THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
Mark 5:21-43
Year B/Proper 8
Sometimes they can’t be
avoided; those days that begin calm and well and
suddenly turn into nightmares. It seems my turn for one was on Thursday. After
everything had begun quietly one disaster after another erupted. From flooring
installation people stretching my patience to the brink, to phone problems,
emails and phone calls burning up my lines, the cherry on the cake was finally delivered
when the water main to my house was discovered to be ruptured.
I had carefully laid out
Thursday to work on my sermon instead of Friday. Not only did that idea go
right down the drink, weariness began to take it’s
toll by mid afternoon; if not sooner. And then something small but wonderful
happened. I saved a little life. It might not have been so, but it happened.
For my birthday the parish
secretary gave me a wonderful new bird feeder. I couldn’t wait to try it out,
but when I put it up it seemed the birds weren’t interested. Once they found
it, however, there has been an amazing variety of winged creatures –
long-tailed squirrels as well - filling their hungry tummies at the feast.
Thursday afternoon, trying to find a moment of peace, I went out on the deck. When I am out there the birds usually
disappear. But Thursday one stayed at the feeder and didn’t move. Thinking that
odd, I moved closer. It seemed the tiny bird’s head was stuck in one of the
feeder’s openings. Moving very close there was no evidence of breathing or a
little heart beating beneath a tiny breast. So I brought out some Kleenex and
began to gently extricate this sad little dead creature, when as soon as I
gently pulled on his little body he fluttered and flew away.
As he soared back into the
trees above, my heart soared with him, for there is something so wondrous and
exhilarating about life that everything else, every other struggle, seems to
settle into a lesser place. Every moment like that reminds us how fragile life
is. As it says in the “Shield” this month “He
who dies with the most toys is still dead”.
In the
Epistle today, Paul pleas for aid to the Christians in
While the Jews were saying
Jewish Christians were guilty of heresy it is the gentile Christians who are
called upon to act in the image of Christ and do the Christ-like thing.
In today’s gospel we have the
healing of unequals. Jarius, the synagogue ruler, and the woman with the flow
of blood, are brought together by the gospel writer by what they share in
common; the desperation of their similar circumstances.
Archbishop of
It has been said that the
It’s easy to see these two
stories as two separate healings, but in the first century that would have only
been part of the message. For women with a flow of blood and dead people were taboo in Judaism. In the Book of Leviticus the rules
regarding bleeding women are many. Anyone who touched her or anything she touched
was automatically unclean. Imagine the courage it took for her to reach through
the crowd to touch Jesus’ clothing. It immediately made Jesus unclean. It was
the same for touching a dead body; even the child of a synagogue leader.
Interestingly enough, it was
not Jesus’ healings that got him into trouble, but his failure to respect the
system of authority that existed in the religious hierarchy. Over and over
again he is asked where he dares to get the authority to do these things. And I
dare say it is the question and issue of authority which is driving much of the
crisis in the church today.
One Anglican writer, writing
over three years ago, says, “Some say
authority is rooted only in Petrine authority, or the papacy. Others say it is
rooted in the historic Church, in the episcopate. Others say authority is
derived from human experience or reason. Still others, such as adherents to the
Anglican via media, maintain that authority for faith resides in a combination
of all of the above.”
That’s certainly what I was
taught about Anglicanism.
The question of authority is
the perennial question in Jesus’ ministry. By what authority did he claim the
right to say, “You have heard that it
was said…but I say to you…”? By what
authority did he stand before his family and neighbors in
Other religious leaders at
the time had clear lines of authority. The chief priests had undergone a rite
of consecration; in an unbroken line of priests dating back to Moses and Aaron.
The source of authority for the scribes was their immense knowledge of sacred scripture.
But what right did Jesus have to validate his authority? He had not undergone any rite of
consecration. He was not studied, nor had he spent years sitting at the feet of
any learned rabbi. He had no degrees, no certificate of ordination. So why are
any of us here this morning, giving our precious time proclaiming we are his
followers?
We are here because we say
the authority of Jesus was rooted in what scholars have called his “Abba
experience”. Jesus’ authority came from his immediate, unparalleled intimacy
with God; whom he called “Abba”. It was this unprecedented, gauze-thin
closeness to the loving Creator God that enabled Jesus, not only to heal, but
to claim authority over all other laws and institutions. Jesus’ authority was
beyond any established authority. It was a transcendent authority; not brought
about by any ritual, degree, or law. It came from his being. It was the very
essence of him. This was his authority. It was this aura of love, the presence
of God that emanated from his being; that both drew people to him and allowed
him to bring wholeness and life to them.
At his point of desperation
the leader of the synagogue could have cared less what kind of background Jesus
had; who accepted him or who rejected him. The woman who touched his garment,
in her desperation and exile had nothing more to lose. Desperation is a great
leveler of people. How sad, that it is often only in moments of life and death,
moments of desperation and suffering, that we are brought low enough to be able
to see into the eyes, the soul, of the other; the moment when all other issues
settle into a lesser place.
It is said that when the late
great and holy Archbishop of Canterbury, Michael Ramsey, would get fit to be
tied in the House of Bishops in England, he would rest his weary head into his
hand, his bushy eyebrows drawn tightly together, and he would say, “Oh
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, what WOULD you think of all this?”
No doubt all of us have had
similar thoughts when it comes to these last few days and even last few
years. Are we finally headed towards a
point of desperation so leveling that we will fall down on our knees, swallowing
our pride and seeing the plight of the other beside us, no matter who they are?
Maybe that’s what it will take for us.
For it is said that the
Kingdom of God is not so much for the well meaning as it is for the desperate.
I don’t have the answers. I
do know what it felt like the other day to be in some small way instrumental in
giving life back to a tiny bird caught in a desperate situation. I don’t know
if the bird would be considered by the experts to be welcomed or shunned. I
only know that on a very bad day in June, I felt a little bit like I was part
of something much greater than myself. In that moment I felt I was acting in
the image of Christ as much as any priest standing behind an altar. I believe
that is what the church is called to do, over and above and against everything
else; to bring life to all those who sit in the shadow of death, every kind of
death.
On Friday afternoon, as I was
finishing this sermon something happened that astonished me. Sitting at my desk
something happened that has never happened in the 22 years I have been in that
study. A bird flew into the window glass. At first I thought it had flown into
it accidentally, but when I looked up it had recovered and sat on the thinnest
of edges looking in. Moving close to the window I expected it to fly away, but
it stayed there peering in. So I opened the window to the screen and spoke to
it. Only then did it fly away. Need I tell you that it was the same kind of
bird that I pulled from the bird feeder the day before? I cannot say that it
was that bird. I can only say that life is more mysterious and wonderful than
we can ever imagine – and that is what God calls us to be part of – in Christ’s
Name.
To act in the image of
Christ; that is what I believe it means to be a Christian – and I pray- what it
still means to be an Anglican. That is my prayer for us, because I believe that
is God’s will for us.
AMEN
The Rev. Virginia L. Bennett,
D.Min.
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church