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The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
February 4, 2018

     Today’s first reading gave us a little window onto Job whose very name is a synonym for suffering, and whose story is a textbook study on the Problem of Evil. In a flash, the pious 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 midst 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 a poor, unfortunate fellow. Jesus then arrives at the home of Peter and Andrew where he encounters even more suffering: Peter’s mother-in-law is in bed with a fever. He 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, a large group of people arrives at the house where Jesus is. The whole town gathers at the door, Mark tells us. You can picture the scene, can’t you?  True to form, Jesus takes time to heal each person no matter what the malady. That’s what Jesus always did whenever he encountered 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?  We would be foolish to maintain that – there’s too much evidence to the contrary – unless, of course, we’re willing to take a deeper look at the meaning of healing. In the fifty-plus years I’ve been a priest I can point to only a couple of times when I was convinced that a remarkable, unexplainable – maybe even miraculous - physical healing took place. But I can point to countless times when people were healed in ways deeper even than physical:  healed in their hearts, healed in their emotions, healed in the deepest reaches of their souls.  And in each case, they came to view their physical suffering with new eyes and began to know Jesus in new ways. Experiences like those have made me realize that healing has more than one meaning, and that Jesus actually heals in more than one way. He does.

     And that’s not all. Not only does healing have more than one meaning, healing is seldom a one-way street. Healers are often in need of healing themselves. I think that was even true for Jesus. Does that sound strange to you - that Jesus could need healing?  Strange as that may seem, I think it’s true.

     Look at Jesus in that gospel passage. He is beleaguered – surrounded by sick and needy, demanding and disturbed people, people hungry for one thing only: his touch, his healing.  But Jesus has needs of his own.  He has a need for quiet, for prayer, for the refreshment of his own spirit – so much so that he quietly steals away to a deserted place in the early hours of morning, taking for himself the only hours that people haven’t taken from him.

     Is the healer seeking healing for his own burdened spirit?  I think so.  Jesus longs for time alone with his Father, time when his Father’s presence can anoint him, strengthen him, heal him so he can continue to offer healing to others.

     St. Paul gives further insight into healing in the reading from First Corinthians. When he writes 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 be part of the gifts he brings to his ministry.

     Henri Nouwen, the popular late twentieth century spiritual writer, wrote a whole book about this – a very popular book, “The Wounded Healer” - coining a new and now consecrated phrase and making the important point that the only healers truly capable of bringing healing to others are the wounded healers - the ones who honestly and humbly accept their own shadows, their own broken hearts, their own broken promises.

     But none of this can be true of Jesus, the sinless One who had no shadows and broke no promises, can it?  Maybe it can, because even though Jesus was sinless, he did, as St. Paul put it so graphically, “become sin for us.”  He did. And in so doing, his own broken body and his lonely, sometimes shattered spirit became the path by which others would find healing.  The path by which we would find healing. Jesus was the first Wounded Healer.

     But what about you? What about me?  Speaking for myself, I am convinced that I can be a healing presence to others only if I accept my own wounds, my own uncertainties and doubts, my own nagging questions, my own brokenness. And I think this is true for all of us. All of us need to come to terms with our wounds, our need for healing. That’s why we keep coming here week after week 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.     My friends, as we receive the sacrament of his Body and Blood in the Eucharist today, may we experience the healing that only Jesus can give, the only healing that really counts.

Father Michael G. Ryan





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