One of the beauties of our liturgical tradition is the lectionary: it’s an intentional collection of rich scriptures, put side by side, as we do our best to understand the world in today’s context. We draw on the history, teachings, and prayers that have revealed God’s presence throughout generations and over millennia – and continue to speak to us here, today. AND – thanks be to God – will continue to mean much in the years of the future.
So let’s start with the depth of the emotions we hear in the readings – because in all of them, there is a desire – a desperation even – for healing. And healing starts when we acknowledge the wound.
In the passage from Samuel, we are hearing grief. Raw, powerful, painful grief. David is crying – Saul and Jonathan have died in battle. And David laments.
Ah, lament – such a loaded word – evoking the feelings of deep, profound loss. It’s a word we can all understand, because we have all, at some point, experienced that soul-piercing grief.
And that is where David speaks to us from today.
And… it’s awkward, isn’t it? Uncomfortable. Because we don’t like seeing other people’s grief. We try to avoid their pain – if we’re honest, we’re a society that doesn’t like dealing with our OWN pain.
So lament feels… off. Weird. Turn away and don’t engage, kind of thing.
Yet: we know, that grief is part of the process of healing. It’s the first step; if we don’t know what the hurt is, we can’t start to recover from it. So David’s lament over this loss of life needs to be honoured. And recognised for what it was – because David has not lost his best-ever friend, these two were often at odds – but still: human life was lost, and as a result the family, the community – was diminished.
And David lamented.
This is the same lament that we feel when we hear of loss. Of diminished community. Of unnecessary violence.
It’s the same lament that the psalmist begins with, when we hear the need to have that grief seen, heard, recognised: Out of the depths have I called you, O Lord. Hear my voice.
And it is the same faith that carries us into hope. The psalmist continues: I wait for you; my soul waits for you; in your word is my hope.
So let’s continue delving deeply into God ‘s words.
For the words of God, the Bible, are not limited to our English language – they are bigger and more involved that anything we can put on a page, and translate… and this richness of lexicography – the words – this expands the hope and grace that is being offered to the people of God – that is, to us all.
The word to excel (now as you excel in everything) in the Greek means to abound or overflow – so these gifts of faith, speech, knowledge, eagerness, and love – these are more than just excellent qualities; they are overflowing from the community.
The word for grace can at times be translated as favour, privilege, generous action, blessing – again there’s more to is, as this is the life-giving power of God. Jane Lancaster Patterson describes grace as “the power that is saving and reconciling the world, a power with its origins in God, its channel through communities of believers, and its goal in every place where brokenness, suffering, and destruction reign.”
Paul is writing to a community that knows this brokenness – and he is inviting them to consider new expressions of social and economic justice – they’re being invited to use their money and goods to extend God’s grace. And the Koine Greek uses some word play and rhythm to convey the message in a way that our English falls a little short. For the words of poverty and poor are written in a way that are messy – a PT sound that’s very… well, (spitting sounds) not attractive.
And these contrast with softer, more elegant sounds for grace, joy, thanksgiving. The rhythm of the Greek conveys a message of moving towards dignity for all. And this is done by the grace of God, and sometimes despite the actions of the people – because God’s grace is a gift for all. God’s grace heals.
Which brings us nicely to the Gospel passage today, where we hear the pattern of two miraculous and gracious healings in Jesus’ ministry, sandwiched into one passage. In both of these stories of healing, the culturally acceptable thing would have been to not get involved.
And a big part of this was a concept of ritual purity: if I touch the unclean, then I will BE unclean. And a dying girl, or a hemorrhaging woman: both were considered unclean by society.
And let’s think about them for a moment. They’re ill. Depleted. A woman bleeding for over a decade – she’s likely anemic, exhausted, possibly abandoned by her husband when she couldn’t produce an heir… unemployable, dehumanised, all her money long gone to doctors who could not heal her. And she risks being out in the crowd – alone – to be near Jesus.
In the midst of a crowd that could reject her and punish her; yet she persisted. And touching the hem of his cloak was enough to bring her relief – physical, emotional, spiritual relief. And when she could remain hidden in the immense crowd, she does the right thing by admitting her actions, apologising, accepting accountability.
Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace.
And a child – an innocent child, whose father has such faith as to request that the rabbi risk societal and religious defilement by laying his hands on her. And Jesus doesn’t hesitate – even when he hears that the child has died (and is therefore more of a threat to Jesus’ standing in the4 community) – he goes. It is the right thing to do. He acknowledges the emotional depth of the lament, and is ridiculed when he says their timing is off. And alas – touching the dead girls’ hand, she is reanimated – and hungry.
Daughter, parents, neighbours, your faith has made you well. Go in peace.
When we come to Jesus, our faith makes us well.
When Jesus comes to us, our faith makes us well.
Jesus is the catalyst of grace; and amazes with this pattern of healing; a celebration of inclusion in community; an outpouring of grace; a gift of wholeness. And throughout all ages, this is what we seek: health. Well-being.
Health, of course, is not a destination – we don’t ‘arrive’ at health – it’s an ongoing process and journey. Health of body; health of mind; health of spirit. We seek the spiritual wholeness that comes through the mercy of God.
And so we journey through the realities of life, rooted in the Good News of God:
weaving together emotional depth in rhythm and word and pattern. And revealing for us truth beyond our imagination; grace beyond our comprehension; forgiveness beyond our capacity; and hope beyond belief. And: the promise that the journey is not finished.
Because as long as we know ourselves to be striving for the kin-dom of God, we know that forgiveness is promised, that our voices are heard, that our presence is welcomed, and that our health and salvation is assured.
Siblings in Christ, our faith is making us well. Go in peace.
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