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“Jesus Reached Out and Touched. . . .”
Rev. Dr. Marisa Laviola
First Congregational Church,
United Church of Christ
February 15, 2009
As we continue on the journey with Jesus in this first chapter of the Gospel of Mark, on the road to Jerusalem, today we witness an extraordinary meeting between Jesus and a man who is an outcast from society, and marginalized in the worst of ways. Let’s listen to Mark’s account of this encounter in verses 40-45.
1:40 A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, "If you choose, you can make me clean."
1:41 Moved with compassion, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, "I do choose. Be made clean!"
1:42 Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean.
1:43 After sternly warning him he sent him away at once,
1:44 saying to him, "See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them."
1:45 But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.
As Jesus continues his journey, preaching and healing, a leper came to him. A leper. A social pariah. At the time of Jesus, in the towns that surrounded Jerusalem, a common leper was an untouchable, a reject of society, a non-person who was not allowed to come close to any other human being. If the disease had not yet progressed to the point of being physically obvious, of skin lesions or deformity, lepers were to mark themselves otherwise by wearing tattered clothes. They were not to wash or cut their hair so that everyone would know to avoid them at all costs. Any touch of such an untouchable would make another ceremonially unclean. You see, leprosy is contagious, but not that contagious. The problem was not so much with infection, although that was part of the picture. But if someone even touched an unblemished part of the leper, that person would be made ceremonially unclean and that person would have to present himself or herself to a priest for a weeklong cleansing ritual.
The leprous man in this story appears to know something of the tradition of his religion. He appears to know something of the story handed down through oral tradition and written in the ancient text. In II Kings, Vivian read that Namaan, a military leader, who suffered from leprosy, came to Elisha, a prophet of God, and this prophet of God told Namaan to wash seven times in the waters of the Jordan. The man in this story in Mark may have believed that only a man of God such as Elisha could help him. And he very well may have heard about Jesus and may have thought of Jesus as such a man of God. He may have hoped that Jesus was at least as powerful as a prophet of Israel centuries before.
The scripture tells us that this common, ordinary one, hardly a well-regarded military commander as was Namaan, approached Jesus nonetheless with incredible courage, risking further rejection, risking that Jesus might not even talk with him unless he stood at a safe distance. Yet with all the courage, and with all the reverence and worship as anyone of his day would come into the presence of a man of God, he came. Listen again to these words: A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, "If you choose, you can make me clean."
And what does Jesus do? Does he keep his distance? Does he heal him but from afar, from across the road? Does he tell him to go and wash himself in the Jordan seven times?
Listen closely to what Jesus does. “Filled with compassion, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched the man. And he said, I am willing, be clean.”
What jumps out at you when you hear this verse? That Jesus says, as he says many times to many people, “be healed?” That Jesus touches him? What jumps out at me is that Jesus touches him first. Jesus touches him before he says the words “be clean.” Jesus reached out and touched this pariah, just as he was, humanly rejectable and humanly untouchable in his filthy, smelly, diseased state, without turning his head or holding his nose. Without a thought of catching the dreaded disease and without a thought for himself becoming ceremonially unclean. And only then did he say “I am willing. Be made clean.” Jesus’ touch preceded his words. Jesus did not wait to cleanse him first and make him acceptable for physical touch. Jesus touch healed this man at the point of his deepest need: to be wanted and to be included despite his state that had banished him to a leper colony, isolated from his family, friends, community, and the entire society. Jesus touched him with a warm and gentle hand, a loving and compassionate eye, a solid and intimate presence.
Jesus’ touch said to him “child of God, you are loved and accepted just as you are, in your present humanity, a state that human beings have declared unacceptable.” Who knows how long Jesus’ hand lingered there? Eyes remained affixed? Presence remained the healing balm of a new reality of inclusion and relationship?
When I first began working on my doctorate in psychology, many years ago, I interned for a semester on an oncology unit at a major teaching hospital. At the time, AIDS was first being diagnosed. Diagnosis, transmission of contagion, and treatment were in their infancy. I was assigned to a man on the unit who was dying from AIDS. We were told to wear surgical gloves when with him as a precaution. I remember sitting with him one day as he told me how his disease had led to him coming out to his family as a gay man. He wept bitterly and despondently as he relayed to me the rejection of his family when he told them he was gay. I awkwardly sat in silence, not really knowing how to respond. At one point, I tentatively put my gloved hand on his arm. A veteran nurse walked into the room, much to my relief. This nurse had a reputation for being very awe inspiring to fledgling interns, yet very compassionate with patients. She gave me a knowing look, took her glove off, and held his hand, flesh to flesh. All three of us sat there crying as she cooed to him as a mother would coo to her child. When I thanked her later for rescuing me from my inadequacy, she said to me, “honey, you gotta protect yourself from disease, you’re only human, but you’re gonna have to find a way to touch people at a deep Jesus level. He needed touch more than I needed protection.” At that moment, I realized Jesus had been in that room. Not only had Jesus touched that dear man, but Jesus also had touched me and had begun to heal me of my shyness and reticence as I was struggling to find a way to touch people in their deep and palpable pain, to bring Jesus’ touch to their lives.
Jesus touched the leper and changed his life. But then Jesus immediately ordered him to tell no one. Jesus said, “Go, and show yourself to the priest, and, as Moses commanded, make an offering for your cleansing, for a testimony to them.” Jesus essentially told this man to take a week to get ritual purification before doing anything else! According to Jesus’ strong admonition, he wasn’t to return to his friends or family, wasn’t to testify to his healing, wasn’t to share his joy, for a whole week! But why would Jesus attempt to silence him and stifle his enthusiasm and joy? The next verse gives us a hint at Jesus’ urgency. We read in the very next verse “now more than ever the word about Jesus spread abroad; many crowds would gather to hear him and to be cured of their diseases.” The word about Jesus spread because this man “proclaimed it freely and spread the word.” It was indeed impossible to stifle this man’s praise of being touched by Jesus. But that touch and the word of that touch brought others who also wanted to be touched--so much so that Jesus became overwhelmed and needed to retreat to deserted places to pray.
In my home church, Church of the Covenant in downtown Boston, there are homeless people surrounding the church, as it sits on Newbury St., a sobering junction of rich and poor. A few of those homeless folks visit during worship from time to time. One Sunday morning, a face that is more familiar on the street outside of our church than in our sanctuary came up the aisle during prayer concerns and celebrations for what we incorrectly thought would be a word of praise to God for her new hairdo. What she told us shamed our stereotypical attitudes and brought tears to many eyes. This familiar homeless face told us that one day when she had offered her cup to someone to ask for spare change, the person gave her a gift certificate to get her hair washed and cut. She managed to tell us, through embarrassed tears, how she experienced the love of God through the healing touch of those who washed and cut and combed her hair. She said, “Nobody touches me anymore. I’m an untouchable because I’m a dirty homeless woman. But these people touched me. They washed my dirty hair, they washed my dirty face, they washed my hands and gave me a manicure. Sweet Jesus, these people touched me. God does still love me.” This dear woman could not contain her joy; she just had to share the healing through touch that she had experienced.
The leper, the man with AIDS, the homeless woman. All people who have difficulty finding acceptance in society, all people who need Jesus’ touch, Jesus total acceptance just as they are, who need the message of hope that they are loved and included as children of God even though human beings may think otherwise.
But how about us, right here today? What message of just as I am does any of us need? What message of total love despite feeling unacceptable does God have for any of us today? In what areas of our lives might we feel unacceptable? Not fully embraced by God? By the church? By society?
I would imagine that anyone of us from time to time has questioned the full embrace of God and others; anyone of us from time to time has known someone who has questioned the full embrace of God and others: those who suffer from chronic or intractable pain; those who suffer in painful relationships and difficult home lives; those who are watching years increase and energy decrease, those who suffer from depression; those who suffer from the societal stigma of mental illness or disability, those who suffer in unrelenting grief, those who feel rejected or not fully accepted by family, those who struggle with resentment and bitterness, those who feel like they give so much—to family, to church—and feel worn so out—with no one or place to go to fill their cup. I could think of other examples, and, I imagine, so could you. I must wonder how many ways any of us yearns, deep in our hearts, for total acceptance, for the healing balm of Jesus’ touch. My friends there are countless ways that Jesus offers the healing balm of touch, wants us to receive the healing balm of touch. My friends, there are countless ways that Jesus wants us to offer the healing balm of touch to others.
I’d like to end by reading an email from a parishioner that I received in response to a sermon I preached at a church a few years ago where I served as youth minister. The sermon was based on the Luke lectionary text that on that Sunday also urged us to consider Jesus’ healing touch. He sent me this email message a few days after the worship service:
He writes these words:
This morning I boarded the orange line [the train] at Haymarket Station. I entered the car and since I was going all the way to Mass Avenue, I moved deeply into the train where I was immediately addressed by a smiling and red-eyed man with his hand extended. For some reason I reached out and took his hand.
Now, normally I would move on and bury my nose in my book. But instead, I was prompted to take this man's hand, look him in the eyes and address his common humanity. We talked for what seemed like ages, but was only a very short while since we only went 2 stops to Downtown Crossing, where he disembarked.
His red rimmed eyes, 3-4 days of stubble and greasy hair were offputting to his fellow passengers. I looked beyond his broken and scarred nose and listened as he spoke of "Sammy" who was knifed at Walpole [prison]; his brother Paul who was still "inside;" how he [Mikey] had been in Walpole, Concord and back to Walpole and was "just out, again."
I responded, "We all have our prisons that we go in and out of. Mine is a hospital and everytime I go in they take a piece out of me." I said this not with bitterness, but matter-of-factly. "But, you know, whatever our prison, we keep walking, right?"
He laughed, gently and squeezed my hand. His skin was soft and silky as only old and well worn hands can be.
He got up and left the train, loathe to remove his hand from mine. "Keep walking," he said and was gone in the crowd. Such a brief encounter. Really nothing in the course of the day. The woman beside me touched my shoulder and said, "Excuse me, but that was so nice of you to do that. He's been trying to talk to folks ever since he got on. No one will pay attention to him. But you did... " I mentioned your sermon and she responded with how messed up our society is. How no one cares about anyone else. She is a mother of six. Widowwed at a young age. The Mayor of Boston held a drawing for a house (way back when) and she won. She shared her blessing with me.
First 1 person; then another. Like the far distant effect on weather that the Rocky Mountains have on Europe: keeping it warm; and keeping Labrador cool. So, do our simple actions bless and validate others who walk in this world with us.
Jesus’ presence is right here in the midst of us, if we allow ourselves to see and to experience Jesus. Jesus is touching each one of us at every turn if we pause long enough to notice the balm of healing: hand outstretched, eyes affixed, intimate presence the healing salve of a radical experience of inclusion and relationship. Jesus’ hand is on us, outstretched toward us, as our hands are in the hands of each other, bringing that loving, accepting, and healing touch. As our hands are in the hands of those outside of this fold, inviting them into our community of faith. As our hands are in the hands of any of those we encounter in our daily lives each and everyday. Jesus’ touch says to all of us, dear child you are loved and accepted just as you are, no matter what your imperfections, scars, or blemishes. We do not earn such love and acceptance; we do not earn such healing and inclusion. It is a gift. Dare in faith to accept this gift. And then, go forth with a sense of joy and a renewed sense of witness to share this gift with everyone you encounter. As with any gift, as with any Godly presence, as with any touch of healing, as you share, such will return to you many fold.
“This is My Chosen”
Luke 9:28-43
Rev. Dr. Marisa Laviola
First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ
Morrisville, VT
We are at the dawn of the Lenten season. Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of 40 days up until Easter, of prayer, reflection, and taking a deep look at our relationship with God in light of the life, ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Today we celebrate what is marked on the liturgical calendar as “Transfiguration Sunday”, an incredibly profound experience of Jesus and his 3 closest disciples, which points to Jesus’ resurrection and even his ascension more than 40 days after that. We also celebrate today what will forever be marked in the life of our church as the day we dedicated our lay leaders for 2009. And as we celebrate the transfiguration of Jesus; as we celebrate our lay leaders, we anticipate 40 days of travel with Jesus onward to Jerusalem, beginning this Ash Wednesday.
And as we contemplate the relevance of these ancient verses in the Gospel of Luke for our modern lives, we are met with a challenge. Just as we rejoice with Jesus and his disciples on the mountain, just as we celebrate our new lay leaders, both pinnacles in the life of the church, just as quickly, we come down off the mountain, into the deep reality of the humanity of life, ministry, and human vulnerability—the human vulnerability of Jesus. Come with me now in these few moments as we anticipate another leg on the road to Jerusalem; as we anticipate our journey through the Lenten season and as we begin to discern anew the meaning of Jesus’ life and ministry for our lives and ministry. These verses, perhaps more than any other verses in the gospels, speak to the incredible relevance of the person of Jesus Christ to each of us as we lead and as we follow one another in ministry, in fellowship, in the life of our family of faith.
Just one day after coming down from the mountain and ultimate divine connection, Jesus responds to a heartfelt plea from a father for the healing of his son. Jesus’ manner is in sharp contrast to the image from a day before, and is in sharp contrast to his manner that we have read about thus far. In the healings of a demoniac, a woman who was severely ill, and a leper, Jesus responds with authority, gentleness, and welcoming touch. But in this instance, Jesus responds in a way that we have not yet read in the gospels, and I believe won‘t read again; in a way that we do not typically associate with Jesus and healing. Jesus’ response is shocking, perplexing, and disturbing. Jesus responds with disgust, impatience, harshness, and criticism. “YOU FAITHLESS AND PERVERSE GENERATION, HOW MUCH LONGER MUST I BE WITH YOU AND BEAR WITH YOU?” He’s angry and his tone gives the impression that he might very well prefer that everyone just go away and leave him alone. He does what he is called to do. He fulfills his ministry by healing the boy, but he does so with a lousy bed-side manner. He makes it clear that he is not at all feeling gentle or welcoming.
How are we to understand the sequence of this text? The movement from transfiguration and affirmation of Divine connection, to what appears to be a deep and overwhelming experience of irritation and impatience just one day later? Up on the mountain, along with an illuminating spiritual experience, he receives a verbal affirmation from God, just as at his baptism: “This is my chosen Son, listen to him.” And he speaks with Moses and Elijah, whose presence affirm the culmination of his ministry as the resurrection and most likely the ascension as well.
Often on Transfiguration Sunday, these are the verses that we focus upon. If we were to stop at these verses, we would leave with good feelings. Easter’s coming. Everything’s gonna be okay. Jesus will overcome. And we have a full slate of lay leaders and so many others who serve this church. And we’re about to eat a terrific brunch with terrific fellowship and stewardship. Life is really good, superlative on this day. And yes it is.
But perhaps, the gospel writer is cautioning us, not so fast. Let’s not leap to Easter yet. We have Lent to ponder. We have the road to Jerusalem to contemplate and to wonder about. We have the everyday life of ministry to ponder as we work and play together in this church with service to the community and to this world of ours.
YOU FAITHLESS AND PERVERSE GENERATION; YOU CORRUPT AND IMMORAL PEOPLE---HOW MUCH LONGER MUST I BE WITH YOU AND BEAR WITH YOU?
But what are we to ponder? Who is this Jesus, so free with his harshness in the face of such vulnerability, and sounding like he’s angry on his own behalf? Who seems not to care how his words impact this vulnerable father and this kid who cannot advocate for himself and has no voice? Why and with whom is this Jesus so disgusted and angry in the first place?
Is he angry with the disciples for not being able to heal the boy? At the beginning of chapter 9 we would read that he had just given the 12 disciples power to heal and they did a great job and Jesus was pretty pleased with them. While James, John, and Peter had been up on the mountain with him, Jesus had left the rest of the disciples in charge of healings. According to both Mark and Matthew’s presentation of this passage, the disciples could not heal in this case, because such a healing would require more faith and prayer than they were capable.
Or perhaps it was the crowd, as Mark’s version of this same passage suggests, that questioned his ability to heal. But the crowd had questioned him before, many times. None of this seems enough of an explanation for such an outburst.
It has been suggested in at least one commentary, that Jesus’ anger went well beyond the present circumstances that he faced as he came down the mountain. I would like us to consider, for just a moment, that perhaps Jesus anger had more to do with realizations that were beginning to come together for him, realizations that he was pondering as he was walking back down that mountain, realizations that were beginning to weigh very heavily on him as a human being. Perhaps these were realizations that his disciples couldn’t go with him where he was to travel ultimately; that faith was certainly lacking on everyone’s part, and always would be. But even more than that, at that moment, he looked out at all the people, not just the crowd here, but all the people, that in his short life he had heard and had answered the call for the healing and sustenance of their physical and spiritual welfare. I would like us to consider, that as he was pondering these difficult realizations, this father’s request was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And he lashed out with harsh cries from a deep sense of his vulnerable and overwhelmed humanity.
Perhaps this is the first time that it sank in for Jesus that all these people, even his closest friends, were not capable of going where he was going--to unspeakable suffering and death--and he was doing it all for them--and for all the generations to come. At that integrating moment he was able to grasp that no one got it, no one ever would, and where he was going he would have to go utterly and totally alone.
But, we might say, you would think his mountaintop experience would have buoyed him because he would realize it would all be worth it in the end. But, such an interpretation would underplay Jesus’ humanity. Mountaintop experiences are not where human beings live day to day. And sometimes mountaintop experiences highlight the magnitude of the task in the valley below.
So, what does any of this have to do with our modern lives and ministry? Do we dare to compare our humanity to the humanity of Jesus? Do we dare to compare our mountaintops of joy and celebration in our personal and family lives—birth of children, marriage, graduation, hope for a new church year with new lay leadership--to Jesus’ transfiguration? Do we dare compare our experiences in the lowest of valleys—illness and death of loved ones, divorce, our own illnesses, dashed expectations from friends, family members, difficulties in church relationships that have led beloved members to leave our fold--to Jesus’ experience of being totally alone and isolated as he proceeds to the cross?
One of the wonders of the Lenten season is to have the opportunity to ponder the full humanity of Jesus. And to ponder how Jesus’ humanity, how the unspeakable burden of Jesus’ humanity that was sitting as a very large weight at that very moment at the bottom of that mountain, is relevant to your and my life today. To ponder how we, like Jesus, when we have no words for such a burden, and no way to change that experience, lash out at those whom we perceive to be responsible for that experience, lash out in impatience and harshness, even as we are continuing our life and ministry.
Jesus said, “Faithless and perverse generation, corrupted and immoral people, those who cannot go with me where I am going, how much longer must I go with you and bear with you?” How do we relate to that? Jesus healed the boy anyway. How do we relate to that? Jesus kept his call to ministry utmost in focus. How do we relate to that? Jesus expressed his feelings fully and did not hide them. How do we relate to that? We clearly see Jesus who did not turn away from his Divine call. We clearly see Jesus the incarnate human being who could feel such unspeakable isolation and express it with such harsh cries of raw humanity on his own behalf.
To ponder the juxtaposition of transfiguration and divine connection alongside the raw humanity of Jesus can be challenging. It can be just as challenging to ponder the juxtaposition of our own experiences of joyous connection with God and with those we love at home and in our church family, alongside experiences of feeling overwhelmed, misunderstood, and alone, separated from God, home, or church family. In the life of our family of faith, there are those times when we celebrate, like today, new beginnings in the life of our church. There are also times when we grieve the trials of dissension that have led to separation of beloved church members and friends from our family of faith. Such is the life of imperfect and dedicated human beings striving to do God’s work for the good of Christ’s church.
The deepest burden of my humanity is when I feel isolated. Sometimes it’s a place where prayer is difficult; a place where I feel so cut off that even those closest to me can’t go there. At those times, knowing that Jesus experienced such a desolate and desperate place, even as he came down from a mountain where he was intimately connected with God, with knowledge of his ultimate destiny, adds a crucial dimension to the Eternal reaching towards me, that is so profound that it leaves me with a deep knowing that there is not a place I can go that God is not there already. And because God’s time is eternal time, I don’t have to think about Jesus having such an experience two millennia ago. I can think of Jesus being here right now, in the moment, or any moment I need Jesus to be. And knowing that Jesus healed anyway re-assures me that such feelings don’t negate God’s call for my ministry or my caring, or don’t negate the good work and the caring any of us has for our families, for our church, for any of those we care for.
As we read these verses, we meet a Jesus who understands all of our challenges, but not from afar, not from a lofty mountain bathed in dazzling white. He understands from a valley in the midst of a sea of humanity. Yes, he experienced the heights of connection with God. Yes, he experienced the joy of preaching the gospel and healing the afflicted. Yes, he experienced the warmth of welcoming the outcast and downtrodden. He also experienced the anger, pain, and frustration in the midst of human beings who failed him and left him feeling alone and isolated.
At this time of Lent, we are reluctant, yes even unable, as were the disciples, to go with Jesus on the road through suffering toward the cross. But let’s not run too fast to Easter lest we forget that Jesus’ feelings and speaking those feelings on his own behalf means that when we have profoundly difficult feelings, Jesus is right there with us because Jesus has preceded us there most intimately. Let’s take the time to ponder. Let’s take private time. Let’s find one another. Let’s come together in worship and prayer--at Ash Wednesday Service, to receive ashes or not, but to ponder together. Let’s come together at weekly Communion and Prayer services—to remember and to lift one another in prayer. Let’s lift our eyes to the mountaintop to praise God for the steadfast presence of Jesus. Let’s meet Jesus’ gaze face to face, as Jesus reaches out and touches our places that need healing. Let’s reach out to one another in love, in forgiveness, in reconciliation, knowing that each of us is surrounded by the incarnate God who came to live among us, experience our experiences, feel our hurts, celebrate our joys; who is eternally and intimately with us in all we are, in all we say, in all we do.
28 Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus* took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. 29And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. 30Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. 31They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. 32Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake,* they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. 33Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings,* one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’—not knowing what he said. 34While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. 35Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen;* listen to him!’ 36When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
37 On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. 38Just then a man from the crowd shouted, ‘Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. 39Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he* shrieks. It throws him into convulsions until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. 40I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.’ 41Jesus answered, ‘You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.’ 42While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. 43And all were astounded at the greatness of God.
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