two women. One is rich; the other poor. St. Mark wants us to see the difference and to see what Jesus does. It is a stylized story, characteristic of Mark. One story begins and then gets interrupted or split by an intervening story.

In this case, Jesus is first approached by the father of a gravely ill young woman. His help is needed; and he agrees to help the grieving father. But, on the way to help, Jesus is interrupted by another woman who is also in need of help, Jesus delays responding to the first request, even though it is on behalf of a young woman who is at the point of death. He stops his journey to deal with a woman who is determined to get his attention.

These are not two simple stories, accidentally connected. St. Mark has carefully constructed this story about two women to make a statement. The details of the story reveal what that statement is. The daughter of Jairus, the young girl Jesus agrees to help, is of privilege. She is just twelve years old, with the promise of womanhood ahead of her, she has lived in the comfort of affluence. Her father is a ruler of the synagogue, one of the powerful and the wealthy. She has no need of an advocate. She has one in the person of her father who approaches Jesus within the bounds of social correctness.

 In contrast, the bleeding woman has suffered for twelve years. Her future has been "spent". She, too, is a "daughter" of Israel, but she is nameless and destitute. She has no one to speak for her. She must take her salvation into her own hands by breaking the bounds of what was both socially and religiously appropriate; an outcast and an unclean woman, she touches a man in public. Will Jesus allow himself to be bothered by this face in the crowd while on an important errand on behalf of the rich and famous?

Not only does Jesus attend to this second woman, he singles her out for her faith and perseverance. His delay in responding to the first request for his help will be used to teach the rich and powerful a lesson.

. . . Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, "Do not fear, only believe."

The healing journey must take detours on behalf of the powerless. Only when the outcast woman is restored to true "daughterhood" can the daughter of the synagogue be restored to true life. That is the faith the privileged must learn from the poor. The point is: Jesus not only had time for the people around him, the truth of his vision for the kingdom he came to embody pointed to a day when all would be attended to and no one would be ignored.

As I was writing this sermon, I happened to pick up a newspaper and read an article about Warren Buffett, the second wealthiest man in the world. As most of you know he has given to charities the preponderance of his wealth, a staggering 38 billion dollars. His comments were that “His massive wealth came from the society in which he lived and to that society it should be returned, not to support the already comfortable but to enable the afflicted.”

I know that there are those who would argue against the politics of Mr. Buffett, but most would be hard pressed to argue the truth of his generosity, and the reality that very few of the very wealthy, have been so very charitable.

 

I believe the fundamental lesson Christ teaches us in this Gospel is that all of His children are deserving of His healing and blessed touch. Jesus didn't just talk about those who needed us. He had time for them. And, although this gospel is a stylized attempt to portray Jesus as a champion of the weak and the outcasts, there is little doubt that he was just that. His parables, his aphorisms and the inevitable conflict with the rich and the powerful that eventually ensued as a result of his ministry all point to the fact that in his vision of God's domain:

"the last will be first" and "the least will be the greatest." No one will be ignored.

Christians are called to do more than make pronouncements about justice. They are called to act justly to the people sitting next to them. If we cannot do that, then the world should not take us seriously about calling others to do the same. Charity may start at home but it is not to end there; it continues with all who make a claim on our love. Our efforts on behalf of others will have no authenticity if we attempt to avoid such close-hand responsibilities. Jesus always had time to deal with such claims. So must we all.

As our opening story for this week indicates, God will not force such an accommodation on us; but he will, it is reasonable to assume, give us all the time we need in order to realize that the person next to us is the one whom we need for our own salvation as much as he or she needs us.

Although our society and sometimes our churches fail to acknowledge them, there are many people who are restricted by "purity codes" today, people who are pushed aside and made to feel insignificant by those who maintain the status quo. If we are serious about acting the way Jesus did, we will reach out to those who have been marginalized the way Jesus took time to acknowledge and honor the bleeding woman in this gospel. It means more than talking about the impoverished and the powerless. It means reaching out to them the way Jesus did. How does your church do this? How do you do it?

Such a Time as This

We are taught by the God who saved us, that we are to listen carefully to his word, given to us first by Moses then fulfilled in Christ and a practical application of it in the letter from St. James. That it is God asks us to observe and follow his words by our actions. His word when followed directs and corrects, heals us and shapes us, His word teaches and reaches our hearts with a tenderness and love that we are to live every day, but not just in our spirit...but in the lived reality of our everyday lives, thereby teaching and preaching and being more that hearers of his word but doers as well…But before we can go out and evangelize…before we can truly preach His Gospel by how we live our lives… Before we go out and save the world we’ve got to be saved ourselves…

In Mark’s Gospel we clearly hear Christ’s admonition to be aware of what lurks within us:

“Hear me, all of you….
“From within people, from their hearts,
come evil thoughts, unchastity, theft, murder,
adultery, greed, malice, deceit,
licentiousness, envy, blasphemy, arrogance, folly.
All these evils come from within and they defile.”

Christ’s words cannot be corrupted or denied … His word is truth. His word can free us and save us from what we are capable of… We must not believe we can live anyway we want Monday through Saturday and think God doesn’t see it just because we go to church on Sunday.. God isn’t blind…

We must understand that Christ is more powerful than that which is within us…all those bedevilments that taunt and lure us away from Him…we are called to be transformed by the renewal of our minds…. Christ has done his part to release us. Now it’s our turn to receive it… And once we have received Him and His truth…The personal change to which we are called becomes manifest…

Listen to the second reading, the letter from James speaks urgently to us: 

“if any are hearers

of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at

themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and,

on going away, immediately forget what they were like.”

Being attentive to God's word must not be resisted, unless we choose to restrict the effect of God in our lives. I mean it is easy to be Catholic Christians in here… To turn to one another with love and patience… It is easy to turn to one another in Christian friendship and offer Christ’s peace to one another…But Mass is going to end…and the question becomes is Christ present in us after Mass? What did St. James say?

they look at themselves and,

on going away, immediately forget what they were like."

Our Church experience must never be restricted to just a Sunday morning conversation…A feel good moment when we have fulfilled our Sunday Obligation. You see our obligation is to be not just hearers of his word but doers also applies to the other days of the week. What does the Psalm say? 

One who does justice will live in the presence of the Lord.
Whoever walks blamelessly and does justice;
who thinks the truth in his heart
and slanders not with his tongue.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is to be believed and followed even on Monday. His is the wisdom of God on Tuesday; his is the acceptable sacrifice everyday…and is offered up for us every moment. His word is holy and everlasting. This is the edifying joy that he sends us, this is the redeeming salvation that seeks to correct the resistant voice that creeps up from that part of us that drives us away from Him and the life he wishes us to lead.

That voice that gets angry when we’re cut off in traffic. That voice that bellows at those who have wronged us. That insistent negative voice that Christ says is within us…and the old Comedian Flip Wilson’s character Geraldine listened to and then lamented:

“The Devil Made me Do It”

No matter what those little words that comes up within us, those mean and angry words and actions are not of God.

The lessons of God are the words that lead us through those dark valleys…the words of God, when we deeply embrace and believe every moment…every day.. .and in every person, gives us the grace we need in those times of anger and fear, dishonesty and envy.

And so we are obliged to honestly face the truth of ourselves in order to realize and embrace the change that our God wants to make in our lives.

In the Gospel of John 6vs. 60:69 we read of the two groups of disciples, those disciples who walked away from Jesus because His teachings were too difficult to understand and their faith could not overcome their doubt and fear. And so they went back to their former way of living. We used to call in Backsliding…They started backsliding…

But Peter and the other disciples remained with Jesus. But… what was the difference between the faithful disciples who remained with Jesus and those disciples that walked away? We know Peter had as much difficulty understanding what Jesus was talking about as the ones that left. Peter and the others didn't understand at all what Christ was doing…

I believe the difference lies in this one thing, Peter and those that stayed, accepted that even if they did not have the wisdom to understand all the teachings, they did understand that he was the Son of God, the Messiah, the redeemer and no one else, no other way, was the Way.

And so it is for you and I….There will come a time in our lives when the depth of our faith will be tested or the shallowness of it… There will come a time… a moment in our lives when we too will be confronted with a life altering situation, the loss of a job…a disappointment in a relationship, a painful illness, a betrayal…the death of someone whom we love deeply. We too will then have to choose… Do I continue to follow Him… when I don’t understand.

There will come a time in our lives when our faith in God comes face to face with our doubt and fear, our anger and jealousy; there will come a time when our commitment to God crashes head long into this truth…It is time…it is at this moment…it is now that my faith in God is required. Now what do I do? Will I walk away?

Will I run away from the truth or will I run to it? Too often we falter and stumble…panicked…everything we believed is in turmoil… Our world comes to an end and the rest of the world doesn’t seem to notice…we begin grasping ahold to anything that might rescue us…It is often too difficult to accept that this is the time to have absolute faith in God. Despite what is going on around us and despite what may be going on within us. Will I be hearer only of his word or doers?

 Our human nature in most of our panic-filled moments overcomes our spiritual nature and we seek to relieve our human fear, anger, envy, sorrow, loss by any means necessary. Yet God asks us to lean on him as the only means necessary.

Are we hearers of his word or doers? Our precious Lord speaks to us through the scriptures, Our Lord breathes His Spirit into our faith and has made available to us the strength the courage and the faith we need to battle those internal and external demons.

The disciples made the choice to not walk away, to not give up, To not give in to the bedevilments that were within them…they Made the choice to continue their pilgrimage, their life changing walk with Him, even when they did not always understand…Even when they had doubts. They didn’t let their unknowing take precedence over what they did know.

You see even though faith seeks understanding, there is no guarantee that faith will find the understanding it seeks. And so it is with faith, we make the choice to gather together as family, as church. We gather together to accept that what we will embrace today is God. What we embrace as we walk out of this church is the faith that he has sustained during our hard times he has done this with his church and completed in the Eucharist.

We have come to believe that our faith does not end on the altar, it begins there. So we are fortified to be doers of His word…and are called to spread the good news of Jesus Christ despite that what might sometimes be within us. We are on a pilgrimage...to bring others to Christ…you and I are called by Jesus Christ… To walk with him as he walks with us…side by side…then our personal pilgrimage with him will bear much fruit…you will travel with supreme grace…all because you believed…. And are doers of His Almighty and gracious word because you have listened. Amen!