Faith With Chutzpah

Mark 2:1-12
(Isaiah 43:18-25)

Years ago, when I was probably still only 12 or 13, I remember vividly people in my church telling me that they saw gifts for ministry in me. Little old ladies would come to me and squeeze my cheeks, and say “Ricky, you’d make a wonderful minister.” People made sure that I, as a teenager got put on the church board so that I would understand better how the church ran. People made sure that I got to sing in the choir – becoming the youngest member of the 40 voice ensemble. And, the clergy made sure that they were there to answer my questions, and support me when I needed support.

A few years after that, after I had left the Methodist Church to become an Episcopalian, I began to really hear the same call that those little old ladies saw. I felt called to be an Episcopal priest, and when the bishop was coming to town for the annual visitation, my priest made sure that I got a few minutes of his time. I sat down across from the bishop, poured out my soul, told him of this call that I was hearing, and shared with him my excitement over it all. His response: ‘You’re too young, too inexperienced, and I wouldn’t have a job for you anyway. Finish college and go get a real job, and if you still want to do this years from now, talk to me then.’

The contrast between the people who were lifting me and my aspirations up, and this bishop who was closing a door was incredible – and frustrating, depressing, and angering.

If it weren’t for the support of my priest, and many, many people in Holy Trinity Church in Ocean City, and then the people of the Diocese of Maryland, I would probably not be here in this capacity today.

Some people lifted me up, and some didn’t, but those who did were persistent – and to them, and to God, I am thankful.

. . .

Jesus had come home – literally to his own house. He had been running around all over the place healing people who were sick and injured, and casting out demons. Despite the fact that he told everyone who he helped to keep it quiet, they did no such thing, and in response to that, he had become a superstar.

He had come home for a little peace and quiet – for the chance to sleep in his own bed for once, and what he got what was a huge crowd gathering around his house. The crowd surrounded the house, and was packed in so tight that you couldn’t get in or out of the house.

It was a mob scene, and everyone wanted to get close to Jesus.

And, isn’t that good news! Wouldn’t it be nice if people were packed into our church this morning to standing room only to get close to Jesus!

People were getting excited about Jesus, so excited that they just wanted to get close to him. They wanted to be around him. And who knows, they may even have wanted to follow him for the rest of their lives.

These people were attracted to Jesus, and I suppose that many of them were there because they believed that Jesus could change their lives. You could say that they were beginning to have faith in him.

And that should be a good thing. Except what happens next betrays their faith.

But we’ll get back to that in a bit.

Another group of people come with a paralyzed man – four of them are carrying him on a stretcher – and they are taking him to Jesus. They believe that he can heal him.

Here’s the problem, the crowd is so large and thick, they can’t get the paralyzed man to Jesus. The crowd just won’t give way.

You know the deal; they were probably yelling, ‘make way! make way! sick man coming through!’

But no one made way. Engrossed by their own need to be close to Jesus, they failed to let someone else get to Jesus.

But, the men with the paralyzed friend weren’t finished yet! Not by a long shot. Somehow they get onto Jesus’ roof. And they start digging.

The Greek text of Mark literally reads, ‘they unroofed the roof.’

When the hole in Jesus’ roof was large enough they lowered the stretcher down into Jesus’ living room.

A few things to notice here: first, people just dug a hole into Jesus’ roof! What?! Can you imagine the chutzpah it would take to do something like that!? Can you imagine if it was your roof?! Some commentators have seen some humor in the fact that the first thing that Jesus says to them, after seeing what they’ve done to his house, is forgive him!

The second thing, is whose faith Jesus responds to. Jesus didn’t forgive the man’s sins and heal him because of his faith, but because of the faith of his friends who brought him. This story puts to rest the bad notion of sole reliance on personal faith. It’s important, but sometimes the faith of a community – dare I say the faith of a church – can have incredible impact.

The last thing to notice here is that a group of people have just carried an unmoving laid-out man, to a certain spot, dug a hole, and lowered him down.

Does that sound familiar? Even in our culture today we, sadly, do that sort of thing all the time: it’s a burial.

Add to it, the fact that in the ‘grave’ the man meets Jesus, his sins are forgiven, and he his given a new lease on life.

This is a story about resurrection. It’s about Jesus giving new life.

But, it’s also a story about faith, and two very different manifestations of faith.

Two groups of people were moved by faith in Jesus, to come to Jesus and get as close as they could.

One group camped outside the house, which in and of itself is fine. But, they were so wrapped up in how close they could get and how they could benefit from Jesus, they were oblivious to the needs of someone else. They blocked the entry of this man in need, to Jesus.

The second group found a man who needed to be brought to Jesus, and they did whatever it took to get him there – even if they had to do the MacGyver thing and unroof the roof.

When the church is at its best, we’re doing what it takes to bring people to God. We’re acting in faith – corporately – as a whole. And we’re acting with chutzpah – being bold and shattering the status quo. We’re tearing down the house, acting in concert with the words from Isaiah this morning: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old, I am about to do a new thing.” And then, using modern parlance, “raise the roof.”

When the church misses the mark, is when we’re so focused on “me,” “mine,” and even “ours” that we become blind to those in need, and forget that others need to be brought to God as we were brought to God. When we become a holy huddle, instead of holy missionaries, we loose sight on what the real purpose of our Christian faith is: serving others, loving others, and sharing the Good News with others.

When I hear people talk about this church, I hear the word ‘family’ first and foremost. “We’re family.” “This church is like home.”

You know what that tells me? It tells me that many people in this church have felt picked up when they needed it. Many have felt like this church family has cared for them, supported them, and lifted them up.

And that’s wonderful. But, for us, it must be only the beginning: Who else needs lifted up? Who needs us to act boldly and with chutzpah for them? Who needs the roof raised? Who is standing outside who needs to be let in? Who can’t come here on their own, and need to be carried?

This Gospel lesson is about the gift of faith. It’s about the gift of resurrection. And it’s about the gift of new life. It’s not our job to give the gift – that’s God’s part in it all – but it’s the church’s job to get people there.

Who needs the gift, and how far are we willing to go to make sure they get it?

He Touched Me

2 Kings 5:1-15
Mark 1:40-45

When we lived in Atlanta I heard that the large hospital associated with our University had a medical unit with ‘perks.’ It was a hospital floor dedicated to the fabulously wealthy and notably famous. When dignitaries, actors, rock-stars, or politicians were in town and then fell ill or got injured that is where they went for treatment.

It was absolutely private – no one from the outside world could just walk in. There was extra security, gourmet food, 400 count Egyptian cotton sheets, and nurses and doctors falling all over them.

They didn’t have to wait for hours to see a doctor. When they rang for a nurse, they didn’t have to twiddle their thumbs until one had a spare minute, and their every need was looked after.

They were, after all, famous, wealthy, and willing to pay for every convenience they could get their hands on. They expected a certain level of respect, personal attention, and comfort.

Some 2,700 years ago there was a famous, powerful, military commander who had similar expectations. He had leprosy – which was probably not what we know as technical leprosy today (Hansen’s Disease), but was probably an embarrassing and uncomfortable skin infection, rash, or fungus.

He heard that there was a prophet in Israel – a holy man of God – who could take care of such things. As one of the most powerful men in the world he had certain expectations of the level of care that Elisha the prophet would offer him. As such expectations were blown out of the water.

He went to meet with Elisha, and Elisha didn’t even come himself – he sent someone else. And, instead of calling down impressive powers from above, he simply gave his co-worker the message to tell the military commander to take of his clothes and jump in the river – seven times.

I would have loved to have seen Naaman’s face – because I love his verbal reaction: I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?

For Namaan there would be no 400 count Egyptian cotton sheets, gourmet meal, or even new experimental treatments. He was told to go jump in the creek.

A wise (and brave) underling of Namaan’s confronted him though: Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?

So, he casts off his clothes, jumps in the creek, and voila: he’s healed.

He is thrilled – amazed – and thankful to God for his health. He says: Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel.

This is a story about pride and status. And the message is pretty clear: God doesn’t care how ‘important’ or how ‘powerful’ you are. And, God isn’t all that interested in seeing your ego get boosted.

Yeah, God could have called in some heavy duty pyrotechnics to heal Namaan. Lightning, earthquakes, legions of angels singing in unison “ah-AHHH!” But, who would that serve? It would make Namaan look important and powerful, so important and powerful that God would pull out the heavy-duty equipment for him.

But, making Namaan feel and look important and powerful wasn’t in God’s plan. He healed him, simply and totally, which showed Namaan and everyone present that God was great, and there was no God except God.

Now, that was God’s point.

And so, this is also a story about God working in the ordinary. Don’t get me wrong, God does do extraordinary things, and from time to time God lets loose on some incredibly impressive pyrotechnics (check out the books of Daniel, Habakkuk or Revelation to find some examples). But, where God works regularly, if we have eyes to see and ears to hear, is in the everyday ordinary experiences of life.

(It’s no mistake that Elisha’s predecessor had a profound experience of God: not in the fire, earthquake, or wind, but in the sound of sheer silence.)

The healing of leprosy in the Gospel lesson today is just as lovely, just as miraculous, and just as ordinary – Jesus touched him and he was healed.

The touching is a big deal though, in its own right. In those days you didn’t touch lepers – and that wasn’t just a social norm, it was a religious law. The Book of Leviticus makes it very clear that lepers were to live outside the boundaries of the town or city so that they weren’t around anyone – and no one was to touch them: that was God’s law. Obviously that law sprang out of a fear of contracting and spreading skin diseases, but it was law nonetheless.

A few years ago when I was in Spain we came across a medieval monastery. The only detail I remember about the monastery was a stone porch with a high arched, vaulted ceiling. It was high and vaulted for a reason: the engineers were such geniuses that they knew if they constructed it in just the right way, a person could stick their face in one corner and whisper, and their voice would acoustically travel to the other side of the room to another person with their face stuck in the opposite corner. It was made that way so that a priest could stand in one corner of the porch and hear the whispered confession of a leper in the other corner – and never come closer than 20 feet to them!

Jesus took considerable risk touching the leper. I suppose he could have contracted the disease himself, though being the Son of God I bet he knew he was pretty safe from this. He could have definitely gotten in huge trouble with the religious leaders of his day – something that never really phased him. But, most of all, he could have repelled people away from him who would otherwise listen to him or follow him – people who wouldn’t want to catch something.

But, none of that mattered. There was someone who needed healing. There was an opportunity to show everyone how great God was. And he touched him.

So, this story and the one of Namaan – two stories about the healing of lepers – are indeed stories about pride and status, God working in the ordinary, and God healing the sick.

But, they are also stories which point to one incredible end: God is a healer, and we need healed. Both stories are told so that it is obvious that we’re supposed to put ourselves in the leper’s shoes. As humans we too often get overcome with pride – we obsess about status – and we desperately need Jesus to touch our lives to make us whole.

Maybe this week, or this month, or this year we’re physically sick, and in need of physical healing. Maybe we’re overcome by the trials of life, and need to see that our God is a God of hope. Maybe we’re sin-sick and need to turn back to God, so that we might see the grace and mercy of God.

Just know that we’re never too sick, too overcome, too bad, or too far-gone – Jesus is there, and he will touch us. We may not get the Egyptian-cotton-sheet- treatment, but we’re in good hands – indeed, holy hands.