Mark 1:29-39 "Don't Twiddle Your Thumbs"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         There was once a Catholic priest who got pulled over by a police officer after running a red light.  The officer approached the car, and the priest rolled down the window.  The officer immediately got a very strong whiff of alcohol.

         “Have you been drinking, Father?” the police officer asked.

         “Not a drop”, the priest replied.

         “Well … would you mind telling me what you have got in that flask”, the policeman asked.

         “In here, you mean,” the priest responded innocently as he raised the metal flask he was holding. “Why, that would be water.”

         The police officer took the flask from the priest, opened it, and sniffed.

         “Water?  I believe this is wine, Father”, said the policeman.

         “Mother of God!” exclaimed the priest, “Another miracle!”

         Another miracle!  That is the way I felt as I first thought back on last week’s Scripture reading and then began to reflect on today’s story.  Remember last Sunday?

         We heard about Jesus beginning his ministry by exorcising an evil spirit from the old man who had been sitting in the back row of the synagogue – and he did it in the middle of his very first sermon, no less.  Not surprisingly, as the author of the Gospel of Mark went on to tell us, word of this miracle – occurring in church, no less - spread far and wide across Galilee.

         Our story today picks up right on the tail of last week’s reading.  The author tells us that Jesus left the synagogue with his disciples and hightailed it to Simon and Andrew’s home for lunch and some good old-fashioned Sabbath afternoon conversation.

         However, when Jesus and the others arrived, they found Simon’s mother-in-law down with a fever – sick and confined to her bed.  Now this was a bad situation for two reasons.  First, who wants to see anyone pale and lethargic and clearly under the weather?  And second, just who would make lunch for them – that being a woman’s job and all?

         And so, clearly for the first if not a bit for both reasons, Jesus went into her room and sat down next to her on the bed.  The author does not give us many details (this particular author never does).  However, we are told that Jesus took her hand in his and raised her up, and the fever left her.  Another miracle!

        I like to think that Jesus healed her purely from compassion – though I wonder if his followers (dunderheads and dolts that they often were) rejoiced at the sudden change in her health status because then they would be assured of a noonday meal.  After all, the author makes a point of telling us that Simon’s mother-in-law immediately assumed her womanly duties, her hands working overtime in the kitchen preparing food and then carrying it out to her guests.  As the Gospel writer tells us, she began to wait on them – presumably hand and foot. 

         The author also tells us that by nightfall, the sick and the halt and the lame were lined up outside Simon and Andrew’s home.  Loving hands supported those who could not walk and held those who were feeling just plain miserable.  Even the folks in Capernaum who were free of illness gathered round to take in the spectacle, gesturing with their hands in awe and amazement. 

         Apparently Jesus did not disappoint either.  He reached his hands out, touching and healing innumerable people with all kinds of diseases – from the common cold to leprosy.  He also raised his hands in power and exorcised more than a few demons and evils spirits.    Another miracle – and another – and another!  It was a busy Sabbath for our young rabbi!  All in a day’s work for the newest healer in town!

         Perhaps that is why Jesus got up early the next morning, long before daylight, amidst the snorts and snores and groans and nighttime noises of the men who had chosen to follow him.  And he walked in the fading starlight past the very edge of town, reaching up to touch the centuries old olive tree on the way, so beautiful in the soft glow of moonlight (a good reminder of the beauty of all creation, he thought to himself). 

         He walked until he came to a lonely place – not lonely in the sense of sad or feeling like he had no friends – but lonely in the sense of a place where he was not the center of attention, the healer on display, a place where he could be with his God, with the One whose compassion he embodied in his own hands and person, where he could be with this Holy One and pray.  And so he did.  He raised his hands up - both in praise and supplication.

         I wonder what Simon and the others thought when they finally awoke and realized that Jesus was gone:  Their ticket to fame and maybe even fortune vanished!  After all, they were enjoying this notoriety. 

         It was easy to get used to feeling like big shots, especially in Capernaum.  I mean, a population of 1500 was nothing to sneeze at in those days – particularly when a good number of them were still outstretched in a line snaking back from the front door, many near the front having brought their lawn chairs and sleeping bags to spend the night.

         Like political handlers, Simon and the others sought out Jesus and were perhaps even a bit annoyed when they found him.  “What are you doing way out here?” they asked, wagging an accusing finger at him.  “Everyone is looking for you.  You are famous, and, besides, we have not had this much heady pleasure ever.  This is so much more awesome than hauling in fishing nets all night!  

         Oh, and by the way, (shaking their fingers at him one more time for good measure) do not ever run off again like this without telling us where you are headed!”  Pointing at their own chests with immense pride, they finished.  “We are important people now.”

         And Jesus rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath.  “This is not a circus we are about, you know.  I am not a hospital emergency room.  There is too much to do and too little time”

         But instead he stretched out his hands and answered them, “We must go – onward to other towns and villages.  I need to preach.  I need to spread the Good News that the Kingdom of God has the potential to be here, now, on this earth.  We need to get going – moving right along.” 

         And so – without so much as a thank you hug to Simon’s mother-in-law or a wave goodbye to all those people still waiting in line outside the house to be healed, Jesus and the Twelve left Capernaum for other towns and villages, places that would, in the end, all be on the way to Jerusalem.

         You know, hands and gestures figure prominently in this story.  Though the author of this Gospel only directly mentions them one time, they are all over this narrative if you look closely.  We have the disciples pointing and wagging fingers in their feeble attempts to contain and control Jesus.  We have the townspeople gesticulating at the healing circus they had come to witness.  We have the loving and supporting hands that cared for the sick and infirm as they waited for the healing touch of Jesus.

         And, of course, we find Jesus’ outstretched hands, taking the old mother-in-law’s hands in his own and raising her up out of her bed, so she could go back to being who she was before she got sick – mother, mother-in-law, servant to others. 

         We find him touching the fevered brow of those who made their way to Simon and Andrew’s home in the hopes of being healed.  We imagine him massaging atrophied legs and bringing them back to life. 

         In our mind’s eye, we see him reaching out and touching the old olive tree, marveling at God’s creation.  And we visualize him raising his hands in a stolen moment of prayer before his lonely place is unceremoniously stripped of its loneliness when Simon and his companions arrive. 

         Outstretched hands, touching hands, massaging hands, healing hands, marveling hands, praying hands:  Hands are important to this story, and, I would say, hands are important to any faith community.

         UCC pastor Peter Ilgenfritz notes that “to be part of a religious community you got to have your hands out.”  He goes on to talk about how “in a (Greek) Orthodox church you need to have your hands out: to make the sign of the cross, kiss the icons, light a candle, shake hands and kiss relatives…..(Furthermore) Buddhists are always using their hands to bow and drink tea.

         Even in Protestant communities like ours with a relative lack of movement in our worship, just watch what your hands do during a service. You hold the bulletin and hymnal.

(You) pass the offering plates,” and sometimes, I would add, you pass plates of cubed bread and tiny cups of grape juice.  You hold these bread cubes and tiny cups in your hands before you taste them, and, at the end of every worship service, you raise your hands in blessing. 

         Hands and what we do with them are important – and they should never be found folded neatly in laps, jammed into pockets, or be seen with thumbs twiddling.  Hands should never be left doing nothing.

         After all, we are the body of Christ.  We are the hands of Jesus.  No hands are too old and too gnarled with arthritis.  No hands are too small and inexperienced.  We – and our hands - are all that Jesus has now. 

         It is our hands that will transform the world.  It is our hands that will bring clarity to the Kingdom of God here and now.  It is our hands that must reach out in compassion.  It is our hands that are called to touch one another in love.  It is our hands that can massage life back into withered and broken beings.  It is our hands that are challenged to risk the pain and heal a fragmented world.  It is our hands that must point to the marvels of our creation that too often are ignored or trampled under the weight of a fossil fuel economy. It is our hands that in the end must pray – for guidance, for strength, for courage, and for compassion.

         As one blogger wrote, "Love not expressed, love not felt, is difficult to trust....God knew the human need for nearness. Jesus is the incarnation of God's love, which makes it all the more demanding (if frightening) to realize that for some people, we are the only Jesus (the only hands of Jesus, I would add) they will ever meet."

         Unfold your hands then: Touch the sick.  Massage the lifeless.  Heal the hurting, even if it means risking the pain. 

         Take your hands out of your pockets:  Care for the earth.  Pray.

         And quit twiddling your thumbs:  After all, you – and only you -  are the hands of Jesus.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

          

Mark 1:14-20 "The Best Fishing Story Ever"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         An old-timer with a fishing rod in his hand sat on the riverbank, obviously awaiting a nibble, though the fishing season had not officially opened yet. A uniformed officer stood behind him quietly for several minutes.  When the old-timer finally realized he was not alone under the trees that shaded him from a delightfully warm afternoon sun, he turned around and inquired, "You the game warden?"

         "Yup," the uniformed officer responded in a single word.

         Unruffled, the old man began to move the fishing pole slowly from side to side. Finally, he lifted the line out of the water. Pointing to a minnow wriggling on the end of the line, he said, "Just teaching him how to swim."

         Anyone who has baited a hook or cast a line most likely has a fish story – the one that got away or the enormous 300 pound one, which was caught single-handed, immense filets still in the freezer back home. 

         However, one of the best fish stories ever is right here in the Bible, and a version of it is the tale we just finished reading from the Gospel of Mark. It is the story of Jesus when he bypassed the affluent, ignored the famous, and gathered the core of his community – essential to his ministry because we all know that you cannot do ministry alone; it is not the stuff of isolation - which is part of the reason we have churches – I mean, to actually do ministry.

         So there was Jesus, gathering the core of his community on the docks by the shore of the Sea of Galilee, a lake really about 12 miles long and 8 miles across at its widest point. Jesus did not set his sights on a community of thousands.  He figured twelve was doable, and he settled on four as a start (something we might want to keep in mind as a small church striving to have a big heart). 

         Jesus wandered down to the shore in the pre-dawn hours because fishing was a nighttime activity.  It was no small potatoes for the local economy either.  A night’s catch would be sold, salted, and could be shipped all over the Roman world.  Graveyard shifts, sore muscles, and tired bodies at the break of day: they were all part of an occupation that was passed on down through the generations from father to son. 

         Growing up, from the shore, Simon and Andrew and James and John had probably watched the silhouettes of their granddads casting nets into the sunset. In fact, the boys had probably mended their first nets under the watchful eye of their fathers.  Long ago, they had seen their future laid out before them. 

         And it was certainly not an easy future to behold.  As seminary professor and occasional writer for the “Huffington Post” reminds us, “Jesus' four new disciples lived in a tough world. Jewish aspirations for freedom confronted the grim reality of Roman imperial exploitation. Families lost their land. Children scattered in search of work and opportunity, often finding themselves enslaved by poverty. Traditional family and village structures crumbled under enormous cultural and economic stress. A very few people amassed incredible levels of wealth in Jesus' day while countless others found themselves destitute. Those realities impinge upon Simon and Andrew while they fish; James and John sense them as they repair their nets.”

         It was into that scenario that Jesus walked on the day he got serious about jumpstarting his ministry.  He was, of course, a passionate follower of the recently imprisoned John the Baptizer. 

In fact, Jesus continued to preach John’s message: The Kingdom of God is at hand!  God is about to break into this crazy old world of ours!  Repent and believe!  You better stand up and take notice – and turn your life around.

         However, Jesus was not preaching down there on the docks as the fingers of dawn slowly punctured the fading nighttime darkness in the Eastern skies, turning the horizon every shade of rosy red possible.  Odd for a preacher perhaps, but Jesus really had very little to say - first to Simon and Andrew and then to James and John:  “Come with me, and I will teach you to fish for people.”  That was it! Follow me, and I will turn you into something you are not.  Walk with me, and I will transform your life.”  Done!

         And Simon and Andrew dropped their nets with an immediacy that to this day is hard to fathom.  And the two brothers, James and John, left their old man Zebedee sitting on a hard wooden seat in the family boat with only the hired help now to mend the nets and carry on the fishing tradition.  “Gotta go. We’re gonna follow this guy in the robe, we’ve only known him for 5½ minutes, but gotta go.” (Craig Langston)

         There was no – well, how long will we be gone?  What should we bring with us?  Will it be hard work?  Do we need special training?  Will there be enough food?  The four of them just upped and left with in the blink of an eye.

         When you think about it – Jesus being so passionate about the ministry ahead of him and clearly wanting to do the very best job possible – the whole situation that the author of the Gospel of Mark describes is a bit on the ludicrous side - or at least highly ironic.  I mean, the four fisher dudes were hardly cut out for a life of deep spirituality, thinking the great thought, or even listening to the great thought.  They were illiterate, parochial and provincial, and had probably never contemplated much beyond tonight’s catch and whether it would bring in enough shekels to feed the little woman and the passel of kids at home. 

       As Lutheran pastor Marcus Felde aptly notes, “They were not special. It is almost as though Jesus thought anyone would do. Simon and Andrew could have been brothers who operated a bakery, and Jesus might have said, “Follow me and I will teach you to bake bread for the life of the world.”

       They could have been shepherds, and he might have said, “Do I have a flock for you!” Or carpenters, and he could have used the obvious analogy of building a house. As it happens, they were fisher(men). They spent their days at the grubbiest occupation in town.  (But) Jesus looked at them and said, “You’ll do.”

       No aptitude test. No background check…. Ability with a sword was not required, nor was facility with the Greek language. They were ordinary people. ‘Some guys.’ These four men were not the apple of Galilee’s eye.” 

       And, as time went on, they proved again and again that they were seldom great at what they did.  They misconstrued and misunderstood.  They shooed away some of Jesus’ best sermon illustrations because they erroneously figured that children should not be allowed to hear about important things like what the kingdom of God was really like.  One betrayed him.  Another denied him.  And they all ended up abandoning him when he most needed their support.

       But he looked initially at the four fishermen and eventually at all twelve of them (just like he looks at us), and he said “You’ll do.  All I am asking is that you will follow me.  I am not asking you to be a perfect Christian.  I’m not asking you to embrace this or that philosophy or set of beliefs or doctrines.” 

       Much as we might hope, however, Jesus also does not say, “Follow me – and I will make you more spiritual and less sinful.” 

He does not say, “Follow me – and I will make you more disciplined, more honest, and a pillar of your community.”

       No – he says, “Follow me – and I will make you fish for people.”  And he is not talking about strategizing with you to get more bodies into the pews on Sunday mornings.  That, he would surely say, should be the least of your worries. 

       He says “Follow me, and I will make you into something you are not.  Follow me, and I will give you the tools to transform your life so you can transform the lives of those around you.  That is what I mean by fishing for people.”  

       Follow me, and I will show you that compassion and forgiveness and non-violence can change the way this crazy world of ours works. Follow me, and I will show you that not just feeding the hungry but eliminating hunger altogether will make for a better, more just, and equitable life for everyone.  Follow me, and I will show you that a life of generosity is when what you give away comes first, not last after cable TV and Dunkin’ Donuts lattes have been taken care of for the month.  Follow me, and I will show you what the Kingdom of God could be like here on earth.  Follow me, let your life be transformed, and you can be part of its unveiling.”

      Put in those terms, this “follow me” stuff, this “call” business sounds awfully grandiose, too deep and profound, so beyond us, in many ways, so not us.  What we pledge to give away coming before Dunkin’ Donuts lattes and cable TV?  Yikes – I don‘t know about that?!

       So let’s be honest here and call a spade a spade. When you come right down to it: we’re not much! Most of us are not that generous, not that forgiving, and not even that compassionate.  However (and let’s continue to be honest and call a spade a spade), if we give it any thought at all, then surely we realize that we are really all that Jesus has to work with.  So - maybe we owe it to him – and to God – and to the world – to give it our all. 

       I mean, we have to be enough – even though we are really not good at leaving behind our nets, our boats, our fathers, and most particularly our lives.  Though we are quite accomplished at accumulating, we are not that adept at giving away.  Though we are quite proficient at clinging, we are not so hot at letting go.  And the invitation to follow is most assuredly an invitation to not cling and to not accumulate, but rather to let go and leave behind. 

       What is more, we are not really particularly skillful at heading out without a map either – or a sense of direction – or even a destination.  And Jesus does not offer us any of those things either.

       We are always called to an uncertain future.  Where we will end up, we really have no idea.  Maybe that is why the Gospel writer insisted on emphasizing the immediacy of Simon and Andrew and James and John’s decision.  Maybe the Gospel writer intuitively understood that if we think about this call business too much, most of us are bound to chicken out.   So the Gospel writer advises that we just go – even if it all seems unexpected –and maybe even undeserved. 

       And the reason that we just go is because being called is a central affirmation of our Bible, a concept that lies at its very core.  Back in the near beginning, Abraham was called to create a new people and nation.  Moses was called to lead the Hebrews out of Egypt and to the verge of the Promised Land.  And all the prophets – God called them too: Isaiah, Jeremiah, and even Jonah who resisted his call as long as he possibly could.  And don’t forget David – erstwhile shepherd boy turned king – and, of course, Mary – called to be a too young unwed mother. 

       Carl Sagan, who was not a religious person,….spent the latter part of his life in the search for extraterrestrial intelligence; that is, looking for other beings out there who may be calling to us.

Someone asked him, “What if we never get any messages?” Sagan supposedly said, “It’s a possibility, but it’s a depressing thought to me that there might be no one in the universe trying to call us.”

       But there is someone calling us.  There is someone extending us an invitation to be something we are not, to be transformed, to transform others – just like he called Simon and Andrew and James and John one early morning on the docks of Sea of Galilee. 

       One of my very favorite novels is A River Runs Through It by Norman MacLean.  He begins his story this way:  “In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing.

We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.”

       Jesus has called us – extended us an invitation – to be fly fishermen, maybe even to be a dry-fly fisherman.  We may not know the first thing about tying flies or keeping our balance in an icy cold stream in waders or casting a fly rod with the precision of a metronome and the grace of a dancer. 

We may not know the first thing about how to be more generous, how to be more compassionate, how to really care for the poor. 

       But it did not seem to matter on the shore of the Sea of Galilee so long ago – and so I cannot imagine that it matters much now. What only mattered when the invitation to follow was offered to Simon and Andrew and James and John was that they did not pussyfoot around, try to cut a better deal, negotiate the terms, or count their shekels, wondering just how much of their livelihood they might actually have to share.  With an immediacy that was as beautiful as it was deeply trusting, they simply followed.  May we do likewise.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

Mark 1:21-28 "Us?"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         “This is the Good News about Jesus Christ”: That is how the Gospel of Mark begins.  And as we work our way through its first chapter, we learn that….

         Jesus searches for John the Baptist, finally finds him down on the shores of the Jordan River doing his thing, and is baptized:  Check.  Done!

         The Holy Spirit, looking suspiciously like a dove, shoos Jesus off, far from civilization, to face his fears for forty days in the wilderness:  Check.  Done!

         Jesus wanders by himself for a short while, recovering from his stint in isolation and honing his preaching skills on the message of his mentor, John the Baptist (“The Kingdom of God is coming! God is breaking into this crazy world of ours!  Repent!  You better turn your life around.”):  Check.  Done!

         Jesus decides that you cannot do ministry alone and so calls his first disciples, four illiterate fishermen named Simon, Andrew, James, and John. Soon thereafter, he digs up a tax collector nee Matthew, a penny pincher called Judas to handle the finances, and a half dozen other lowlifes to round out his cadre of followers to an even dozen:  Check.  Done!

         Jesus and his twelve buddies enter the synagogue in Capernaum where Jesus commences his first public sermon, only to have it disrupted by a blowhard know-it-all in the back pew:  Jesus’ ministry begins!

         Up to this point, everything has been preliminary.  Today we start to reflect on the actions Jesus took and the things he taught.  And we begin – ironically - in church. 

         The pews were filling up by the time Jesus and his followers arrived.  Some folks were yawning.  Others were just plain weary after a long week.  A few were in lousy moods because the kids were acting up, or their breakfast bagel was burned, or they had run out of cream cheese. 

         Frankly, most of them were there because it was a pious habit.  You went to the synagogue and sat through a predictable if not slightly boring liturgy. 

You listened to the scribes read from the Torah and then nitpick among themselves for a while on the details while you watched them perform. 

         You tried to keep your eyes open, but your mind wandered, and, before you knew it, you were figuring out what you could get done that afternoon before it got dark.  Statistics would say that you would remember 10% at best of what the scribes were talking about. 

         Then you sang an old song that your grandmother loved, filled with thee’s, thou’s, and words you never did know the meaning of to the accompaniment of a dying musical instrument that few people even took lessons on nowadays, and finally – finally - you headed home. 

         As Lutheran pastor, Paul Nielson noted, “They came to church for the same reason we do, to get some advise on how to be a better person or to deal with this or that problem we're having with someone or because we think it'll bring us good luck if we do or bad luck if we don't.”

         But this Sabbath was different.  Jesus showed up.  “Anything good happen in church today?”  “Let’s see!  Where to begin?  I mean, you should have been there! 

It was totally awesome, astounding, amazing!”  The Scarlet Letter Bible puts it this way:  “People were captivated with what he had to say because he had real conviction about it, rather than just droning on like the clergy.” 

         Today the congregation was not listening to someone whose authority came solely from his position, someone who demanded respect because of his or her title:  “I am the pastor and spiritual leader of this community….I am the Moderator, Treasurer, Head Trustee, Deacon Coordinator, and I expect you to do what I say…”

         There is a story about a governor of Massachusetts who was running for a second term.  One day, after a busy morning chasing votes (and no lunch), he arrived at a church barbecue. It was late afternoon, and he was famished. As he moved down the serving line, he held out his plate to the woman serving chicken. She put a piece on his plate and turned to the next person in line.

         "Excuse me," the Governor said, "do you mind if I have another piece of chicken?"

         "Sorry," the woman told him. "I'm supposed to give one piece of chicken to each person."

         "But I'm starved," the governor said.

         "Sorry," the woman said again. "Only one to a customer."

         The Governor was a modest and unassuming man, but he decided that this time he would throw a little weight around.

         "Do you know who I am?" he said. "I am the governor of this state."

         "Do you know who I am?" the woman said. "I'm the lady in charge of the chicken. Move along, mister."

         Jesus’ authority did not arise from his title or position (good thing too as he had no title or position).  No – people were captivated by what Jesus had to say because his mission was so reminiscent of God’s dream for the world from the beginning.  The clarity and strength of his vision were there for all the world to see – and it was all wrapped up in that deeply human and humble way of his that just seemed to enfold you and embrace you. 

         Jesus’ authority did not come from his ability to quote Scripture backwards and forwards and argue its minutest detail as the authority of the scribes did. The authority of this young, still wet-behind-the-ears rabbi came from his unswerving commitment to God’s passion for economic justice and peacemaking, which he embodied in his own life and beliefs and values. 

And the congregation was astounded – shocked – that church could be so relevant to their lives.  They had never seen the likes of it before.

         However, we all know that you cannot please all the people all the time, and so – not surprisingly – a deeply disturbed fellow in the back row stood up, interrupted Jesus, and asked a couple of questions with a distinct tone of belligerence: “What business do you have here with us, Jesus? Nazarene! I know what you’re up to! You’ve come to destroy us!.... You’ve come here to wreck our church, haven’t you, you holier-than-thou-think-you’re-a-big-shot!”

         Wow!  A confrontation!  Right there in church on a Sabbath morning!

         “Be quiet!  Shut up, and get out of here!” Jesus yelled back.  And the evil one left, shaking his fists, and screaming obscenities all the way out the door. (Scarlett Letter Bible)

         The congregation loved it!  I mean, who does not get totally into a clash of powerful forces?  New England Patriots….Seattle Seahawks.  The atmosphere was charged, and emotions ran high. All they were missing was the beer and the appetizers and the 52-inch flat screen TV.

         No wonder the congregation, sounding like a Greek chorus, was (as a couple of modern translations put it) “incredulous, buzzing with curiosity. ‘What’s going on here? A new teaching that does what it says? That takes hutzpah!  He shuts up defiling, demonic spirits and sends them packing!’ And so Jesus began to be famous around the region.”

         This story of Jesus’ first foray into ministry intrigues me primarily because of that disruptive backbencher.  I want to know more about him:  a man with an evil spirit, a man possessed of a demon, a man struggling with his own brokenness and in desperate need of healing.

         I am intrigued by the questions this troubled man asks:  What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth?  What do you have to do with us?  Are you here to destroy us?  Not – what do you want with me?  What do you have to do with me? Are you here to destroy me? 

         Us?  Who in God’s name is the “us” this crazy old coot is talking about?  Could it be that this angry old man, in his brokenness, so desperate for healing, is somehow like us?  Like you and like me?  Surely we too are broken in some way. Surely we too are in need of healing.  Surely we too do not want anyone to wreck the status quo, tweak our congregational culture, and rock the boat here in church.

         What do you want of us, Jesus of Nazareth?  What do you have to do with us?  What do you have to do with us sitting here in these pews, in this church – whether out of pious habit or hoping against hope that something will happen here to mend our brokenness, to heal our desperation, to motivate us to be transformed?  What do you want of us, Jesus of Nazareth?  What do you have to do with us? 

         And the answer, of course, is everything.  “I have everything to do with you.”  Jesus has a power over things that we deem to be unclean - good versus evil, right versus wrong, life versus death.  As UCC pastor, Todd Weir recognizes, “Christ is among us, whenever we gather in church, to demonstrate a power among us.  If we devote ourselves to anything less….we have missed the goal of faith.

         “What do you have to do with us?” the man at the back of the church inquired.  “I have everything to do with you,” Jesus might have replied – even in church, especially in church.

         Together  (he might have proclaimed) we have power.  Together we have it within us to yank the church out of its rut, out of its 19^th century hymns, out of its being a place that does not – will not – change, out of its irrelevancy to most adults under 40.  Together (he might have declared) we have it within us to make the church an agent for social change, a vehicle for transformation, an institutional follower on the Way.   

         “Are you here to destroy us?” we ask. “I am here to destroy, to rebuild, and to transform,” Jesus answers.  I am here to destroy the anger and the bitterness you carry within you.  I am here to destroy the greed and the jealousy that you try to keep under wraps.  I am here to destroy the apathy and the arrogance you flaunt.  I am here to destroy the fear that, as Lutheran pastor Jonathan Davis wrote, “our money will run out and so we must hold on to it tighter than ever. The fear that “old age” equals “washed up and useless.”   I am here to destroy the notion that the church is first and foremost a place of comfort and fellowship.

        I am here to rebuild, Jesus continues, to replace anger and bitterness with forgiveness, greed and jealousy with generosity, and apathy and arrogance with motivation and commitment.  I am here to rebuild the church as a relevant and critical catalyst for change.

         I am here to transform you, he concludes, so that you can transform the church and the world.  And it was probably at that point that the evil one left, shaking his fists, and screaming obscenities all the way out the door.

         Maybe Jesus concluded his prepared remarks then – or maybe his confrontation with the man so in need of healing was really his sermon.  We do not know. 

         However, if that is where Jesus stopped, then I probably should stop too.  And so I too conclude with this thought:  Maybe it is not so much about asking (or telling) Jesus what we need or what we think our lives or the life of the church ought to be like, but maybe it is recognizing instead (as the disruptive backbencher did) that Jesus is who we need and who we need to surrender and listen to if our lives or the life of the church are to be what God dreams for them to be.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond VIllage Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine