When we are overwhelmed by the problems of the world we turn to Jesus for strength and guidance; then he sends us back out to be a part of God’s healing for the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, year B
   texts:  Mark 1:29-39; Isaiah 40:21-31

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Even allowing for Mark’s tendency to exaggerate, it must have been overwhelming.

Jesus heals a man in a synagogue.  That night, at Simon Peter’s house, “the whole city was gathered around the door.”  Of course there was a crowd.  Once people realize there’s help available somewhere, they line up for it.  Word gets out in mysterious and potent ways.  Maybe all 1,500 people in Capernaum weren’t there, but it felt like it.  Even Jesus was overwhelmed.  After he “cured many who were sick” and cast out “many” demons, they finally got the door closed, got to bed.  But in the early pre-dawn darkness, Jesus slipped out, went to a place with no people, and prayed.

What do you do when there are so many who need help, and they’ve come to you?  If you’re Jesus, you help.  You heal.  You cast out demons.  But when you can, you get away, to pray, to find open space, to clear your head and heart.  To be filled up inside after pouring out so much.

But what do you do if you’re not the Son of God?  What do you do when you are so overwhelmed by the needs of the world around you and you don’t think you can do anything?  It’s one thing to be tired out from healing and exorcism.  It’s entirely different to wake up the next morning, find the crowd gathering outside the door, and realize the only one who knows what to do has left in the middle of the night.

Our home in this story is that moment with Simon and the others at daybreak.

Of course they leave to find Jesus, hunt for him.  They can’t do anything for these sick people, these hurting friends and neighbors.  They know their neighbors know they don’t have that ability.  These crowds grew up with boneheaded Simon; they won’t see him as a healer.  So Simon and the others think, “Why try and fail when we can get Jesus, the one person who could take care of things?

Turning for help is actually also why Jesus is gone at the moment.

In need, overwhelmed, Jesus turned to the Father.

This time of prayer in a deserted place is powerful witness.  We don’t understand the mystery of prayer within the life of the Trinity, but living as one of us there were many times when Jesus needed prayer.

In prayer he quiets himself, receives wisdom and encouragement, is restored by the Holy Spirit.  In this moment the Triune God is once more dancing in that inner divine life, Father, Son, and Spirit moving in and among each other.  After the night he had, Jesus deeply needed this communion in God.

Then he was ready to go on.  When the disciples find him, he announces they’re heading for another town, to proclaim the Good News, what he came to do.  He is sent to declare that God has come to be with the people of the world, bringing a rule and reign of life and love and grace.  Renewed by his communion in prayer, Jesus is ready to face the overwhelming crowds again.

Now Simon and the others need to learn this pattern.  So do we.

When the world’s need overwhelms us, we come here, looking for our Lord, for strength and wisdom.

Mark’s exaggeration seems apt in our time.  The problems and pain of today are overwhelming, as if the whole city, the whole world, has come for help.  There is more healing and restoring needed here than we can handle.  If we help one person, here, or in our jobs or neighborhoods, it seems there are twenty more needing help, and there are systems that keep making more in need.  We’re afraid to open the door for fear of being overrun by what we’ll see outside.

So we follow the lead of Simon Peter and the others.  We come here looking for our Lord, because Jesus knows what to do when we don’t.  But we also follow Jesus’ lead.  We come for prayer, quiet, peace.  To be filled up after pouring out.  To commune with the Triune God, to be strengthened, restored.

But after restoring us, Jesus always says, “Now, here’s the plan.”

Jesus’ job isn’t to do our work.  It’s to make us ready and send us out.

The disciples have no idea what to do with the needs of the crowd, so they run into the wild to find Jesus, to hand off the job, comforted they’re not in charge.  But not too much later they, too, will be sent out in pairs to actually preach, actually heal, actually cast out demons.  That’s Jesus’ work, to prepare the disciples, to prepare us, for our ministry in his name in the world.  To change us so we can actually do it.

We come here looking for Jesus, and are restored, but we know he’s going to train us and send us back into the world.  He won’t let us stay inside or hide behind his power and might, as if there’s nothing we can do.

He will send us as he sent the first ones, transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit, given new hearts, new strength, to know what to do with the overwhelming needs of this world.  Christ’s risen life will fill our hearts to be Christ ourselves.

What do you do if you’re not the Son of God but there are so many who need help, and they’ve come to you?

You realize you are in fact a child of God, so you do what Jesus does.  You help.  You heal.  You even drive out demons and fear.  In Christ Jesus we see Isaiah’s promise come to pass, that the everlasting God who stretched out the heavens like a curtain, to whom we are like tiny grasshoppers, actually cares about us, puny as we are, and has come to lift up the lowly, strengthen the fainthearted, renew the hearts of the world.  Even uproot death with resurrection life.

The only way the rest of the world will know this is if we, by our lives, our ministry, open the door of the house and go into the crowd ourselves.  When we need rest, strength, the support of our Lord, we come here for life.  We pray.  We hear the plan for what’s next.

Then we open our doors and go back into the street.  But we don’t go alone.  We are filled with Christ’s grace and healing, and our risen Christ goes with us fully.  We stand, then, as Christ in the face of evil and death, doing what we can.  As it always has been from Simon until now, we become God’s healing, renewing, life-giving presence in this world.  And we are not overwhelmed.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

When we are overwhelmed by the problems of the world we turn to Jesus for strength and guidance; then he sends us back out to be a part of God’s healing for the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany, year B
   texts:  Mark 1:29-39; Isaiah 40:21-31

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Even allowing for Mark’s tendency to exaggerate, it must have been overwhelming.

Jesus heals a man in a synagogue.  That night, at Simon Peter’s house, “the whole city was gathered around the door.”  Of course there was a crowd.  Once people realize there’s help available somewhere, they line up for it.  Word gets out in mysterious and potent ways.  Maybe all 1,500 people in Capernaum weren’t there, but it felt like it.  Even Jesus was overwhelmed.  After he “cured many who were sick” and cast out “many” demons, they finally got the door closed, got to bed.  But in the early pre-dawn darkness, Jesus slipped out, went to a place with no people, and prayed.

What do you do when there are so many who need help, and they’ve come to you?  If you’re Jesus, you help.  You heal.  You cast out demons.  But when you can, you get away, to pray, to find open space, to clear your head and heart.  To be filled up inside after pouring out so much.

But what do you do if you’re not the Son of God?  What do you do when you are so overwhelmed by the needs of the world around you and you don’t think you can do anything?  It’s one thing to be tired out from healing and exorcism.  It’s entirely different to wake up the next morning, find the crowd gathering outside the door, and realize the only one who knows what to do has left in the middle of the night.

Our home in this story is that moment with Simon and the others at daybreak.

Of course they leave to find Jesus, hunt for him.  They can’t do anything for these sick people, these hurting friends and neighbors.  They know their neighbors know they don’t have that ability.  These crowds grew up with boneheaded Simon; they won’t see him as a healer.  So Simon and the others think, “Why try and fail when we can get Jesus, the one person who could take care of things?

Turning for help is actually also why Jesus is gone at the moment.

In need, overwhelmed, Jesus turned to the Father.

This time of prayer in a deserted place is powerful witness.  We don’t understand the mystery of prayer within the life of the Trinity, but living as one of us there were many times when Jesus needed prayer.

In prayer he quiets himself, receives wisdom and encouragement, is restored by the Holy Spirit.  In this moment the Triune God is once more dancing in that inner divine life, Father, Son, and Spirit moving in and among each other.  After the night he had, Jesus deeply needed this communion in God.

Then he was ready to go on.  When the disciples find him, he announces they’re heading for another town, to proclaim the Good News, what he came to do.  He is sent to declare that God has come to be with the people of the world, bringing a rule and reign of life and love and grace.  Renewed by his communion in prayer, Jesus is ready to face the overwhelming crowds again.

Now Simon and the others need to learn this pattern.  So do we.

When the world’s need overwhelms us, we come here, looking for our Lord, for strength and wisdom.

Mark’s exaggeration seems apt in our time.  The problems and pain of today are overwhelming, as if the whole city, the whole world, has come for help.  There is more healing and restoring needed here than we can handle.  If we help one person, here, or in our jobs or neighborhoods, it seems there are twenty more needing help, and there are systems that keep making more in need.  We’re afraid to open the door for fear of being overrun by what we’ll see outside.

So we follow the lead of Simon Peter and the others.  We come here looking for our Lord, because Jesus knows what to do when we don’t.  But we also follow Jesus’ lead.  We come for prayer, quiet, peace.  To be filled up after pouring out.  To commune with the Triune God, to be strengthened, restored.

But after restoring us, Jesus always says, “Now, here’s the plan.”

Jesus’ job isn’t to do our work.  It’s to make us ready and send us out.

The disciples have no idea what to do with the needs of the crowd, so they run into the wild to find Jesus, to hand off the job, comforted they’re not in charge.  But not too much later they, too, will be sent out in pairs to actually preach, actually heal, actually cast out demons.  That’s Jesus’ work, to prepare the disciples, to prepare us, for our ministry in his name in the world.  To change us so we can actually do it.

We come here looking for Jesus, and are restored, but we know he’s going to train us and send us back into the world.  He won’t let us stay inside or hide behind his power and might, as if there’s nothing we can do.

He will send us as he sent the first ones, transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit, given new hearts, new strength, to know what to do with the overwhelming needs of this world.  Christ’s risen life will fill our hearts to be Christ ourselves.

What do you do if you’re not the Son of God but there are so many who need help, and they’ve come to you?

You realize you are in fact a child of God, so you do what Jesus does.  You help.  You heal.  You even drive out demons and fear.  In Christ Jesus we see Isaiah’s promise come to pass, that the everlasting God who stretched out the heavens like a curtain, to whom we are like tiny grasshoppers, actually cares about us, puny as we are, and has come to lift up the lowly, strengthen the fainthearted, renew the hearts of the world.  Even uproot death with resurrection life.

The only way the rest of the world will know this is if we, by our lives, our ministry, open the door of the house and go into the crowd ourselves.  When we need rest, strength, the support of our Lord, we come here for life.  We pray.  We hear the plan for what’s next.

Then we open our doors and go back into the street.  But we don’t go alone.  We are filled with Christ’s grace and healing, and our risen Christ goes with us fully.  We stand, then, as Christ in the face of evil and death, doing what we can.  As it always has been from Simon until now, we become God’s healing, renewing, life-giving presence in this world.  And we are not overwhelmed.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

We wait for the Lord’s healing grace in this world because God’s good time is not our time, because things take time to be done the right way; but we wait where we know we’re going to see what we’re promised.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Presentation of Our Lord
   texts:  Luke 2:22-40; Malachi 3:1-4

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

In Spanish, the same word means “wait” and “hope.”

The context gives the meaning.  I learned this in my clinic’s waiting area (with help from Anna afterward).  The sign said, “If you have been waiting more than 15 minutes, please inform the front desk.”  Below, in Spanish, for waiting it said, “ha estado esperando,” which literally could be “a state of hope.”  Here it clearly meant “waiting.”

Tonight’s readings make that sign amusing.  People are waiting for the day of the Lord’s coming in Malachi and Luke, waiting for a long time.  Far more than 15 minutes.  So how long do we wait for God before we need to inform someone?  Whom do we inform?

The Spanish are right: waiting and hoping are two sides of one thing.  In our hurry-up, fast food, get-it-to-me-now culture, we associate waiting with boredom, frustration, irritation, even lack of hope.  Can we imagine a Simeon today, waiting his whole life to see God’s promised Christ, ready to die when he does?  We don’t know what the prophet Anna is waiting for, but it’s been about 63 years.  15 minutes is nothing compared to Christian waiting for God’s healing and restoring of all things.

Maybe we also should glue waiting and hoping together.

It’s a modern convention to separate them.  Our ancestors fully lived this.

The Presentation is February 2, forty days after Christmas; the purification rites for the mother happened forty days after childbirth.  But in Ireland and Britain it held further significance as a cross-quarter day.  The year was divided into so-called quarter days, Christmas Day, the Annunciation (March 25), St. John the Baptist/Midsummer Day (June 24), and St. Michael’s Day (September 29).  These Christian festivals, importantly, are very close to the solar turning points, the winter and summer solstices and the spring and fall equinoxes.

Roughly half-way between these days were other important festivals marking time.  Presentation is the cross-quarter day between Christmas and Annunciation.  Each of these eight days held significance to our Christian ancestors who had things that needed to be done by those dates for life and livelihood, to survive.  It’s not accidental that in the Middle Ages in Europe the Presentation was a day for predicting the length of winter ahead (and without a rodent’s help).  They relied on weather and the land to live; half-way between the longest night and the longest day they dreamed when spring would come and food would be abundant.

There is evidence that this Christian celebration was also one of those festivals overlaid upon pagan celebrations of this mid-point that also were part of a culture dependent on the earth for life.  This has long been a day of waiting and hoping for the future to come.

Our Church Year is our way of joining our waiting with hoping.

Our culture has lost this sense of life in the year and dependence on God’s creation which paid close attention to the creation.  Our marking points in the year are based on our entertainment schedules, from awards season to sports championship times, or our political calendar.

But we Christians walk this Church Year.  We’ve gathered tonight for Eucharist to mark 40 days since our celebration of our Lord’s birth.  We may not have as desperate a need for good weather coming, but it’s good and right that we intentionally choose this calendar as our way of knowing where we are in our waiting.

That’s the whole point of a calendar, to mark the waiting.  From the classic film and cartoon stereotype of someone x-ing out days in anticipation, to our need to tell how many days until Christmas, marking time helps us wait.

So we mark our year, moving through the story of God’s grace coming into the world and into our lives, to help us in our waiting and remind us of our hope in God.

We notice from Malachi, Simeon and Anna that our place of waiting is also important.

All three center the place of waiting on the Temple of the Lord.  That’s where Malachi says the coming will be, that’s where Simeon goes when the Spirit lets him know the child has come, and that’s where Anna spent over six decades praying, fasting, waiting.

We join our waiting with our hoping when we come into this holy place and seek God in God’s house.  In this place we know we will hear words of grace and hope, words of promise that will be kept.  In this place we know we will be fed and strengthened.  In this place the Triune God has promised to be, so like those saints of old, we gather here to wait for the Lord.

But this coming of the Lord is clearly not meant to stay in this place.

Malachi speaks of the purifying of all the people of God; the coming might start in worship but will restore the whole nation.  Simeon takes it even further, declaring that this child he is holding will be a light to all the nations of the world, as well as the glory of his own people, Israel.

So it is with our waiting and hoping in this place: we take it into the world, fully expecting to see God’s healing coming to all things, fully believing in the possibility that the light of God will make a difference in the world’s darkness.  Bearing the light ourselves infuses our waiting with hope, because living in the rich blessing of God becomes abundant and joyful when we share it and see what happens in the world.

Yet our hoping is in turn wrapped up in our waiting: God’s fullness comes in God’s good time, not instantly.

Sometimes we’re tempted to despair at this, but this story of Jesus and Simeon shows God’s promises will be kept, even if they take time.  Simeon waits his whole life, and finally sees.  At the end of this story, though, Jesus is still just a little child; growing, filling up with wisdom, but still a little child.  He is not Christ for the world yet.  There is still the path to the cross and resurrection.  Some things take time.

We know this if we cook.  There are things that cannot be rushed, even in a microwave world with instant meals.  If you want a good oatmeal, you need to toast steel cut oats, and then boil them for about a half an hour.  Chili really only tastes best on the second day.

With the Triune God it’s the same.  To get what God is hoping for – literally the restoration of the hearts of humanity which will restore this planet – God needs to play the long game, bringing healing through the Son one community of faith at a time.  God’s grace will make all things new, but the way God needs it to work, it will take time.

So we return to our sense of marking time in the Church Year.  While we wait for God’s good time, we walk through the year’s story of God’s grace, to be filled with hope in our waiting.  And so we can recognize signs of healing and grace when we see them, like Simeon and Anna did.

It’s been longer than 15 minutes.  Things take time with God.

But on this night we once more meet Simeon and Anna we are reminded of the hope we have in this child they celebrated and for whom they praised God.  On this night we once more bless candles for our year’s worship we are reminded of the light which shines in our darkness and one day will fill all things.

We wait.  But we wait with hope.  Because God is faithful, and God’s promises are being kept.  It will take time.  But that we have, until all things truly are made new.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

We wait for the Lord’s healing grace in this world because God’s good time is not our time, because things take time to be done the right way; but we wait where we know we’re going to see what we’re promised.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Presentation of Our Lord
   texts:  Luke 2:22-40; Malachi 3:1-4

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

In Spanish, the same word means “wait” and “hope.”

The context gives the meaning.  I learned this in my clinic’s waiting area (with help from Anna afterward).  The sign said, “If you have been waiting more than 15 minutes, please inform the front desk.”  Below, in Spanish, for waiting it said, “ha estado esperando,” which literally could be “a state of hope.”  Here it clearly meant “waiting.”

Tonight’s readings make that sign amusing.  People are waiting for the day of the Lord’s coming in Malachi and Luke, waiting for a long time.  Far more than 15 minutes.  So how long do we wait for God before we need to inform someone?  Whom do we inform?

The Spanish are right: waiting and hoping are two sides of one thing.  In our hurry-up, fast food, get-it-to-me-now culture, we associate waiting with boredom, frustration, irritation, even lack of hope.  Can we imagine a Simeon today, waiting his whole life to see God’s promised Christ, ready to die when he does?  We don’t know what the prophet Anna is waiting for, but it’s been about 63 years.  15 minutes is nothing compared to Christian waiting for God’s healing and restoring of all things.

Maybe we also should glue waiting and hoping together.

It’s a modern convention to separate them.  Our ancestors fully lived this.

The Presentation is February 2, forty days after Christmas; the purification rites for the mother happened forty days after childbirth.  But in Ireland and Britain it held further significance as a cross-quarter day.  The year was divided into so-called quarter days, Christmas Day, the Annunciation (March 25), St. John the Baptist/Midsummer Day (June 24), and St. Michael’s Day (September 29).  These Christian festivals, importantly, are very close to the solar turning points, the winter and summer solstices and the spring and fall equinoxes.

Roughly half-way between these days were other important festivals marking time.  Presentation is the cross-quarter day between Christmas and Annunciation.  Each of these eight days held significance to our Christian ancestors who had things that needed to be done by those dates for life and livelihood, to survive.  It’s not accidental that in the Middle Ages in Europe the Presentation was a day for predicting the length of winter ahead (and without a rodent’s help).  They relied on weather and the land to live; half-way between the longest night and the longest day they dreamed when spring would come and food would be abundant.

There is evidence that this Christian celebration was also one of those festivals overlaid upon pagan celebrations of this mid-point that also were part of a culture dependent on the earth for life.  This has long been a day of waiting and hoping for the future to come.

Our Church Year is our way of joining our waiting with hoping.

Our culture has lost this sense of life in the year and dependence on God’s creation which paid close attention to the creation.  Our marking points in the year are based on our entertainment schedules, from awards season to sports championship times, or our political calendar.

But we Christians walk this Church Year.  We’ve gathered tonight for Eucharist to mark 40 days since our celebration of our Lord’s birth.  We may not have as desperate a need for good weather coming, but it’s good and right that we intentionally choose this calendar as our way of knowing where we are in our waiting.

That’s the whole point of a calendar, to mark the waiting.  From the classic film and cartoon stereotype of someone x-ing out days in anticipation, to our need to tell how many days until Christmas, marking time helps us wait.

So we mark our year, moving through the story of God’s grace coming into the world and into our lives, to help us in our waiting and remind us of our hope in God.

We notice from Malachi, Simeon and Anna that our place of waiting is also important.

All three center the place of waiting on the Temple of the Lord.  That’s where Malachi says the coming will be, that’s where Simeon goes when the Spirit lets him know the child has come, and that’s where Anna spent over six decades praying, fasting, waiting.

We join our waiting with our hoping when we come into this holy place and seek God in God’s house.  In this place we know we will hear words of grace and hope, words of promise that will be kept.  In this place we know we will be fed and strengthened.  In this place the Triune God has promised to be, so like those saints of old, we gather here to wait for the Lord.

But this coming of the Lord is clearly not meant to stay in this place.

Malachi speaks of the purifying of all the people of God; the coming might start in worship but will restore the whole nation.  Simeon takes it even further, declaring that this child he is holding will be a light to all the nations of the world, as well as the glory of his own people, Israel.

So it is with our waiting and hoping in this place: we take it into the world, fully expecting to see God’s healing coming to all things, fully believing in the possibility that the light of God will make a difference in the world’s darkness.  Bearing the light ourselves infuses our waiting with hope, because living in the rich blessing of God becomes abundant and joyful when we share it and see what happens in the world.

Yet our hoping is in turn wrapped up in our waiting: God’s fullness comes in God’s good time, not instantly.

Sometimes we’re tempted to despair at this, but this story of Jesus and Simeon shows God’s promises will be kept, even if they take time.  Simeon waits his whole life, and finally sees.  At the end of this story, though, Jesus is still just a little child; growing, filling up with wisdom, but still a little child.  He is not Christ for the world yet.  There is still the path to the cross and resurrection.  Some things take time.

We know this if we cook.  There are things that cannot be rushed, even in a microwave world with instant meals.  If you want a good oatmeal, you need to toast steel cut oats, and then boil them for about a half an hour.  Chili really only tastes best on the second day.

With the Triune God it’s the same.  To get what God is hoping for – literally the restoration of the hearts of humanity which will restore this planet – God needs to play the long game, bringing healing through the Son one community of faith at a time.  God’s grace will make all things new, but the way God needs it to work, it will take time.

So we return to our sense of marking time in the Church Year.  While we wait for God’s good time, we walk through the year’s story of God’s grace, to be filled with hope in our waiting.  And so we can recognize signs of healing and grace when we see them, like Simeon and Anna did.

It’s been longer than 15 minutes.  Things take time with God.

But on this night we once more meet Simeon and Anna we are reminded of the hope we have in this child they celebrated and for whom they praised God.  On this night we once more bless candles for our year’s worship we are reminded of the light which shines in our darkness and one day will fill all things.

We wait.  But we wait with hope.  Because God is faithful, and God’s promises are being kept.  It will take time.  But that we have, until all things truly are made new.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

In the community of the Church, Christ comes to us and brings healing and life, through the grace we are with each other, and even directly in healing hearts and minds; let’s let this news get out so more and more can know!

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
   The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, year B
   text:  Mark 1:21-28

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

That must have been some day in the synagogue.

Into the place of prayer and learning came a man possessed of an unclean spirit.  Challenging the young rabbi who was teaching there, he shouted all sorts of things at him, including calling him the Holy One of God.  Then the rabbi, Jesus, commanded the spirit to be silent, and drove it out. It was quite a day in the synagogue.  The conversations over dinner afterward must have been animated.

Many of us know exactly what it was like.  A couple years ago this happened in our worship.  A woman came in from the streets, and during the offering walked to the front.  She splashed herself with water from the font, which was on the chancel steps.  Then she began bathing her head in the font.  A couple members stood with her, and let her do this for a while, until the offering was concluded.  When they then tried to help her move to a seat, she became agitated, shouting, kicking, falling to the floor.  She eventually was helped out, continuing to scream and kick.  We also had a Gospel reading concerned with possession that day; many were struck by the connection.  Conversations at our dinner tables that noon were also pretty animated.

We could have used Jesus’ authority, his power to heal, that day.  That poor sister left here and was taken to a psychiatric ward, but there was no immediate healing we’re aware of.  Does this story in Capernaum offer any hope for us today, or is it irrelevant to our modern concerns and reality?

To start with, we aren’t sure about this talk of spirits, if it’s even something we can believe.

When we look at the stories of Jesus’ healing, some of the things ascribed to “demons” or “unclean spirits” look an awful lot like things we describe medically today.  Epilepsy, depression, addiction, anxiety, even schizophrenia and others.  We can see how people of Jesus’ day would call these demons.  We even use that word at times.  These afflictions are real, and many struggle with them.

But there is this: even without a clinical diagnosis we can feel as if there are thoughts bothering us that come from outside.  It’s human reality that we all can have these negative voices in our heads telling us we’re not good enough, raising our anxieties, causing us to fear, lots of unhelpful messages.  When they become so strong we can’t cope, we seek diagnosis and help from doctors.  But in a very real sense these can feel like outsiders, even if we don’t call them “unclean spirits.”  They may very well be spirits.  They may not.  But we can’t easily rid ourselves of them.

Every single one of us is at one place or another in need of spiritual and mental healing.  There really isn’t any such thing as normal.  That’s our connection to this story.

Our problem is that Jesus was able to heal this man with a word, immediately.  That isn’t something we often see today.  But it’s what we wish we could experience.

The good news is, we already know part of Christ’s answer to this problem.  It’s why we’re here.

When that woman went to the font, she was not alone.  From the one, then two who initially stood with her, to the health professionals who came forward to help, to those who helped her in the lounge area after she left, this community surrounded her, even in the anxiety she raised in us.  Afterward, every single person I heard ask or speak of this was concerned about her, how she was, hoping and praying she would be OK.  Some tried to visit her in the hospital, but weren’t permitted.  She experienced a community in Christ who wanted to love her.

That’s what we all come here to find as well.  That community of faith is part of the authoritative teaching that so astonished the synagogue.  Mark doesn’t tell us here what Jesus taught.  Matthew, however, inserts three chapters of Jesus’ teaching between Mark’s verses 21 and 22 (the first and second verses we heard today); we call these chapters the “Sermon on the Mount.”

Powerfully, in those teachings Jesus describes a new community of faith based on trusting God to provide all things, and setting aside anxiety.  A community that prays for and loves enemies, instead of seeking revenge.  A community shaped by humility and peacemaking, that looks out for the meek and lowly.  A community that considers anger and hate as destructive as murder.  A community so shaped to love, people would refrain from worship if they had something outstanding against another, and go and repair what was broken first.

That’s what Jesus taught with authority.  That’s the gift of community he gives to his followers, and it’s central to the healing he offers us today.

When we see each other with the same concern and compassion we had for that woman who came among us, pray for each other in the same love, we find the power of Christ’s healing.

When we understand that each of us is broken, each has pain and suffering, be it spiritual, mental, or physical, and that our greatest gift is that we are with each other to love each other through it, we find the power, the authority, of Christ’s healing.

In Christ we are made into a community that doesn’t fear depression or anxiety, addiction or post-traumatic stress, any more than we fear headaches, so we can help each other face such pain.  In Christ we are made into a community that doesn’t fear cancer anymore than we fear a broken leg, so we can help each other in our fears.  In Christ we are made into a community that isn’t afraid of spiritual emptiness or heavy guilt, but sees them as other things, like all the rest, that we can support each other in and bring to our God for healing.

That’s the authority, the power Jesus has as Son of God: he declares what it is to be together as his Church, what it looks like, and empowers us to do it.  And so gives us healing.

But deeper healing is also possible through the authority and power of Christ Jesus.

What happened to the man in the synagogue is also happening today, even if we don’t see it as dramatically.  It might take decades, but God is constantly working in us to bring wholeness.  We might not see the completion of it in this life, but God is constantly working in us to heal.  Opening our eyes to see that all of us are broken and struggling opens our eyes to the ways in which God brings healing.  People do get better.  Sometimes we need the perspective of thirty, forty years, but we can see it if we look.  Healing of the spirit and heart does come.  We even have therapies and medicines that can help mental illness in powerful ways.

Even if the thing we think is the main problem doesn’t get healed as we hope, we still find healing from the grace of God, so we cope better, so we see the joy of abundance from God even in our pain.  That’s healing, too.  Because Jesus has risen from the dead, even the final illness, death itself, cannot harm us, which changes how we live in this life and see everything.

Best of all, in Word and Sacrament we worship the Triune God who loves and forgives and restores us, and are fed and blessed to find abundant rich life no matter our circumstances, a healing we receive each and every time we gather together.

“What is this?” they asked in Capernaum.  “A new teaching – with authority,” they answered.

This is why we gather each week, why we hope in this life: the Triune God has come into this world as one of us in Jesus the Christ, with the authority and power to heal all that ails us, everything.  In this community we are given each other to help in our journey of faith, to pray in times of need, to love us through whatever we’re facing, and in this community we are healed.

Like those first believers in Capernaum, this is astonishing to us.  But we’ve seen it.  We know it is so.  And so we are sent to proclaim this Good News to everyone we can, to embody Christ’s healing in this community, to welcome others always into it, so that more and more can know the same hope and healing we know.

It’s too astonishing, to good, to keep to ourselves.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen