Healings and Signs

 

John 4:46-5:18

               I want to start today by asking you a question.  What things did Jesus do in his ministry?  Teaching, preaching and healing.  Anything else?

               Why healing?  Do you think it was to get people’s attention so that they would pay attention to him?  Do you think it was so people would like him, come to listen to him?  Was he trying to be liked?  Was he trying to show signs to prove he was who he said he was?  Was it about proof?  Was it about forcing people to believe?  Or was it for another reason? 

               Jesus spent a lot of time touching, caring for, listening to, and engaging people that other people rejected.  Those with leprosy were outcasts.  They couldn’t live with their families and it was assumed that someone in their family or the person themself, must have done something wrong and that is why this person was sick.  Disease was believed to be punishment.  Some people still have this thinking but they call it Karma.  While there are different understandings of what Karma is (so I’m not knocking the idea itself), some believe that while it may not be clear why there are people who suffer and others who don’t, those who suffer must have done something to deserve it, either in this life or in a past life.  But Jesus first confronted this idea with words like “the rain falls on the righteous and the unrighteous,” and “He replied, “Do you think the suffering of these … proves that they were more sinful than all the others?  No, I tell you!”  But he went much further than just declaring that it wasn’t their fault that they were afflicted.

               He touched, he talked to and with, and he healed any who were in need – the rejected, the outcast, the condemned, the judged, the dismissed.  He touched them, included them, treated them as the incredible and beautiful people that they were, regardless of how others treated them.

               I have a ten dollar bill here.  If I mangle it and squish it and stomp on it, if I make it dirty or even filthy, what is it then worth?  It is still worth ten dollars.  The appearance, the condition, the outward attributes of this money don’t change it’s worth.  Well, Jesus was able to see that this is the same with people.  He saw beyond the outside of the bill.  He saw beyond the dirt, the scrounge, the disease.  He saw beyond the vocations, the successes, the judgments, the rejections.  He saw beyond their achievements, their choices, their mistakes, their sins.  He saw beyond all of that to who they WERE.  And who they were is the same as who you are – you are a child of God.  Worthy of infinite value. 

               I came across an article in Sojourner’s Magazine that was talking about Henri Nouwen.  Henri Nouwen was an amazingly gifted priest, professor and writer.  I love his books, I love the way he thinks.  He has a brilliant as well as deeply faithful and spiritual mind.  But after teaching for many years, he was invited to become pastor to a community of people with intellectual disabilities.  He soon discovered that they didn’t care how brilliant he was, and all the wonderful things he had written and taught just didn’t mean that much to them.  He told the story in one of his books, Life of the Beloved, of one particular woman, Janet, who one day asked Henri for a blessing.  When he tried to bless her with the sign of the cross on her forehead she became very upset and said, “No, I want a real blessing!”  He didn’t know what to do with that, but that evening at worship, he mentioned that Janet had asked for a real blessing, and as he was speaking she marched up to the front and gave him a huge hug.  In that moment, he found the words that were needed.  “Janet, I want you to know that you are God’s beloved daughter.  You are precious in God’s eyes.  Your beautiful smile, your kindness to the people in your house, and all the good things you do show us what a beautiful human being you are.  I know you feel a little low these days and that there is some sadness in your heart, but I want you to remember who you are: a very special person, deeply loved by God and all the people who are here with you.”  She gave him a satisfied smile, but as Nouwen then turned away, he found himself surrounded by the others in the community also asking for blessings.  Henri gave each one a hug and a personal affirmation that they were loved as they were.  And Henri walked away a changed man.

               There is a video called “Who You Are: A Message to All Women.” The man who created it also did one for all men.  I wish I could show you, but instead I’m just going to read to you the words.  The person who created this did this video for all of you: for all people.  In the video, he walks onto a stage and he says this:

“You are beautiful.  You are smart.  You are funny.  You are kind.  You are unique.  You are worthy of Love and affection.  You are never too much. And you are always enough.  You are precious.  You are a diamond, a rose, a pearl, the most stunning of all God’s creation.  You are worth more than you could ever imagine.  Worth more than the numbers on the scale, or the hair product you use or the shoes you wear. More than how many (people) wish they were you, or how many people wish they had you.  More than the price tag on your clothes or the percentage on the top of your math test or even the number of followers you have on twitter.  Your worth surpasses all earthly things because in the eyes of God you are loved and you are worth dying for.  Regardless of who you think you are.  Whether you model in a magazine or you model pottery with grandma. Whether you are on the hot list or the not list.  Whether you’re head cheer leader or a high school drop out.  Whether you are miss popular or whether you’ve never had anyone you could call a friend.  Whether you love yourself and love your life or you can’t stand to look in the mirror and you feel everything is falling apart.  Whether you are such a winner or you feel like the world’s biggest failure.  Regardless of who you think you are.  The reality is that you deserve someone who would give up their life for you because you are powerful and strong and capable.  Read about the women in the bible: Esther, Ruth, Mary, Martha.  These women changed the world forever and inside of you each and every one of you is a person with that same power and strength and that same world changing capability. And your responsibility is to find that woman and set that woman free.  This is who you are.  And any voices in your mind that try to tell you differently are not from God.  And when you hear that voice you say to it, no: not me.  I am a daughter of the living God: cherished, loved above all things.  I am awesome!  Please, don’t forget it.”           

               This is a beautiful sentiment.  But the reality is that it is a different thing when that kind of blessing comes from someone who really knows you and really loves you, when the blessing is genuine because it is from a place of real knowing.  One of the lines in a praise song that I like is. “This is what I’m sure of, I can only show love When I really know how loved I am. When it overtakes me, Then it animates me, Flowing from my heart into my hands.”  I think there is deep truth in this. 

               Unlike some of our faith brothers and sisters who say our relationship with God begins with our conversion, with our submission, with our choosing to change, I believe with every fiber in my being that instead, our relationship with God begins with God loving us, with God choosing us.  That love allows us to change, that love gives us the courage and strength to change, that love is what allows us to love others and to follow in Jesus’ footsteps. 

               Jesus not only healed the bodies of the outcast, the oppressed, the disadvantaged, and the physically broken.  He healed their souls by showing them, reminding them, acting in a way that said beyond a doubt that they were loved and valued, that they were worthy, that God still saw them as more important and beautiful than anything they could imagine. 

In writing this sermon, I found myself reflecting on the movie The Help.  The Help is a movie about the caste system in the Southern states, especially in the late 50s and early 60s.  Poor and oppressed African American women worked as “help” to the powerful, wealthy white women.  The help raised the white women’s kids, the help cleaned their clothes, made their food, took care of their families and homes but were treated like dirt, were less than, were always the servants and never treated as equals.  Despite this, despite this, the black women often loved the white babies they cared for.  They genuinely cared for and about them, knowing all the while that those white babies would probably still grow up to be their own oppressors.  In the movie, the main character, Abilene, had care over a specific toddler, Mae Mobley, who was not loved by her own mother.  Mae Mobley’s own mother saw her as a hassle, as a problem, as a burden.  She did not want her or love her, and did not want to care for her.  And so, as Mae Mobley herself said to Abilene, “You are my real mother” and in so very many ways she was.  Abilene had a routine, then, that she did every day with Mae Mobley.  She would take this little girl of two or so years of age and say to her, “You is smart. You is kind. You is important!”  And she would ask Mae Mobley to repeat it and remember it.  Towards the end of the movie Abilene was fired.  And Mae Mobley was left with this mother who didn’t like her.  Abilene, in tears, turned to the little girl and said, “Baby, I have to retire now.  You are my last little girl.  But I need you to remember everything that I told you.  Do you remember what I told you?”  To which Mae Mobley repeated, “You is strong.  You is kind.  You is important!”  “Yes,” Abilene cries, “Please remember.”  And then she turned to the mother and told her to give her sweet girl a chance. 

We are invited to do the same.  As we are called to follow, we heal others by showing them how loved they are.  That starts by remembering how loved YOU are, by trusting in that love, by resting in that love.  God’s love for you is so deep that Jesus healed.  God’s love for you is so deep that God continues to offer all the different kinds of healing: healing of soul, healing of emotions, healing of spirit especially.  That may not look like physical healing.  But healing is offered in many, many ways.  It is often not the physical healing we would hope for: our bodies age and all of our lives are mortal.  But that does not mean that healing is not there for us.  It is there, but in many different ways.  We are called to look for it, to accept it, to embrace it.  And then to go into the world, affirming, uplifting, and healing one another.  Amen.

Weird Gifts, or Answered Prayer

      I was going through my unposted blog writings yesterday.  I write a lot, but much of it I discard as not appropriate for the public eye, or too personal at times, or easy to misinterpret, or simply unfinished: I never found the time or the words to finish the post so it was never officially posted.  But I sometimes go through the old half-finished posts, and occasionally I will find a writing that I want to revisit, edit, finish or rewrite into something that I can post.  

     Yesterday I found something I wrote in 2017: "I'm really missing my lectionary group in Cleveland these last few months.  I miss their friendship, their camaraderie, their support, their wisdom, their commitment to action, their faithfulness and their steadfast presence in my life.  The group size changed while I was there as life circumstances moved some away and brought others in, but we were a solid 12 most of the six and a half years I was in Cleveland.  We met every week to study scripture, to offer each other support and care, to share food and to pray together.  We were a house church in the truest sense of that word: a small community of folk studying, working, praying and eating together: boosting each other up for the work we would do in our churches and in the world. I miss that. I think we are called to have that kind of supportive 'house church' kind of small community. It has been difficult to create something like that among my pastor colleagues here (I probably shouldn't say this, but Bay Areans tend to get much of our self-worth from being busy and needed, which means taking the time to be with people, to slow down and simply study scripture and pray together weekly is hard to make happen).  But this makes me very aware of the real gift that it was for me, and that it continues to be, for those who are a part of it."

      I found that writing.  And it was weird for me because I realized that that was a prayer, a request, an ask of God and the universe.  It was a need, not just a want, to have that kind of community.  And while God's timing is never my own, it was a prayer that was, in fact, answered.  And it wasn't answered by a substitute, it was answered by the real thing.  What I mean is that when the pandemic started and everyone moved their normal meetings to Zoom, my lectionary group in Cleveland moved their meetings to Zoom also and then invited those of us who had moved away to rejoin them.  I joined back right away and have been faithful in meeting with them weekly, even though their 9:30am Eastern meeting time means I have needed to be up, dressed, showered and ready by 6:30am Pacific time every Tuesday morning.

      I have said on many occasions that re-meeting with my lectionary group has been the greatest of the pandemic gifts for me.  I want to be clear: I am NOT saying the pandemic is a good thing.  What I am saying is that there are gifts to be found in every crisis, in every difficulty.  And for me, this ability to be part of this group again was the best of the gifts I received during this time.  And even though other groups have started to re-meet in person, our lectionary group has continued to meet through Zoom, which means I am still able to delight in this gift that has been so valuable to me.  

      I want to acknowledge that I recognize there are losses (for them, but also for me) in meeting like this.  The "eating together" part of the group no longer happens as we meet on Zoom.  Side one-on-one conversations really can't happen in the Zoom format, which means that the individual connections and closenesses maybe aren't as strong.  I miss those things too, as I'm sure they do.  I used to meet more one-on-one with a few of the folk in addition to the weekly group and we don't do that anymore.  But the gifts in weekly community, weekly "church" for me, weekly connection to other pastors, weekly study, weekly prayer in this way: those gifts just can't be underestimated or understated.  Seeing my old writing, my old lament, reminded me again of just what an amazing gift, not one I can ever take for granted, this has been.  

        It also called me to look again at some of the other prayers that have been answered, sometimes without my acknowledgement or even awareness.  I've shared this story before, but to say again: my uncle was angry at me (over a misunderstanding that I could not correct) for years.  I had tried to reconcile it without luck.  But I continued to pray, constantly, for that relationship to heal.  I prayed for ten years.  Out of the blue, almost 10 years after that rift had taken place, he decided to let it go and we were able to reconcile.  That happened just two months before he died, unexpectedly, of a heart attack.  That was an answer to prayer for which I will always be incredibly grateful.  

    The ability to take on this job at Clayton Valley, at exactly the point in time when my kids were each graduating from a different school, to move back home, to be present for my parents as my mom's health needs escalated, and to start my work here: that too was an incredible answer to prayer.

    I could go on and on with examples, but there is a point I'm wanting to make here.  I lifted up my lament about my lectionary group in 2017.  That was answered in 2020.  I lifted up prayers about my uncle for about 10 years before that reconciliation happened.  My journey to Clayton Valley was also long: certainly longer than I had planned.  As I've said before, God's timing is not my timing. 

     I currently have a hand-full of desperate prayers on the table.  And I can become frustrated, scared, sad when I am not seeing an answer to those prayers.  But my job, as always, is to keep lifting them up:  to do what is in front of me to be done: to do my part, what I can do.  Sometimes prayers are answered with ideas about what else we can do to move forward.  So it is also my part to listen.  To listen for movement, for wisdom, for guidance.  And finally, it is my part to trust and to wait.  Because the big prayers, the really important ones all have been answered.  That is my history, that is my experience.  I have to trust that the God who has made my life good and strong and healthy to this point will be the God who will answer my prayers when the time is right, a time rarely to be recognized or determined by me.  

    The reminders of the gifts I have received, the prayers that have been answered, the many wondrous experiences, connections, reconciliations, and healings that have come - those reminders, those memories are empowering and are the foundation on which I must stand with patience for the journey.  For sometimes the journey is long and the wait feels eternal.  But I can look back and remember that in the scheme of things, the wait has also had lessons within it.  And the journey has also been deeply valuable and full of experiences, learnings, and other gifts.    

    Hang in there, my friends.  And keep your eyes open to seeing God in this place, in this time.

The Work of Praying Hard - 10/20/19

                                                               Jeremiah 31:27-34

Luke 18:1-8

In a small Texas town, Drummond's Bar began construction on a new building to increase their business. The local Baptist church started a campaign to block the bar from opening with petitions and prayers. Work progressed right up till the week before opening when lightning struck the bar and it burned to the ground. The church folks were rather smug in their outlook after that, until the bar owner sued the church on the grounds that the church was ultimately responsible for the demise of his building, either through direct or indirect actions or means.  The church vehemently denied all responsibility or any connection to the building's demise in its reply to the court.  As the case made its way into court, the judge looked over the paperwork. At the hearing he commented, 'I don't know how I'm going to decide this, but as it appears from the paperwork, we have a bar owner who believes in the power of prayer, and an entire church congregation that does not.' 

               But prayer is a complicated thing.  There is a very powerful story in the book, Leaving Northaven (Michael Lindvall. New York: Crossroads Publishing Company, 2002) that I would like to share with you.  The backdrop of the story is a woman struggling with Parkinson’s who is being told by everyone to pray for God and trust that God will heal her.  She is speaking with her pastor, named David, at this point. 

“On the 12^th of March, 1918, a prairie wolf followed me home from school.  I was walking the righthand rut of a two-rut road, alongside our cornfield, just stubble in March, of course.  I remember the snow was lying only in the furrows, blown in there by the wind.  It was like black and white stripes.  I saw him in the woods on the other side of the field.  Every once and again, he would move out of the woods, and I would see him moving along with me; he was watching me.  He kept up with me for maybe half an hour.  He was all bone, he was.  Sometimes he would stop and lower his head and just look at me.  I was scared, but I was afraid to run, like running would let him know I was alive.  So, I just walked real steady and watched him without turning to look.  And David, I prayed.  I prayed like I never prayed in my life….  It was 1918.  The Spanish Influenza.  I ran the last hundred yards and burst through the door glad to be alive.  My parents and brother looked up at me from the kitchen table.  Their eyes were red, I remember how their eyes were red.  I’ll never forget it, the three of them sitting there, looking at me.  My father got up and came to me.  I can still see him.  He took me by both shoulders and looked down at me and told me that Gert had just died, not ten minutes ago.  They had just come downstairs from our room.  Then he held me tight, so tight it almost hurt.  I remember that especially, how tight he held me.  And then he sobbed.  Not for the whole of your life do you forget it when you see your parents weep.  That was the only time I ever saw him cry.  I don’t know that my mother ever did.  Gertrude was my older sister.  She was fourteen.  I never even told them about the wolf.  Never told anybody till now….It was like God had answered my prayers when the wolf was following me home.  So the wolf let me go, but he came for Gertrude.  That’s what I thought.  For years, I thought it must have been my fault.  It was like my prayers had caused it.  I know other families had it worse in the influenza, but I adored her, David.  Why didn’t God answer all those prayers for Gert?…  I stopped praying that Parkinson’s would leave me alone because I remembered the wolf, the wolf and Gertrude and the Spanish Influenza.  I was afraid of what my prayers might do.  I didn’t pray for two, three years.  I ached to, but the old words wouldn’t come.  And then finally, after all these years, I finally decided that it wasn’t my fault.  I decided it was never Gertrude instead of me.  I prayed again, but I said bigger prayers.  I just tell [God] what I think and how I feel.  I don’t much tell [God] what to do.  I just tell Him I’m afraid, afraid for me and afraid for the boys and afraid for that old fool of a husband.  I suppose He knows it all already, but words make it solid.  I always whispered them at night when I was awake.”…

(The pastor continued,), I had no quick words in the face of her transparency, but knew only candor would do.  “I do think God answers prayer,” I answered.  “But I’m not sure anymore just what it means.  I’ve watched too many people pray their hearts out and get nothing that looked like an answer.  And then I’ve watched folks pray for miracles and get them.  I don’t know.”

“Well Pastor, don’t worry.  This old lady’s prayers have been answered.”  Minnie MacDowell suddenly switched to the formalities of Protestant address to preach her sermon, “Not the answers I wanted, though.  God didn’t take away the Parkinson’s but he did take away the fear.” (p 116) 

               I believe that prayer “works” but I don’t believe it works by manipulating God, in the way that so many people believe that it does.  About 20 years ago one of the big storms that so often hit the East coast blew through the Eastern Seaboard.  A prominent televangelist took a group of about 12 people down to the coast and they formed a tight prayer circle as the storm approached.  They prayed that the storm would not hit the coast where they were.  Sure enough, the storm went around them.  Instead, it hit the coast a few miles north of where they stood and killed many, many people.  This particular televangelist went on TV spouting his proof that prayer worked, and it surely seemed to for those 12 people.  But what about for those who were also surely praying, further north?  I recently saw a story about a man who insisted that all the climate problems were a result of God responding to the prayers of anti- LGBTQ people by punishing the country.  Then his house was destroyed in one of the hurricanes.  But somehow he did not see THAT as an answer to prayer or as punishment from God or as a message from God.  I feel that prayer used in this way, comments about God’s will as determined by what happens around us – that these are dangerous, and shows a very poor theology.

               Every time someone tells me that someone received healing after being prayed for, I find myself cringing a bit because every single time I remember all of those who were also prayed for who did not survive, did not heal.  Did those other people just not pray hard enough?  Was their faith not strong enough?  I don’t believe that.  Was God just saying “yes” to some and “no” to others?  I struggle with that, especially when it is a child who has suffered.  Does God “need” certain people to be in heaven?  No, I can’t see that either.  God gave us life and wants us to have it in fullness.  I struggle with the idea that there is a God who answers prayers for some but allows the Holocaust to take place, slavery to go on in different places and in different ways, throughout history and even now,  and who is not preventing the damaging of the earth or the extinction of whole species of animals due to Climate Change.  I think we have to understand prayer differently if we are to believe in a good and loving God. 

In the book, Tattoos on the Heart (New York: Free Press, 2010), Father Gregory Boyle tells this story:

              

               Willy crept up on me from the driver’s side.  I had just locked the office and was ready to head home at 8:00pm. 

                              “Shit, Willy,” I say, “Don’t be doin’ that.”

               “Spensa, G”, he says, “My bad.  It’s just.. well my stomach’s on echale.  Kick me down with twenty bones, yeah?”

               “God, my wallet’s on echale,” I tell him.  A “dog” is the one upon whom you can rely – the role-dog, the person who has your back.  “But get in.  Let’s see if I can trick any funds outta the ATM.”

               Willy hops on board.  He is a life force of braggadocio and posturing – a thoroughly good soul – but his confidence is out-size, that of a lion wanting you to know he just swallowed a man whole.  A gang member, but a peripheral one at best – he wants more to regale you with his exploits than to actually be in the midst of any.  In his mid-twenties, Willy is a charmer, a quintessential homie con man who’s apt to coax money out of your ATM if you let him.  This night, I’m tired and I want to go home.

               It’s easier not to resist.  The Food 4 Less on Fourth and Soto has the closest ATM.  I tell Willy to stay in the car, in case we run into one of Willy’s rivals inside.

               “Stay here, dog,” I tell him, “I’ll be right back.”

               I’m not ten feet away when I hear a muffled, “hey.”

               It’s Willy and he’s miming, “the keys,” from the passenger seat of my car.  He’s making over-the-top, key-in-the-ignition senales. 

               “The radio,” he mouths, as he holds a hand, cupping his ear.

               I wag a finger, “No, chale.”  Then it’s my turn to mime.  I hold both my hands together and enunciate exaggeratedly, “Pray.”

               Willy sighs and levitates his eyeballs.  But he’s putty.  He assumes the praying hands pose and looks heavenward – cara santucha.  I proceed on my quest to the ATM but feel the need to check in on Willy only ten yards later.

               I turn and find him still in the prayer position, seeming to be only half-aware that I’m looking in on him.

               I return to the car, twenty dollars in hand, and get in.  Something has happened here.  Willy is quiet, reflective, and there is a palpable sense of peace in the vehicle.  I look at Willy and say, “you prayed, didn’t you?”

               He doesn’t look at me.  He’s still and quiet.  “Yeah, I did.”

               I start the car.

               “Well, what did God say to you?”  I ask him.

               “Well, first He said, ‘Shut up and listen.’”

               “So, what d’ya do?”

               “Come on, G,” he says, “What am I s’posed ta do?  I shut up and listened.”

               I begin to drive him home to the barrio.  I’ve never seen Willy like this.  He’s quiet and humble – no need to convince me of anything or talk me out of something else.

               “So, son, tell me something, “ I ask.  “How do you see God?”

               “God?” he says, “That’s my dog right there.”

               “And God?” I ask, “How does God see you?”

               Willy doesn’t answer at first.  So I turn and watch as he rests his head on the recliner, staring at the ceiling of my car.  A tear falls down his cheek.  Heart full, eyes overflowing.  “God… thinks… I’m… firme.”

               To the homies, firme means, “could not be one bit better.”

               Not only does God think we’re firme, it is God’s joy to have us marinate in that. (p23)

And in that is the truth of prayer.  And yet, there is something deeper here.  I heard someone say once that God doesn’t answer our prayers, God answers US.  Someone else told me, we keep asking for answers, but God keeps sending us people.  Under all of this is what C.S. Lewis says about prayer, “I do not pray to change God.  I pray so that God might change me.”   We open ourselves up to God through praying, through speaking our truth and then listening.  We learn about ourselves through our honest communication with God, and we allow for growth and change to become possibilities as we listen for God’s voice and look for God in our experiences, in other people, in the world and life around us.  I believe that God is more present in our prayers than we can even imagine.  God begins the conversation and we respond to it by praying.  God begins the conversation by creating us, by calling us, by choosing us and by inviting us into relationship with God.  We join that conversation through our prayers, and then, hopefully, by our actions of love and care as well. 

That doesn’t let us off the hook for praying.  I was given a wonderful article by Edward Hayes, written last year I believe called “Thanksgiving Thoughts.”  He wrote ‘friendship takes time, education takes time, meals that are truly holy and wholesome take time – and so does prayer.  We Americans are a people who suffer from a great poverty of time.  We are always short of time: to write letters to visit old friends, to enjoy life.  And the near future, especially for middle-class Americans, will find our clocks running faster and faster.  With husbands and wives both working, numerous commitments to the parish, school and community and with children involved in numerous extracurricular activities, we are left with less and less quality time within the family.  Consequently, we can expect to see, in the coming years, more instant foods and quick worship services.  But just as a 19 ½ pound turkey baked only for a minute will be a disaster dinner, so will prayers dashed off “on the run.”  The soul, like the body, knows hunger, and it will not easily be able to digest even a half-baked prayer, let alone some kind of ‘minute meditation.”   Hayes goes on to describe the different steps of basting, preheating, stuffing and finally cooking for a long time our prayers just as we would cook a turkey.  His point is that relationships with God take the same time that any relationships take. 

Prayer is important, but not because we control God with it.  It’s important because it helps us build a relationship with God, and if that seems meaningless to you, prayer is important because it helps you to hear your own thoughts, wishes, fears, what you are grateful for, who you are becoming, who you have been.  Prayer opens us up to hearing God, to being moved by God, to changing and growing.  Prayer takes time, but it is very well spent and should be a priority for all of us.  The good news in this?  Well, prayer is where we meet God.  And more, where God meets us.  Amen.