The Gospel for the Fifth Sunday after Epiphany came from Mark 1: 29-39.
29 As soon as they left the synagogue, they went with James and John to the home of Simon and Andrew. 30 Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they immediately told Jesus about her. 31 So he went to her, took her hand and helped her up. The fever left her and she began to wait on them.
32 That evening after sunset the people brought to Jesus all the sick and demon-possessed. 33 The whole town gathered at the door, 34 and Jesus healed many who had various diseases. He also drove out many demons, but he would not let the demons speak because they knew who he was.
35 Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. 36 Simon and his companions went to look for him, 37 and when they found him, they exclaimed: “Everyone is looking for you!”
38 Jesus replied, “Let us go somewhere else—to the nearby villages—so I can preach there also. That is why I have come.” 39 So he traveled throughout Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and driving out demons.
Click through to listen to one of the important lessons from these passages!
These words were serendipitous for this particular Sunday because both the Theology on Tap folks and the Sunday Morning Bible Study group had discussed one of the issues inherent in them, albeit one usually passed over in favor of the obvious. The obvious, of course, is that Jesus heals everyone with whom he comes in contact. This is miraculous...even more so in an age without doctors and proven medicine, hospitals and recovery centers. Without Jesus these people had no hope. He was their bright, shining beacon...their savior in the most personal and profound ways.
We spend so much time on the what of this gospel that we skip right over the for whom part, an integral question given the progression of the narrative.
Jesus starts out in verse 29 with just his disciples, his confidants. This is just what we expect: Jesus and the men closest to him. They all go to the house of Peter and Andrew to hang out and celebrate a job well done at the synagogue. Not all was well at the old homestead, however. Peter's mother-in-law was ill. So Jesus healed her. This isn't unexpected either. What else would a friend do? It could be seen as a favor of sorts to one of Jesus' key followers.
But then there was a knock at the door.
"Jesus! Another sick person is here. No, I don't know who he is. Should I send him away? Tell him to come back tomorrow?"
No, let him in. And another, and another, and still more came. And they came and came. All the sick and demon-possessed, the gospel says. The whole town gathered at the door. This wasn't a personal favor for Jesus' inner circle. He was opened up to everybody! First he belonged to the disciples. Now he belonged to the whole town. And they were glad to have him!
After all this Jesus went off by himself to pray. His disciples found him and told him that everyone was looking for him, no doubt eager to thank him and claim him for their own...a favorite son. He'd get the keys to the city! He'd get the chance to show off his skills to anybody who came to that place. They could start a booming tourism business based on his abilities. They could erect inns, charge tolls, raise taxes. Anybody who needed healing could come and see their guy!
But Jesus turned to his disciples and said, "Let's go to other villages so I can preach there too. That's why I've come." No favored resident of one town, he! He was going to visit them all, be a part of each without belonging to any. He was going to spread the Good News as far as possible in the time he had.
Do you see the progression here, from belonging to just a few to belonging to everybody in the town to belonging to everyone period? That was Jesus' mission. That's how he charted his course. The healing he did in Peter's town wasn't any less miraculous because he visited another. They got everything he had to give. But it was not theirs alone. It was meant to be shared with all.
This highlights a thorny and seldom well-resolved issue in our Christian faith. How do we claim God as our own without claiming we own him?
We are not accustomed to saying anything is "ours" unless and until we have the deed to it. We have proof our house is ours and not somebody else's. Keys assure us that our truck cannot be driven by our neighbor without our permission. My TV is mine, bought and paid for. We extend this even to people and personal relationships. My spouse is mine and not yours. If my spouse becomes yours as well we have all kinds of problems on our hands. My children are mine. My employees do not belong to another boss nor my patients to another social worker. We are citizens of this country, residents of this town. How does this song go? "This land is your land, this land is my land"? The United States and Genesee belong to us in a way they do not to people who claim citizenship in Outer Mongolia. Our relationships follow suit. No matter which way you turn, possession and ownership define the word "ours".
What, then, do we mean when we say, "This is our God" or even "This is my faith" or "This is my church"? We have a hard time escaping the concepts of possession and ownership even in these cases. What does "This is my church" usually mean? I have been here a long time. Maybe my grandparents were among the founders. I have a connection here, and in some ways a presumed authority here, that others do not. Even in the most benign cases we usually mean "I am a member here" as opposed to people who aren't.
"This is my faith" is more nebulous, but falls prey to the same mode of thought. Usually when we append "my" to the word "faith" we mean we have taken control of it. We have thought it through, decided what we agree and disagree with, and when enough things are aligned in a way we consider agreeable we deem it "ours". Throw a couple flies into the ointment, a couple changes in the mix, and it no longer feels like "ours". We often demand that things change back. If they won't, we'll disavow the faith and find one more suitable to our style. Any way you slice it, we're the ones in charge. It's "ours".
We've all known people who appear to carry God himself around in their pocket. "This is what the Lord thinks about this. If you want to conform to his will you will do thus and so." Suspiciously this happens to be exactly what that person thinks should be done. Many church rules and regulations evidence this line of thinking as well. "We know what God decrees. No matter who you are, no matter where you come from, you matter what you add to the conversation you must do this and this and this in order to truly belong here." It's interesting that these seldom have to do with the deepest roots of our relationship with God: the nature of the Word and Sacraments and such. Instead they're often nit-picky things. "Your name must be on this line here in order to do this. You must sing this and you cannot sing that. On this date we do this thing in exactly this way without fail." All of this, apparently, is God's will, conveniently trotted out when anything or anyone threatens to shake our ownership or control over our church or faith life.
Clearly this is unsatisfactory. The marriage of the word "ours" to "ownership over" becomes poisonous when applied to matters of God and faith. As soon as we claim to own God we have lost him. And yet we must still claim God as ours! We need to find a new definition of that word, lest we become villagers before Jesus saying he's only the Messiah if he stays in "our" town.
Fortunately "ours" doesn't just apply when something belongs to us. It can work in the other direction as well, when we belong to something, or someone, else. This is exactly the sense we get when we introduce a parent by saying, "This is 'our' father." We don't mean that we own our dad. We mean we belong to him. In terms of our earthly, blood parents this does create an exclusive relationship. My dad wasn't your dad. But when applied to our heavenly Father it takes on a nice ring. As many as care to claim him as theirs in this way can do so. And they do so without the burden of having to provide a deed or receipt, without having to prove or show that he belongs to them. Rather they belong to him...we belong to him together. There's room for as many brothers and sisters as can be imagined. There's no need for exclusivity at all...no barriers between disciples and their town, nor between one town and another. Jesus visited them all, healed them all, and ultimately died and rose again for them all.
Paul provided a nice little template for how this all works in our second reading of the day, 1 Corinthians 9:16-23. I'll let you read it on your own, but in a nutshell Paul said that the way he brought the Good News to various people was to become a servant to those people, to belong to them, to become part of their family. When he spoke to Jews he became like a Jew. When he spoke to Gentiles he became like a Gentile. He became part of their family, serving them and belonging to them much the same way he served and belonged to Jesus. He understood that Jesus went from town to town without partiality and that his gospel touched them all. He forsook his own right to stand up for who he was--his "ownership" of his life--that they might better understand that God was truly with them. Through this sacrifice God not only became his, God touched the life of everyone with whom he ministered.
We must be careful when we act as if the words "our God" give us ownership instead of the reverse, that God owns us and we are his servants. Jesus belonged to no-one. Instead he belonged to everyone. Only by affirming this truth across, over, and in spite of every barrier that would keep us exclusive, will we understand the truth of God's service to us and the magnitude of the service he calls us to do for each other in his name.
--Pastor Dave (pastordave@geneseelutheranparish.org)
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