Opposing the Destroyer - 4 February 2018 - Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany/ Lectionary 5

Scientific explanations may be an improvement on demon possession but both fail to deal with the really troubling underlying question. We all struggle, at some level, with the question of why evil is allowed to exist. . . .

Theologians and philosophers have argued the question over the centuries and eventually most of us come to some kind of accommodation with the realities of human existence. Still, I always dread the “what kind of God lets this happen to innocent children?” . . . Usually the only practical answer is in the caring presence of the people of God as they minister to the suffering in God's name.

Today's gospel shows us Jesus doing that very thing. In the midst of human suffering and misery, Jesus is the presence of God. . . .

Instead of eliminating all evil by fiat, God seems to want the more meaningful victory that comes from turning that which was intended for ill into a tool of healing. –– Judith E. Simonson

Mark 1:29-39

After being baptized by John and tested by Satan, Jesus called his first disciples to follow him. Mark then pictures the character of Jesus' work, perhaps intending to suggest a “typical” day in Capernaum.

After stories of Jesus teaching in the synagogue and casting out a demon, we come to the text's stories of healing. Many of the consistent features of Mark's story of Jesus are present: a feeling of urgency in the rapid unfolding of events; a dramatic quality to the storytelling; Jesus confronting the powers of evil and acting with compassion for those in need; Jesus challenging conventional applications of the Law. –– Aaron J. Couch

Isaiah 40:21-31

Second Isaiah speaks to Judah in exile, suffering from impatience and doubting about God's ability or intention to restore the people. The prophet reminds them that the Creator God never grows weary or tired. In the presence of such might, the people must not suppose that God fails to understand or care about their situation. Rather, those who wait in trust for God to act will experience God's renewing power. The beautiful imagery of “mounting up with wings like eagles” and of running without growing faint invites meditation on how God “raises up” those in need. –– Aaron J. Couch

1 Corinthians 9:16-23

The need to limit individual freedom for the sake of love was a primary issue for the Corinthian congregation. Paul answered the question of whether to eat meat offered to idols by exploring how love looks to the need of the neighbor.

Paul now offers his own ministry as an example of that principle in action. . . For the sake of the Corinthian congregation, he will relinquish any claim to privilege. In a similar way Paul pictures the character of his ministry among Jews and gentiles. Paul accommodates himself to the needs of those to whom he ministers. . . He says that, for the sake of the gospel, he has become “all things to all people.” While one might question whether such complete accommodation is possible, Paul certainly describes what love seeks to do. –– Aaron J. Couch

Aaron Couch is a co-pastor of First Immanuel Lutheran Church in Portland, Oregon.

Judith E. Simonson is an ordained minister in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

Homily Service 39, no. 3 (2006): 3-14.

A Healing Ritual for Emptying out

This excerpt from the issue of Liturgy on “Liturgy in Rural Settings” is from Marvin Lee Anderson describing a tangible liturgical gesture that is meant to help individuals let go of burdens.

This healing liturgy of lament is designed for this sole purpose: to help the assembled people prayerfully empty themselves and let go of all that weighs them down, dwelling in the peace promised by the apostle Paul in Philippians 4:7: “And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Just as our bodies remind us of our need to empty our bowels and bladders, our souls and minds need to be emptied of all that has filled––and even seized––them. . .   

 To command their attention and dramatically make my point, I lowered my head and shoulders as if encumbered by invisible dumbbells to convey the sense of being heavily burdened, still captive to the residue of that day’s thoughts and feelings. I then invited everyone gathered to ponder all that still holds them in its grasp, that prevents them from being present to the Spirit of God. . . 

 After briefly explaining the format of the liturgy, most of the congregation voluntarily came forward in a queue comparable to the act of receiving communion. With music in the background, congregants each took their turn. They lined up at both sidewall aisles of the sanctuary, but instead of coming to partake of the bread and wine, they waited in line alongside two tables centrally placed in front of the altar. Two bowls, like big salad bowls, were filled two-thirds with water and placed, one on each table. Congregants then followed my lead in coming up to both tables, where each person took one of the sponges on the table and then immersed it into the bowl of water, while facing the congregation. 

 The central task of this liturgy is to invite participants to come forward as they feel comfortable and soak the sponge in the bowl of water. Prayerfully cognizant of what it is that they need to lament and let go, forgive, or be forgiven, participants are asked to wring out the sponge they have just dunked, letting go of all that holds them captive to make room for God’s peace and healing Spirit. 

 I urged each person that evening—as every time I facilitate this healing liturgy of lament—to be present to the moment and to the whisperings of the Spirit as they squeeze and wring out the sponge saturated with water. What are you feeling released from as your hands wring out the sponge, a metaphor for your heavy heart? What is it that you carry around with you, from your own life, the life of your congregation, or the pain of the world, that you need to lament and let go? What is the burden being lifted from your heavy heart? Remember the solace offered by Jesus’ reassuring words: “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). 

 

The full essay is available in Liturgy 32, no. 4 available by personal subscription and through many libraries.

Marvin Lee Anderson, PhD, has taught rural ministry in both Canada and the United States, served in interim ministry, consults on congregational renewal and community development, and chairs the board of the Fox Institute for Creation Spirituality in Boulder, Colorado. See www.ruraljustified.com.

 

Marvin Lee Anderson, “Are You Heavy Laden? A Healing Liturgy of Lament,” Liturgy 32, no. 4 (2017): 47-54.

Answering Flood Waters with Public Prayer

Pastors and congregations dealing with weather disasters may be inspired by the public prayer healing and listening work of churches in rural Appalachia to help people heal. This comes from Roman Catholic priest, John S. Rausch, in the latest issue of Liturgy which offers the full essay (including more examples of public prayer) at tandfonline.com with a subscription.

Let this serve as a window into what might be done in your neighborhood.

Public prayer is the salve for society’s wounds. After mass shootings, airplane crashes, and natural disasters, communities gather with lighted candles or tolling bells to comfort one another and probe the deeper significance of the tragedy. While Appalachia has its share of these human and natural disasters, certain structural patterns in the region, especially associated with its physical resources, set an additional context for prayer to hear the cries of the poor and respond to the silent screams of vulnerable creation. .  

 Flooding in Appalachia differs from floods of the Mississippi or Missouri Rivers that put thousands of acres of farmland under water. Typically, the steep mountains of central Appalachia collect the downpour from several inches of rain in a few hours, gush flash floods in the hollows, and swell creeks in the valleys. The aftermath of flooding everywhere, however, remains the same: possible loss of life and destruction of property. Spiritually, people experience grief, depression, and despair that beg a response. 

 In spring 2003, after a devastating flood in the tiny coal camp of McRoberts, Kentucky, a group of twenty-five church leaders and parishioners listened to people’s stories and planted flowers. We bought flats of begonias, petunias, and marigolds from a sheltered workshop to transplant throughout the town. 

 Rev. Steve Peake, pastor of the Corinth Baptist Church in the nearby town of Fleming-Neon and part of our public prayer leadership team, allowed his presence to lift spirits and remind residents to renew their hope in God’s providence. Standing by a row of framed houses on Highway 343, he said, “Every time I drive by, I think of people pushing brooms and shoveling mud out of their homes.” 

 Like pilgrims, we visited private dwellings, churches, and public buildings, and heard about the flood from traumatized residents. We said a prayer, then planted a flower to express compassion and to replace ugliness with beauty, death with resurrection. In the midst of a small garden by one house, a plaque read: “The earth laughs in flowers.” Standing by that sign, Sister Rosalyn said a prayer, and then Spencer, age seven, planted a begonia.  

 Pope Francis’s encyclical on the environment, Laudato Si’, encourages a deeper respect for “our common home,” and the conviction that everything in the world is connected (LS #138). Referring to St. Francis of Assisi, the pope stresses how relationally the saint dealt with all reality: “He shows us just how inseparable the bond is between concern for nature, justice for the poor, commitment to society, and interior peace” (LS #10). The interdependence of all these aspects underlying the social order exemplifies the richness of public prayer because it calls forth authentic community, confronts the structures of social sin, and reminds participants they form part of the body of Christ.
 

John S. Rausch, a Catholic priest and member of the Glenmary Home Missioners of America, lives in Stanton, Kentucky. He has ministered in social justice for over forty years in Appalachia.

John S. Rausch, “The Earth Laughs in Flowers: Public Prayer in Appalachia,” Liturgy 32, no. 4 (2017): 11-19.