Epiphany 5 (Lectionary 5) 5 Feb. 2012

Mark 1.29-39 “His Touch Has Still Its Ancient Power”

It had started out so simply! The young Galilean, walking beside the sea, talking to fishermen. Hardly something you would notice at all—an insignificant event in an unimportant little town on the outskirts of civilization. And then things had begun to happen quickly, so quickly! Jesus had gone into the synagogue on the Sabbath. There was a man with an unclean spirit, and Jesus had healed him. And he had begun to talk to the synagogue crowd; but even as he talked, word about the great healing miracle was spreading like wildfire through Capernaum.

Then, later in the same day, Jesus had gone with the fishermen Simon and Andrew to the house those two brothers shared. Simon’s mother-in-law was sick, and so they told Jesus about her. They weren’t sure exactly why they told him; they didn’t really expect him to heal her. Still, he had done a remarkable thing in the synagogue. Perhaps he could do something to help the sick old woman—speak a word of comfort, at least, or take her mind off her problems.

When they told him about her, he asked to see her. He took her hand, and suddenly the fever broke and she was her old self again. It was the suddenness of it all that impressed them. No sooner had he touched her than the fever left her—immediately, as quickly as that. And though this happened in the privacy of Simon’s little cottage, the word again spread quickly through Capernaum. It was, after all, a small town, and neighbors had a way of knowing about anything out of the ordinary. Simon knew this, and he perhaps began to think about how to keep this instant celebrity he had found under wraps, how to protect Jesus from the curious and the anxious who might come looking for help.

But none of them was prepared for what happened that evening. When the sun went down, the Sabbath was over and people could move freely about the streets. Before any of them knew what was happening, people were gathering by the front door—unknown people, strangers. And it seemed that every one of them was sick or lame or disturbed or upset. And everyone of them wanted to see Jesus. From that day on there was no rest for him, nor for those who attached themselves to him. There was no place they could go to escape the crowds, no place they could hide. They sometimes went out in the fishing boat just to get away from the people, to get some distance from the crowds; but when they landed on the other shore they always found the crowds there ahead of them. The crowds would not leave him alone, they would not leave him!

What was it that attracted them so? What was it that drew the crowds so quickly and so unceasingly to this humble Galilean preacher? We sit some twenty centuries away and imagine how wonderful it would have been to sit at his feet and hear his teachings. But these crowds had different motives. They were not so much interested in his teachings as in his incredible healing power, his miracles! Theirs was a time when medical care was non-existent, a time when sickness and trouble were the facts of life. And Jesus, with his remarkable power, was like a breath of fresh air blowing across the parched desert of human existence. Oh, how they needed what he offered!

For what he offered, you see, was hope! Hope that their illness and trouble and misery was not the last word, but that they could find kindness with God, that they could find healing! And so they came, and they pressed—never ceasing, never letting him stop even for breath. “And,” says Mark, “he healed many.”

Is that demand for healing obsolete today? Do you need his healing power? Can he do anything for us? We are no longer terrified of demons and unknown diseases, at least most of the time. We have these matters under control; we have people we trust to heal us and deal with our physical ailments, at least most of the time. Do we still need Jesus here to heal us?

Yes, we do. Our diseases today are just as powerful and just as fearsome. We don’t often call them disease, but they are—the are the things that leave us without a sense of ease, problems that are dis-ease, disease. Loneliness, anger, hatred, fear, grief, uncertainty, discontent, depression, despair—spiritual diseases for which our doctors offer no cure, precious little in the way of medication or therapy.

Yes, we need him. For that simple Galilean preacher is the one who holds for us the answer to all those things that affect our sense of well-being. And if we understood that, you see, if we knew it deep in our hearts, we would crowd around him as insistently as those who were sick mobbed him 2,000 years ago—if only we understood, as they did, how much we need him.

But perhaps, when all is said and done, we do understand. When it comes right down to it, we do know how much we need him. That is why we are here this morning. “The church,” goes the saying, “is not a showcase for saints but a hospital for sinners.” The church is the place we come because we know we need the healing touch of Christ, and we long to find it.

That is one reason why we come to the Lord’s Table week by week. It is no accident that among the early Christian writers one of the favorite metaphors for the Eucharist was that of healing. The bread and the wine, wrote one of the early church fathers, is the “medicine of immortality.” In this sacrament, we seek healing. We gather at his Table, longing for his touch, as those who were sick centuries ago gathered around his door.

A century and a half ago an English clergyman and teacher, Henry Twells, sat in a classroom late one afternoon waiting for a student to finish an exam. The sun was falling below the horizon, and the teacher’s thoughts turned to this passage from Mark. He penned the words to a hymn—a tad archaic, perhaps, to the modern ear, but still words that capture this longing for healing in the gospel passage, and still in our lives today:

At evening, when the sun was set,

The sick, O Lord, around thee lay;

O in what desperate pains they met,

O with what joy they went away!

O Savior Christ, our woes dispel;

For some are sick and some are sad,

And some have never loved thee well,

And some have lost the love they had;

And some have found the world is vain,

Yet from the world they break not free;

And some have friends who give them pain,

Yet have not sought a friend in Thee;

And none, O Lord, have perfect rest,

For none are wholly free from sin,

And they who long to serve thee best

Are conscious most of wrong within.

O Savior Christ, Thou too art man;

Thou hast been troubled, tempted, tried;

Thy kind but searching glance can scan

The very wounds that shame would hide;

Thy touch has still its ancient power;

No word from thee can fruitless fall:

Hear, in this solemn evening hour,

And in thy mercy heal us all.

The good news for those multitudes long ago was this: that Jesus loved them, and healed their diseases.

The good news for us today is this: that Jesus loves us, that he receives us with compassion, that he invites us to his Table, and that here he heals all our diseases: the sickness, the sadness, the loneliness, the friends who give us pain, the restlessness, the troubles of the world, the temptations and sins, the weariness—he heals them all. “His touch has still its ancient power”—and this morning, in this place, whatever our dis-ease, he touches us, and heals us. He takes our hand, lifts us up, gives us peace beyond our fear, and hope beyond our sorrow.

Pastor Richard O. Johnson

Peace Lutheran Church, Grass Valley CA

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