The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
February 8, 2015

Click here to listen to this homily (mp3 file)  

     Today’s first reading gives us a window onto Job whose very name is a synonym for suffering, whose story is a textbook study on the Problem of Evil. In a flash, the prosperous and upright Job went from being potentate to pariah: he lost everything: family, possessions, health, happiness, hope. “I shall not see happiness again,” he cried out from his dark misery.

     But while Job may have lost hope, he never lost faith, although he came close.  And God came close to him.  In the depth of his misery God came close to him, clothed in splendor, wrapped in mystery, never justifying his actions to Job, and never really solving the riddle of his suffering, but in the end, healing him, restoring his prosperity, giving him length of days. So Job’s lament was not the last word. God had the last word.  God always does.

     In today’s reading from Mark’s gospel, it’s Jesus who has the last word in the face of human suffering. The story begins with Jesus leaving the synagogue after exorcising a demon from that poor, unfortunate fellow we heard about last Sunday. Jesus then arrives at the home of Peter and Andrew where he encounters yet more suffering: Peter’s mother-in-law is in bed with a fever.  Jesus gently takes her by the hand and helps her up, and immediately she is well enough to wait on everyone.

     But that’s only the beginning.  As evening comes on and the Sabbath rest is over, a large group of people arrives at the house where Jesus is. Mark tells us that the whole town gathers at the door. True to form, Jesus takes time to heal each person no matter what the malady. That’s what Jesus always does whenever he encounters faith in a sick person

     But, we might ask, what about now?  What about us?  Where is Jesus when it comes to our illnesses, our sufferings?  Is faith in Jesus all we need in order to be healed?  It would seem foolish to maintain that -- there’s way too much evidence to the contrary – unless there is a difference between being healed and being cured. And I think there is. Healing is a deeper thing than curing. In all the years I’ve been a priest I can point to very few times when I was convinced that a remarkable, unexplainable – maybe even miraculous - physical cure took place. But I can point to countless times when people have been healed in ways deeper than physical:  healed in their hearts, healed in their spirits, healed in their emotions, healed in the deepest part of their souls.  And in each case, a remarkable transformation took place: they came to view their physical suffering with new eyes and began to know Jesus in ways they hadn’t before. Those experiences have made me realize that there really is a difference between being cured and being healed.

     Now, I know that all this can sound pretty theoretical but let me share with you how real it is for me at this very moment as I try to come to terms with the diagnosis one of my sisters recently received of an aggressive form of cancer.  To be honest, I am reeling from it all, deeply shaken by it. Only a few months ago, my sister lost her husband of 53 years, and now this.  What am I to think?  What am I to pray for?  What is she to think or to pray for?  What is her family, including her five children, her fifteen grandchildren, her twin sister, to pray for?  Well, of course, we are all praying for a cure, even for a miracle.  And so we should.  But we are also praying for her healing -- for the deepest kind of healing: her peace of mind, strength of spirit, joy in living, constant assurances of love.

     I believe that’s what Jesus wanted first and foremost for every ill person he encountered. I believe it’s what he did for Peter’s mother-in-law in today’s gospel passage when he took her by the hand and his touch became a kind of transfusion for her – his life flowing into hers.  That’s the sort of healing we in my family are praying for my sister to experience, and I suspect the same is true for any of you who may be dealing with similar things in your own life or in the life of your family.  

     There is one more thing I want to say about healing. It’s prompted by today’s reading from First Corinthians when St. Paul says that he has “become one with the weak to win over the weak.”  Paul seems to be reaching deep inside himself, coming to terms with his own wounds and his own weaknesses so that those very wounds and weaknesses of his can become gifts that he is able to bring to others in his ministry.

     And that’s the way it works, as the twentieth century spiritual writer, Fr. Henri Nouwen, argues so persuasively in his wonderful book, “The Wounded Healer.”  Nouwen believes that the only healers truly capable of bringing healing to others are the wounded healers -- the ones who honestly and humbly come to terms with their own hurts, their own wounds, their own limitations, whatever they may be. If you think of it, that was true even for Jesus who, even though he was sinless and without failings, made himself weak – one like us, one of us.

     And this tells me that, as I deal with my sister’s situation - and with anyone else’s - I need to come to terms with my own wounds, because I can be a healing presence to others only if I know those wounds, know my own uncertainties and doubts, my own nagging questions, my own brokenness. And it’s this way with all of us, my friends. Even as we pray for healing for those we love, we must come to terms with our own need for healing. That’s why we keep going to the altar where we meet Jesus who is the source of our healing, but only because he allowed his own body to be broken for us and his blood to be poured out for us. As we receive his Body and Blood in the Eucharist today, may we, and may those we love, experience the healing that only Jesus can give.  The only healing that counts.  

     Father Michael G. Ryan