Mark 1:29-39 & Isaiah 40:21-31
5th
Sunday After Epiphany Year B
The evangelist Mark is known for his use of the word translated throughout his gospel as “immediately.” In many ways this short Gospel suits us. The action tends to be fast-moving; in this gospel we get the shortest version of various stories that were later repeated – always with more detail and embellishment – by Luke and Matthew in their gospels. Therefore, the movement feels faster, and we don’t dwell very long anywhere before Mark moves us to the next scene.
We see this movement in today’s gospel which begins “as soon as” and then we find ourselves in Simon Peter’s house. There his mother-in-law lies ill with a fever, which is healed and then, right away, the woman gets up to perform her duty of providing hospitality to the guests of the house.
Suddenly it is evening, when Jesus does a whole bunch of healing of those flocking to him with every manner of physical, spiritual and emotional or mental affliction or demon possession and then it is morning again, and before anyone else arises, Jesus heads out into the darkness before dawn to pray.
We, who gladly pay a membership fee so that Amazon Prime will get our stuff to us in two days or less, who pay big bucks for high speed internet access and who immediately pull out our phones to get the answer to any question our lives or our conversations might conjure up, like this fast pace we find in Mark’s gospel, because waiting is one of humanity’s least favorite activities. If you don’t have/do any of those things, what does waiting look like to you?
All I know is that it is a miracle we lived through the dial-up internet years, that we survived to the end of each school year when we were young, or that waiting for the arrival of a loved one, or for vacation time to roll around, or for the end of this damnable pandemic has not done us in.
The prophet Isaiah’s words in our first lesson assure us that we are not the first people to feel this way, though our culture of instant gratification has certainly made it worse.
Imagine waiting for 70 years in exile in Babylon, for instance, for that is the experience of those for whom Isaiah writes.
For decades, God’s chosen people had lived in a foreign land, cut off from their families, homes, jobs, and comforts, homesick, impatient for God to deliver them. Their long wait made them feel betrayed and abandoned by God. It is into this reality that Isaiah speaks the word of the Lord: “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless.”
Still today, while we repeatedly punch the “close doors” button on our elevators, frustrated by our wait, refugee communities know, perhaps better than any of us, what it is like to wait like the Israelites waited. Suffering, longing people know how hard it is to not lose hope that something will change.
But then, the word of the Lord breaks through. “Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not be faint.”
Petty annoyances aside, we each in our own way, know the despair, of waiting too, don’t we? Some in our community are experiencing the wait of a diagnosis or an update on the efficacy of the treatment they receive for various conditions. Some are waiting to see improvement. Some are waiting to see progression. And then, of course, we have become more familiar with waiting than we ever thought we would be in the past year, when COVID has so drastically changed our world and our lives.
Out of a plethora of experiences, we know what it is like to wonder “Where is God in the midst of this mess?”
When we read powerful, miracle stories like the one recorded in Mark’s Gospel about Peter’s mother-in-law who is sick with a fever, whom Jesus heals in an instant, and we might well wonder, “What about me?”
We hear that the whole city gathers at Simon’s door, and that Jesus heals and casts out demons for many of them, and we might well wonder, “what about mine?”
And we, who may still be waiting for God to heal and restore, may still be waiting impatiently for the vaccine, who are impatient for our lives – and our world – to return to “normal,” or who have lost loved ones wonder: But what about me?
We know friends and family members who are valiantly battling cancers of all kinds, we have loved ones deep in addiction’s grip, we know families that are fighting or estranged, children who are struggling, people desperately yearning, searching, for meaningful, stable employment or relief from troubles that assail them.
We ourselves may be waiting for mental, physical or spiritual healing for things outside of our control. We pray for peace yet find ourselves witness to a world consumed by anything but peace.
We may ask, “what are we to make of Jesus’ healing stories today?”
Barbara Brown Taylor writes, “The problem with miracles is that it is hard to witness them without wanting one of your own. Every one of us knows someone who is suffering. Every one of us knows someone who could use a miracle, but miracles are hard to come by.”
And, in their absence, we theorize, theologize, and spiritualize, offering unhelpful and even hurtful words and platitudes like:
“God will use this (whatever) to build your character”, or,
“What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger!” or,
“God’s timing is different than ours—just be patient.”
Or, my least favorite, “Everything happens for a reason.”
As well intentioned as these responses are, they, too, represent a part of our inability to sit quietly, to wait, or to recognize the promises and presence of God in the midst of our suffering.
Instead, these claims and admonitions assume that health, riches, and comfort are the norms we should expect to experience in this life, and when they fail us, if we have enough faith and if God is faithful enough, then we should expect a miracle.
Yet, the all the Gospels together record only about three dozen miracle stories. All told, Jesus actually only healed a small number of people in one tiny part of the world before he died.
Though the crowds continued to look for him the morning after he healed Simon’s mother-in-law, Jesus moved on. He needed to proclaim the Good News somewhere else.
His primary mission was to proclaim the Kingdom of God, not to eliminate the world’s disease and despair. The Jesus of scripture is actually much more elusive, subtle, and quiet than our quick-fix culture wants to make him.
Jesus is a Savior who eludes the crowds,
Seeks out deserted places,
Prays in the dark.
The thing is while yes, the kingdom of God has already come, and it’s inbreaking during Jesus’ time on earth was marked by all kinds of signs and wonders, these signs and wonders are not our daily reality. They aren’t meant to be. The kingdom is not yet complete. It has not come to its fullness.
Jesus promises that someday, when the kingdom has fully come, all will be well, but all is not well yet. Our great task, great sorrow, great calling, and great journey as disciples of Christ is to live graciously and compassionately in this vast and sometimes terrible time-in-between:
We are called to offer the comfort of our steady presence to those who suffer. To remember our baptism, and how God claimed us and blessed us for life that is life-giving; that brings healing through compassion, forgiveness and love; that walks beside the one who struggles; that looks out and speaks up for the poor and marginalized, the objectified and abused, the lonely and abandoned.
As disciples of Christ, we are created and called to restore community, family, and dignity to those who walk through this life sick, weak, and wounded.
And God’s promise as we walk this pathway forward, is not for abundant miracles that instantly take all pain away, but for everlasting strength that sustains us until that day when all is indeed made well.
As adamantly as the prophet Isaiah acknowledges, how hard it is for God’s people to wait for the promised redemption, the prophet also insists that our LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth, who sits above the circle of the earth, and creates all its mountains and valleys. It is God who will overcome evil and anguish, loss and despair, who will bring new life out of suffering, and who, through Jesus Christ redeems and sustains, who does not faint or grow weary.
In the midst of suffering and despair, and confusion and impatience, in this time of waiting and wondering when things will get better, you don’t have to run on empty. Rely on God’s strength.
We don’t like to wait. For anything.
But this time-in-between, where we find ourselves, is where God promises to come to us.
Amid our mess,
sitting with us in times of sickness and sorrow, isolation and fear,
God gives us strength and power to live, simply because He loves us.
Have you not known? Have you not heard?
God does not faint or grow weary;
God gives power to the faint,
and strengthens the powerless.
Waiting is hard. Living well in the tension between the already-and-the-not-yet is hard. But hard is where our Savior dwells. May we have the courage to dwell there in faith, too, until that day when all is made well.
Amen.
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