Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (8B), July 1, 2018; The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27 Greatly beloved were you to me. Your love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.
2 Corinthians 8:7-15 We want you to excel also in this generous undertaking…in order that there may be a fair balance…’the one who had much did not have too much and the one who had little did not have too little.’
Mark 5:21-43 And they laughed at him.
O God of healing and restoration, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.
I’ve got good news and bad news for you this morning. The bad news is I’m feeling very preachy this morning. The good news is that I’ve had laryngitis for the past 10 days, so I won’t be able to talk very long. Besides, it’s hot.
I do want to say a few things about the jackpot of all healing stories in Mark – the daring, desperate hemorrhaging woman who doesn’t just delay Jesus’ arrival to a desperate father’s house where his daughter is at the point of death, but serves as an interpretive key to a puzzle about faith and healing. The key is about faith against all odds, and a power of healing associated with Jesus that is more effective than medical treatment, so strong it can be transmitted through clothing, and so indiscriminate and untamed it can be transferred without his explicit consent. [1] It’s ironic that this story within the story, originally intended to inspire faith sometimes becomes an obstacle to faith for folks who get stuck in the traffic jams of scientific or socio-historical analysis of whether or not these things could have really happened. To them I respond with my usual response: it might not have happened, but “just because it didn’t happen, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
The contrasts between Jairus (a name that literally means “God enlightens”) and the hemorrhaging woman could not be more stark or extreme. The man was named. The woman was anonymous. Jairus was a prominent member of the community. The woman was not. Jairus made a public display of repeatedly begging Jesus in front of his face. In a shocking reversal of his dignity, he fell at Jesus’ feet. The woman came up to Jesus from behind in secret. In a shocking reversal of her indignity, she stole a touch of Jesus’ cloak. Jairus had everything to lose. The woman had nothing left to lose. Jairus was advocating for his daughter. The woman had no advocate; she was advocating for herself.
If the hemorrhaging woman’s story is the interpretive key, what is opened up to us by studying her? Nothing less than heaven’s gates! I think that her story teaches us that if the healing power of Jesus is available to folks on both ends of the spectrum of honor and shame, surely it is available to you and me. This healing power of Jesus is wildly inclusive of people who normally might not associate with one another. The Gospel of Mark wants us to know that there seem to be no obstacles too great or ailments too inconsequential for the healing power of Jesus. [2]
And yet, as Episcopal priest, Lauren Winner notes that scriptural accounts of healing demonstrate again and again that “God chooses to heal by particular intimacy…[God’s love] doesn’t wash over the world in an equally distributed bath. It enters the world locally and spreads out. God’s presence and healing balm are, paradoxically, present everywhere yet not equally distributed.” Furthermore, “intimacy with God doesn’t inoculate anyone from harm or suffering” or death. [3] Nevertheless, the right response to healing is to live a life of thanksgiving, to become free to excel in joyful and generous undertakings.
It’s also ironic that this message of hope about the healing love of Jesus, gets used as a perverse measuring rod of people’s faith, which is then found lacking. So I want to remind you that in Marks’ Gospel, the disciples consistently lacked faith, and regularly failed to understand what they had witnessed first hand. While faith and understanding were often cited as reasons for healing, faith and understanding were never a prerequisite to experiencing the healing, transformative love of God. Despair and fear are the norm throughout Mark. So if you are frequently feeling despair or fear, or feel that your faith is very small, Mark is the Gospel for you. The healing and transformative love of God through Jesus goes on, believe it or not, understand it or not, consciously permit it or not.
So I mentioned that I’m feeling preachy. Here’s what it’s about. In the past week my newsfeeds have been full of reports of the ongoing traumas being experienced by children and parents separated from each other because of an ill-conceived policy of “zero tolerance” for people seeking asylum, and the devastating slaughter of journalists and newspaper employees in the town that has been my family’s home since the late 1600’s. In the midst of such abject evil, Facebook and Twitter lit up about the case of the little Red Hen Restaurant in Lexington, Virginia. (Yes. I am going there in this sermon.) It might be considered a political distraction; and I’m not interested in debating what is or is not politically expedient (not in the pulpit, anyway). I am, however deeply interested in the reports of the feelings of moral uncertainty or confusion experienced by the people whose souls are entrusted to my care in and around Emmanuel Church.
In order to get some traditional theological grounding for my response, I returned to the Episcopal Church’s teaching series book called, Ethics after Easter, by moral theology professor Stephen Holmgren for a review [4] how Episcopalians make ethical decisions. There in the middle of the book was a chapter entitled, “Laws, Manners, and Moral Principles.” [5] Doesn’t that sound like Episcopalese? Turns out that laws, manners, and moral principles don’t necessarily line up like a proper place setting on a linen cloth. Of course it’s great when they do, but both laws and manners can be immoral, and that trips up people who generally want to know: What is legally required? What is legally permitted? What does proper etiquette ask of us? What violates social expectations? Moral principles describe what is right or wrong, quite apart from laws and manners. This is particularly challenging for mostly law-abiding and mostly polite Episcopalians, because as a group, we value order and consensus and social norms. There are times when what is morally right violates the law. There are times when individual conscience overrides convention.
When situations get confusing because of competing values – like hospitality and welcome, servant ministry, generosity, integrity, respect, how do we navigate? Where do we stand? Always on the side of those who are disenfranchised, always on the side of those who are alienated, subjugated, disqualified, or marginalized. The late human rights activist Elie Wiesel taught, “We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” British historian Ian Kershaw wrote, “the road to Auschwitz was built by hate, but paved with indifference.” I would add that it was paved by the silence of law-abiding well-mannered citizens as well. I know that because some were my own family members in Germany and in the US (Annapolis, in particular).
The reason that I don’t think the case of the Red Hen Restaurant is a distraction is that we are living in a time when ordinary people are increasingly being pressed with a crowd of opportunities to live out our convictions at what might be considerable personal expense. Red Hen co-owner, Stephanie Wilkinson, was protecting and defending her gay employees who were distraught about serving the press secretary because of her public defense of the president’s desire to bar transgender people from serving in the military. This was not an objection to party affiliation or political philosophy, nor was the press secretary asked to leave because of who she was or what she believes, but because of how she has behaved. This was an objection to an articulated policy and practice of denying the goodness, the very humanity of people who are willing to sacrifice everything to serve our country in the military.
Our tradition teaches that moral theology is primarily not about justification, but about sanctification [6] (sanctification means blessing and dedication to God, also known as Love). Making right moral choices will not save us (because we are already saved). We strive to make right moral choices because we are already people made by and for Love. We don’t get to choose the time in which we live. We do get to choose how we spend our time, what we make of our time.
At the very crowded march yesterday in support of compassion and just treatment of all immigrants and all who seek asylum, I carried a sign with a message from a movement called, The Revolutionary Love Project. If you don’t know it, use your google machines to learn about it. (It’s the Revolutionary Love Project.) I promise it will inspire you. The message is: “Love will make you brave.” May it be so. May it be so.