by Rev. Carole Horton-Howe
Jesus and his disciples went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.
—Mark 1:21-28 (NRSV)
The members of a small neighborhood church had gathered for the memorial service of a beloved church member. The priest who was officiating had only been there a couple weeks and was not yet familiar with members or their families. So when a man she didn’t know came up to the altar at the end of communion she thought he must be a friend of the family.
Suddenly he threw himself on the floor in front of the altar and began to sob uncontrollably. It was one of those moments that life just made an incredible pivot. The church was shocked. The priest was shocked. Even the men from the funeral home - who had probably seen it all - were shocked. And he kept sobbing. It was the kind of moment where you’re not sure if you should interrupt such grief or watch and honor it.
After what seemed like a long time, two ushers gently helped him up and to the back of the church.
This priest had never seen such profound grief and looked for him after the service. She found him in the parking lot with a few concerned parishioners. One of them handed her a note that he had pulled out of his pocket. It read. “My name is Martin. I live in Claremont. I don’t remember my name or where I live most of the time. If you are reading this, I am lost. Please call my wife Lucy. And it listed a number.
The police arrived and asked him what brought him to the church that day. It was a real mystery because he would have had to have walked many miles or taken a series of buses to get there. He told the police he came because he was looking for a woman named Patricia. He asked each of the women in turn, “What’s your name? Are you Patricia?” And finally he came to the priest whose name actually was Patricia although she goes by Pat. “Hello” he said brightly, “I’ve been looking for you all my life.” Then calmly and quietly he got into the police car and they drove him home.
Pat and her parishioners were left wondering what was that? What just happened? Whatever the name Patricia meant to him he went on his way from there calm and collected – healed in some way. She had no explanation but she knows in the midst of a collected group of compassionate community, it happened. God’s care happened.
It’s like Jesus in our gospel story today. He shows up at the synagogue and begins to teach not by quoting prophets or Rabbi’s as the scribes did but from his heart about God with whom he is intimately connected. This leaves them amazed. The encounter with the unclean spirit is sudden and unexpected. His authority to dispatch it causes more than amazement. What a sight the healed and whole man must have been when the evil spirit left him. Jesus’ reputation as a healer increases exponentially.
The healing ministry of Jesus is important in Mark. A few interesting statistics: in Mark’s short gospel of just 16 chapters, there are more miracles than any other gospel. And of the 18 miracles recorded, 13 involve healing and 4 of those are exorcisms like we hear today.
Hearing this story, we are taken into a world that is far from our way of thinking. In the world when Jesus lived, belief in demons as actual beings was real. And terrifying.
I hear the voice of this unclean spirit as a taunting one, tightening its hold while denigrating Jesus. “What have you to do with us?” Like it’s saying, “I’ve been working this patch for a long time spreading pain among the vulnerable and the innocent, you whippersnapper. Who do you think you are?” Faith healers were not uncommon at that time. This ugly spirit might have already faced down some pretenders to the kind of power that Jesus actually brought to bear. And as all in the synagogue watch, Jesus knows where his power is from and that he brings relief through love and life to all – including those suffering under the weight of disease. He doesn’t back down. He tells the spirit to be quiet and be gone.
The unclean spirit’s obedience in effect recognizes that its power over people is ended. Jesus has indeed come to destroy the powers that threaten and demonize that which is more precious to God than any other bit of creation – God’s beloved children, each one of us. This is the second teaching of Jesus. He and he alone has the authority to be at the head of God’s kingdom to say what will bless God’s children, to declare what will endure for them and what will not, what is goodness and what is love. And he demonstrates it with an act of compassion.
In our world of today, in which many forms of sickness are a growing and terrifying concern, these stories of Jesus’ command over sickness seem magical or bizarre to some. When it comes to conquering illness, our default setting is science and what can be accomplished in laboratories and surgical suites.
This morning I heard disturbing news: it is one year ago today that the first case of COVID was identified and diagnosed in the United States. We all know what’s happened since. Hundreds of thousands of people have suffered and died. I also received an email yesterday from a friend who is a chaplain in a large hospital who described what it’s like in a COVID ICU. She said that outside the door of each ICU rooms are the stands that are hung with bags of medications ready to try to bring healing. There isn’t much noise other than the sounds of machines as they cycle or the hurried footsteps of doctors, nurses and therapists moving quickly between the rooms. There are no visitors, no TV’s on, no conversation. It’s quiet. But there’s a lot going on. There’s the compassionate presence of Jesus at work.
I remember in my own days as a hospital chaplain I came to understand that hospitals are like cathedrals. They are sacred space. There are as many prayers launched from hospitals as churches - from the staff, from the patients, from the families - calling on Jesus, asking for his presence and power to summon out the illness and dispatch it. And he is indeed there. In every IV stand, every bag of medication, every bit of equipment embodies Jesus saying “be still and be gone.” Every nurse and doctor bending over a patient and working with skill and wisdom is Jesus saying “be still and be gone.” Every chaplain sitting with a patient or talking on a cell phone with a family to calm them or read scripture to them is Jesus present and saying “be still and be gone.” These are all moments of healing. It is Jesus’ presence in the most compassionate way through those called to the healing arts.
The outcomes are not what we always want. We’ve all seen video of folks leaving the hospital after weeks or months of fighting this monster, in a wheelchair, a little weak but flashing a peace sign or giving a thumbs up. Not all outcomes are what we want. The body can’t always recover. And here I’m remembering our beloved friend Marilyn Summersett. It is then that Jesus is most present, is offering healing by holding them close and saying to the evil presence, “Be still and be gone. He’s with me now. She’s with me.” This is the ultimate healing that God through God’s son Jesus offers us.
Nowhere does the flame of God’s love for us burn more fiercely than in the miracle stories. Nowhere do we see the depth and intensity of God’s compassion for us more clearly than in these stories of healing. God is with all who suffer in whatever ways that might be. God in Jesus steps right into our suffering and serves as a barrier of hope against despair.
What if we ask that question of ourselves and each other, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?”
This question is like a door in this Epiphany season. We go through this door with his followers. In the gospel last week Peter, Andrew, James and John answered “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?” by leaving everything behind and following him. What are we willing to leave behind? Jesus, what do you mean to us? Are you at the heart of everything that happens in our lives? Does this question move us forward and invite us to consider who we are with our families, our friends with our God and one another, with strangers who wander into our lives. How does your teaching shape the way we live? How does the demonstration of your compassion to those in need shape our response to the people and situations crying out in need of our response?
As we read through Mark’s gospel and especially this passage today I think we are on notice that God’s call to us in God’s boundary-breaking, law-transcending, demon-dispatching, and compassion-showing Son asks us for our continual amazement. Amen.
