This week’s readings are a reminder that we need a Savior and that we have one. In the first passage, the Lord unites the scattered tribes of Israel and leads them out of captivity and mourning. The psalm praises God for this liberation, this cause for joy. It expresses faith that God’s providence and never ceases. Working for the Lord, though often difficult, will bear good fruit. The epistle identifies Christ as the Savior whose liberating power, mercy, and providence are never-ending. The Gospel passage is a reminder. God wants us to be equally unrelenting. We should continuously ask for Divine liberation, mercy, and providence.
God wants us to participate in these gifts because participation, not passivity, allows for spiritual growth and relationships. So do the following:
recognizing that God is in our midst. This presence is reflected in so many ways and is recognizable to each of us in unique ways
recognizing the desire within us for God
continuing to call out to God despite fear, doubt, and other resistance from within and resistance from without.
trusting that God responds when we persevere in faith
What I’m saying (to the readings and beyond) this week:
I wish I were as persistent as the blind man in the Gospel passage. I also wish God’s responses to my prayers were as direct and as Jesus’ response is in the Gospel passage. I also wish God’s responses addressed my desires as clearly as Jesus does the blind man’s desire in the Gospel passage. Maybe part of the problem is my ability (or lack thereof) to perceive the response. Likely another factor is my inability to understand how my desires and God’s responses to them fit into God’s vision.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
In a reflection on this week’s gospel passage, Courtney Esteves explores the implications of the question, “What do you want?” She invites us to think about what it tells us about Jesus. It also reveals something about ourselves. Additionally, it informs us about others whom we ask the question. She encourages us to be open to various responses to that question. These responses offer insight we see them as significant or insignificant.
This week’s prayer:
Lord, help me to be persistent in turning to You to satisfy my desires. Help me to perceive Your responses and to recognize in them Your wisdom and love. Amen.
The readings for September 8 give me more to work with in the exploration of what justice means that I began in last week’s post. The passages tell me that doing justice means making sure that everyone has what they need to thrive physically, mentally, and spiritually.
Justice serves what gives life by looking beneath the surface for signs of that life. It doesn’t serve that which is fleeting or artificial—except when what is fleeting or artificial serves what’s good and eternal.
Beyond this week’s readings:
In the previous section, I wrote that justice removes barriers rather than that justice heals, even though the readings for September 8 contain more than one reference to what are often called healings. I wrote to “removes barriers” because I’d like to propose that the references to physical healing in the readings don’t have to be as much about removing this physical impairment or that one – any physical impairment, for that matter — as we may be accustomed to thinking they are. (By the way, these perspectives on physical impairment and their relationship to well-known accounts in Scripture are far from unique to me. Ms. Iozzio, whose reflection is linked in the next section, offers a perspective that relates to my own.)
Healing is involved, but I propose that more is being healed than seems apparent. A man’s physical Deafness is removed, and his difficulties with speech are removed so that he can connect with and contribute to his community in different ways than he has before. The event inspires his faith in Jesus as God incarnate.
I find it revealing that Jesus doesn’t say to the man “hear” and “speak clearly” when he lays hands on the man. Instead, He says, “Be opened!” (Mark 7:34). Granted, I can imagine ancient peoples explaining Deafness as being caused by the ears being closed. But I can also see “Be opened!” meaning, “Be open to faith.” For this man, Jesus is also opening the door to relating to his community in a new way. I invite you to read more about that new way of relating by clicking the link in the next section.
Each of us, regardless of what our limitations are and what causes them, are our most God-like selves when we’re open to faith and community. There are multiple ways to facilitate this openness. Healing impairments is only one of them. We can remove barriers. We can also be open to alternate ways of communicating and seeing. Impairments do no mean that a person reflects God’s image any less clearly than someone who seems to be without impairments. Being a member of the Deaf community or having a disability or illness doesn’t make anyone any less complete than anyone else. This perspective affects everyone because no one on this side of heaven has an invincible body.
New Testament support passages support the perspective that, though we are called to do our best to take care of what we have, and God is present to us to us so that we can share our desire to be well, having certain abilities isn’t the ultimate goal of the spiritual life. Consider that:
Jesus tells his apostles that a man’s blindness is not reflection of his own sinfulness or the sinfulness of his parents (John 9:1-3).
Saul, who will become Paul, goes blind when Jesus speaks to him on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:7).
Jesus heals a paralyzed man, telling him to get up and walk so that [onlookers] “may know [He has] the authority to forgive sins (Mark 2:9-12).
After healing a woman who’s had a hemorrhage for years, Jesus says to her, “your faith has saved you (Luke 7:50).
The human conditions in the examples above aren’t punishments. Even in Paul’s case, I think it’s the brightness of the light that blinds him, and the blindness helps him rely on God and the people around him (Acts 9:8). Blindness means the loss of physical vision for Paul, but it also means the acquisition of clearer spiritual vision for him.
However, it’s important to note that, in the same way that having an impairment doesn’t make a person less complete, than a person without that impairment, the condition also doesn’t necessarily make a person more spiritually insightful than a person without the same impairment. It’s also important to note that God is at work in different ways in different situations and to be cautious about presuming to understand why circumstances are what they are. Every situation presents its own challenges and its own opportunities for grace.
In each of the examples above, the physical healing isn’t the only or even the primary gift Jesus offers. The miracles treat sick souls, and not just the soul of the person who experiences a physical impact, but also the souls of the people who witness the impact or learn of it more than 2,000 years later.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
Lord, help us to be open to You and to one another. Help us to respond to Your invitation to healthy relationships, which are two-way streets that can be built in many ways. Amen.
In the first passage, I read that the Lord gives specific instructions to Moses and Aaron about what to do if someone has leprosy and what to tell the affected person to do.
The subject of the psalm is a different disease — the disease of sinfulness. The Good News that this psalm shares is that God offers treatment for the latter condition to everyone. The first step in the treatment is acknowledging I have this illness. The second is sharing with God and with a wise adviser or two the symptoms of it that I’m experiencing. The third step is acknowledging that I can get rid of neither the symptoms nor their cause of this illness on my own. The process of spiritual healing begins with my trust in the power of God to cure what’s sick in my soul and my awareness of and gratitude for what in me reflects God.
The third passage, the epistle, begins by reminding me that my purpose is to reflect God. The ideal is for people to be drawn to God by being able to appreciate how others and whatever is beautiful around them reflect God. I’m called to discern what guardrails come from love of God and others and what might seem like a guardrail but isn’t. It’s a wall, a human construct that divides family members and distorts their relationships with the world around them. In this passage, Paul is able to envision a world in which members of the human family, with God’s accompaniment, can come from different places and with different experiences without being divided. He urges us to honor each other’s feelings and to respect the diversity of our human family.
The Gospel passage, I see Jesus curing a disease that has separated a man from the wider community of people affected by that illness. I also see him honoring the feelings and the gifts of that person, as well as the practices of the culture both men were born into. I read that Jesus was “moved with pity” and that “he stretched out his hand [and] touched [the man] (Mark 1:41). Jesus feels empathy for the challenges the man faces.
I also notice that when the man approaches Jesus, he doesn’t actually make a request. Instead, he makes a proclamation of faith in what Jesus can do for him. In this scene, Jesus doesn’t say after the healing that faith has saved the man, but another healing scenes, he does tell the beneficiary this. I think showing the ill man making a statement rather than a request and then showing Jesus healing is another way of recognizing the man’s faith. (Skip ahead to Beyond This Week’s Readings for an important aside about this aspect of the story. Finished the PSA break? Okay. Let’s rejoin our regularly scheduled programming that’s already in progress.)
The passage could have just said that Jesus touched the man, and the man was healed. But it doesn’t say this. It stands out to me that the passage says Jesus “stretched out his hand” (Mark 1:41). Because of my muscle spasticity, I can’t fully extend my arm, so to me, the passage is making a point that Jesus’s work takes effort and that that work is closing an often wide divide between people with this condition and people without it. Now quarantining people with this condition had a practical benefit for the wider community. What’s today called Hansen’s disease is contagious, though not as contagious as it was once thought, according to Wikipedia’s Leprosy entry. The infection can affect the nerves and the lungs and can lead to amputations as well as affecting the skin.
Jesus demonstrates knowing that communities lose irreplaceable contributions when some members are cut off from them. He also demonstrates understanding that humans are made for community, and not just conversation either, but companionship that includes touch.
Jesus’ actions after the healing also reveal wisdom, as we might expect. They remind us, for one, of the importance of letting timing shape our actions. His actions suggest he has discerned that working within the expectations of authority figures who will be challenged by his message, not giving offense, in other words, is important to fulfilling his mission at the time of this healing. He tells the newly cured man not to discuss with anyone the change in his condition or how it came about. He tells the man that instead of talking about his healing, he should go to the priest, who will see that he no longer displays the visible symptoms of the illness. Once the priest declares him clean, Jesus instructs, he should make offerings to God in gratitude for his cleansing (Mark 1:44).
I think Jesus knows the man won’t follow his instructions. Aside from Him being both fully human and fully divine at and it not being clear to us in this life how those two natures interacted, I can’t imagine the healed man being able to resist telling everyone he meets what he’s just experienced. People will no longer distance themselves at the sight of him. They’ll no longer turn away if they spot him in the distance. His appearance won’t make children scream or cry. And these are just the unpleasant reactions I imagined him receiving on account of the outward signs of his former condition. Illnesses and disabilities shape lives in so many ways that aren’t visible. I suspect Jesus not only understands that healing the man will have these effects on his life, but also he understands how tempting it is to share even a secret that is far less significant than the one the healed man knows.
Regardless of how prepared He was for the man not to follow his instructions, the reading shows Him seeking to do what He’s called to do in a way that acknowledges and responds to how the choices of others affect that calling. He responds to the news of his miracles spreading by staying in more sparsely populated areas (Mark 1:45).
We saw in last week’s Gospel that He uses time away from crowds to rest and to speak and listen to his Father. Maybe it was during one of these times away that the man who gets healed in this reading was able to approach Jesus. This week, we read that despite His efforts to give Himself that time and space, people who need help and trust that He can provide it find him anyway. God works in all our circumstances, regardless of whether our senses can detect that this is true or whether we feel like it’s true. My senses often can’t, and I often wish I felt the Spirit’s unending accompaniment more strongly.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
Olivia Cathrine Hastie reflects on what it means for God to make us clean. It means far more than removing visible or invisible dirt from us, even “dirt” as in anything that might be perceived as unpleasant or uncomfortable, either by us or by someone forming an impression about us based on what he or she can perceive. She also points out that there are different words used in different translations of how Jesus is described as feeling in the Gospel passage. As I wrote earlier, the translation used for Masses in the U.S. says he feels pity for the sick man. Ms. Hastie says other translations use the word “compassion” in the place of “pity. “
Beyond this week’s readings:
I propose that compassion makes more sense than pity in the context of the Gospel passage. I make this proposal because I’d also like to offer that pity says the person who has it only feels sorry for the person who inspires that feeling, whereas a person acts with compassion. Compassion addresses a need, whereas pity merely recognizes one. Okay, maybe sometimes pity donates a few coins or offers another temporary fix in response to a situation, but I’d like to think that compassion allows for deeper connections that extend in more directions, and it offers both material and emotional or spiritual help.
In addition to prompting me to make a distinction between pity and compassion, the Gospel passage prompts me to feel it’s important to say a bit about the relationship between faith and healing. Some believe that if a person has enough faith, he or she will be healed of whatever ails him or her physically and/or mentally. As a person who is neurodiverse and has a physical disability, this perspective is unhelpful and even hurtful. It implies, however unintentionally so, that if I had enough faith, my mind and body would work the way medical textbooks say healthy minds and bodies should.
Elsewhere, Jesus tells his disciples that a man isn’t blind because of his or his parents’ sins (John 9:3). And Jesus provides the ultimate example of faith, yet he still suffered crucifixion and died from it before rising the following Sunday.
The miracles in the Gospels teach readers and hearers about who Jesus is. He is God. That is to say that he has authority over nature and the authority to forgive sins and liberate people from the grip of them. He is sensitive to the requests and the unacknowledged needs of people who approach him. But we were reminded last week that he didn’t stay in one town and continue to work miracles there. The inclusion of this detail suggests that not everyone who might have sought healing from Jesus in a given town was healed.
I have faith that there’s not a single form of suffering in the world that He doesn’t care about, yet despite this care that I have faith in, suffering still continues, and sometimes it’s not the result of anyone’s actions. I struggle with the idea that He wills suffering. Yet my senses compel me to accept that he allows it. Why? I won’t pretend to know all the reasons.
Lord, help me to recognize what suffering I can prevent and what suffering I can alleviate. Help me to be patient with the suffering You allow that I cannot prevent or alleviate — at least not right now. Help me to recognize if my ability to help changes. Help us to experience Your presence with us in our suffering. Amen.
Work cited
The Bible.The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
This week’s readings say to me that the room within me created for faith by humility and perseverance is not a comfortable space. It’s a space the Holy Spirit fills with its fire, and fire burns, and this fire cannot be contained. So it doesn’t let people who carry it be still in the place where they were before the fire sparked. People within whom it burns cannot help but move as it moves. They can’t help but spread it because their movement feeds it, and they give it room to spread. Spreading it means the next person who makes room for and fuels the fire can’t stay where he or she is either. As we witness this these effects of the spread, our inclinations toward convenience and self-preservation tell us to stop it. We don’t want to move. We don’t want to change. We don’t want to be different from earlier versions of ourselves or from the people around us. And we can’t stop these processes. We can increase our discomfort with the Spirit’s transformative power by resisting it, or we can find a peace that comes from freedom by accepting and participating in its transformative power.
The Good News is this transformative power. Its burning isn’t one that destroys but one that gives life. That life just won’t look the way our desires for convenience and self-preservation want it to because it changes us from the inside out and changes our relationship with our surroundings, including how we think about them, see them, and interact them. This change won’t let a person blend in, and the reading from Romans encourages us to ask for the grace not to want to blend in — at least not just for the sake of blending in. Any blending a person might do must be done for the Spirit. And any work done for the Spirit can only be done in cooperation with the movement of the Spirit.
The Gospel tells us not even to let fear for our lives get in the way of the movement of the Spirit. It says caving to such fear won’t save us, even though we may feel as if listening to fear will save us.
I used to think of this reading as being only about the importance of living faith and sharing it regardless of any risks that living it and sharing it might pose to my life. Of course, this is the literal message of the reading. However, I’ve come to want to apply it more broadly to life’s difficult situations. I wonder if my broader understanding will relate to someone else’s reflection on these readings. Let’s find out in the next two sections.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
God called Phoebe and Gregory to bring the Gospel to others in word and action. We are called to do the same, though not always by using the texts and trappings of our faith.
There are people all over the world for whom living their faith costs them their freedom and even their earthly lives. I hope none of us seeing these words ever have to pay those prices.
But even if we never have to, each of us dies and finds life regularly, but if we don’t surrender to these smaller deaths, we miss opportunities to find life.
For me, as a person with anxiety and cerebral palsy, one of these smaller deaths can mean doing things my mind says are not safe to do, such as:
Joining a group with whom I might share an interest or a goal when I don’t know any of the members or when I don’t know how accessible the place where then be is going to be
Having the courage to be who I am and share my perspective when I don’t fit totally into one camp or another in a world that’s divided and subdivided into camps.
Having the courage to get to know someone whose experience is different from my own and may make me uncomfortable and encourage me to ask myself questions about my own views.
Not avoiding situations that remind me of difficult ones I have faced in the past. Please understand that with this example, I’m not advocating that anyone stay in abusive situations. I’m saying that there’s a difference between an unpleasant or uncomfortable situation and an unhealthy or unsafe one. I’m also saying that anxiety likes to lie to me and tell me that these two types of situations are the same. They aren’t.
I’ve also come to believe that losing my life to save it encompasses surrendering control and ideas of what I want various situations and people to be like. I think this is such a difficult thing for all of us to do. I don’t know whether the difficulty of doing this increases depending on how great a sense of independence a person is used to having or if the desire and frustration are equally strong regardless of a person’s circumstances.
Either way, I can think of a few different ways to express the ironic truth in this week’s Gospel passage:
However tightly I cling to life on earth I cannot make it last forever.
Surrounding myself with different types of walls or with metaphorical bubblewrap might save my body, for a time, but these actions won’t save my soul. In fact, they might kill it. Furthermore, a withering soul withers the body, eventually – in one way or another. (I’m pretty sure too much isolation and too few contacts are unhealthy for the body and the soul. And eating one’s emotions, an attempt at treating the pain of the soul, I’d say, can kill the body if it isn’t moderated.)
Staying alive is not the same as living; surviving is not the same as thriving.
Lord, help me neither to fear my death to earthly life, nor the precursors to this death that I face each day so that I can live in the freedom of the life you have planned for me. Amen.
Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.
Luke 12:51
Jesus follows this question and answer by giving various ways his message is going to divide the very units of society I’d like most to see unified — families. What verse 51 says is difficult enough to hear, but then, with the part about relatives, Jesus says to me, “There is no part of your life I won’t unsettle if you follow me.”
Because I’m someone prone to anxiety, and because I’m someone who depends on others to do for me what others do for themselves, the declarations of Luke 12:49-53 are the epitome of what I don’t want to hear. My first instinct is not to alienate anyone.
I hate controversy. I hate conflict. As someone whose “normal” has always looked and felt different than the “normal” of those around me, I just want to belong and be accepted. As someone whose brain sends garbled signals to my body, with the result being that all my muscles try to work at once, I want to be still and to relax. I want to sit on the outside of the of the events of life that range from the inconvenient to the tragic, infuriating, and horrific.
I know that my mental and physical conditions actually don’t make me different from other people in my desire not to make myself or others uncomfortable. My conditions just make this desire all the more intense — too often paralyzing. Still, I don’t think I’m alone when I acknowledge that there have been plenty of times when I wish I hadn’t been afraid to speak up. There have been plenty of situations I look back on and wish I hadn’t been afraid to stand out. There have been so many times when maintaining or earning approval felt more important than acting on what my spirit said was right. The fruits of these moments of silence and inaction haven’t been peace. Instead, my insides have churned. I may not have been divided from others, but I was divided within myself. That’s the opposite of peace.
Despite these experiences, there have been more and more times, especially as I’ve gotten further away from my teens and twenties that I have spoken out — even if I still don’t speak about my own convictions and act on my own words as often as I would like.
When I do engage in uncomfortable conversations, they usually happen with the people I’m closest to, and I don’t think I’m alone in this experience. I open up first to the people I feel are most likely to continue the relationship with me even after I tell them something they don’t want to hear.
What happens when I venture into these conversations? Yes, my heart races, I sweat, and I blush. But how do I feel once I’ve said what I needed to say? Calm. Why? Because I’ve been honest. I haven’t suppressed what matters to me. I’ve allowed myself to experience God’s peace, which is rooted in love, truth and justice. And as I heard in the homily this weekend, God’s peace means more than “getting along.”
Does this deeper understanding of peace mean I should act with violence, or that I should go through life starting arguments? No! God desires that everything I do be rooted in love, truth, and justice. And neither adopting a confrontational tone by default, nor resorting to violence is rooted in these building blocks of peace.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
I’ve often read and heard that Jesus’ parables include twists, that an element of surprise is often included, and this element increases the impact of the story all the more. The parable of The Good Samaritan (Luke 10: 25-37) is no exception to this observation. If we were hearing the story in Jesus’s’ time on earth, we might have been surprised that the Samaritan is the one who stops to help the victim. It’s my understanding that Samaritans and Jews were far from close allies around the 1st century A.D.
I wonder how Jewish hearers of this story would have felt about the fact that the priest and the Levite don’t seem to notice the man lying bloody by the side of the road. Angry at the priest and the Levite? Angry at Jesus for presenting these two characters in that way. Cynically unsurprised as in “That’s just like a priest to act that way”? Or would they be unsurprised in another way because they had heard Jesus before and were used to the ways he turned their expectations upside down? As with any story, how an audience member responds to it depends not only on the culture from which he or she comes or the status he or she has in that culture, but in the unique combination of experiences that an individual brings to the hearing.
I listened to this parable on an app that invited me to put myself into the story. Before I did that, I saw a reflection on the parable whose title asked me whether I was a victim or perpetrator in the story. I was a little surprised that when I closed my eyes and played the events in my mind, I was neither one.
I was a beggar lying on the opposite side of the road from where the victim would fall. I saw myself in this position because I can’t walk or stand. My arms don’t allow for much extension or have much strength either. If I had lived in the first century and had miraculously survived to be born and then survived to my current thirty-eight years, I’d probably stay home and be cared for by my extended family, so long as I had living relatives, as I do now. But if I were the only one of my people left, I wouldn’t have much choice but to have someone place me by the side of the road to beg for food and coins, so that’s the position I felt prompted to imagine myself in as I prayed with this parable. The position allowed me to witness the scene.
I witnessed the man being beaten and then robbed, but I didn’t make a sound because I didn’t want the perpetrators to attack me. Then, as they hurried away, and the victim and I lay turned away from each other, I thought to myself, “God’s law requires that I help this man, but he can probably still move more than I can. So what can I do?”
Beg passersby to help the injured man. That’s all. To imagine myself doing it, I’ll have to imagine I’m braver, more hopeful, and more altruistic than I am. Because if the priest and the Levite ignored the injured man, why would they give any indication they heard me calling? Perhaps because I’m persistently making noise, while the injured man isn’t. Perhaps because they’ve seen me there before, and giving me a few coins time would make them feel good without costing as much as helping the injured man would. Maybe they would answer me but would say they could do nothing because they had somewhere to be and they were already late. Besides, they didn’t have any more money on them. Maybe next they would command me to hush, and I’d clutch at their robes until they shook me off until I lost my grip. I would be silent then until they were out and of earshot.
I would feel that all was lost. What was the point in nagging people? It wouldn’t change anyone’s mind or help the injured man, and it would make things worse for me.
But so what if it gave me new rips in my scraps of clothing and some new scrapes and bruises? A man’s life was at stake, and more of that life pulsed out of him with every second that went by.
But so what if it gave me new rips in my scraps of clothing and some new scrapes and bruises? A man’s life was at stake, and more of that life pulsed out of him with every second that went by. Maybe the events of this day were one of the reasons I was here. Maybe my persistence would do some good, even if it wasn’t for me or the man, and and even if I didn’t see it.
So when I saw another man approaching at a distance, I spoke for the victim again, first in a whisper and then in a shout as the stranger passed me.
He didn’t acknowledge me but stopped to wash the other man’s wounds, lifting the victim onto his own stooped shoulders and making his way back to his horse to drape the man over the animal.
Only then, caked in dust, flushed and sweating out of every pore did he trudge over to me and hold out a coin.
“No, save it for him.” I nodded toward the man lying across the horse.
He dropped the coin into the dirt and strode toward his animal.
As he rode out of sight, that was the last I saw of either man.
Would the helper have done what he did without my pleas?
Probably.
But the price of silence had been too high to find out.
What might have been didn’t matter. What mattered was the good that had been and would continue to be.
“As I have loved you, so you also should love one another” (John 13:34). This is the clarification Jesus offers after he gives his followers “a new commandment.” He says people will recognize his disciples if they “love one another” as he has loved them (35). In Matthew 5:44, he tells them they shouldn’t stop at loving the members of their own group. They should go so far as to “love [their] enemies” [italics mine].
He models the version of the commandment that we get in Matthew when, from the cross, he asks his heavenly father to forgive those who have tortured, tormented, and abandoned him.
In what other ways does Jesus show love in the Gospels?
He loves the total person.
He tends not only to physical and spiritual needs, but also to intellectual, mental and emotional ones as well. He knows that even though I’m categorizing these needs separately, they’re never really separate. He teaches crowds using stories they can relate to. He doesn’t forget to feed the people will come to him before he sends them home. He meets emotional needs, not only by teaching people to hope for and to work for a just society (Google the Beatitudes), but also in another way.
He erases perceived dividing lines.
Jesus calls God his father and teaches us to do the same. (Actually, I’ve read that the word he uses translates to a more familiar name, one closer to Dad than to Father.) He excludes no one, and instead makes a point of including outcasts who approach him. Scripture tells us that he shared the experiences of both the just and the unjust. He was imprisoned and sentenced to death. He associated with tax collectors and people with traditions and practices different from the ones in which he had been brought up. I’d say there wasn’t anyone he wouldn’t connect with, though not everybody wanted to befriend him.
“As I have loved you, so you also should love one another”
John 13: 34
Marginalized people are not invisible to Jesus. The Bible tells us that in his time on earth, in a very patriarchal culture, he spoke to and touched women, even women with tainted reputations, and at least one woman who had been hemorrhaging for years. It’s my understanding that a woman with such a condition was considered unclean and would have been expected to keep distant from Jesus.
The Scriptures tell us about many more times when Jesus healed people whose health conditions isolated them and obscured their dignity in the eyes of the society in which they lived. As a person with a disability and mental health conditions, I think of these healings as helping to integrate people into their communities, as helping people contribute to their communities. Though it’s absolutely okay to want healing, no one should be sent the message that they have to be healed of what makes them different before they can be whole and be equal to everyone else. Helping someone heal is by far not the only way to help a person contribute to and integrate into a community.
He asks and answers questions.
When I think of Jesus interacting with a person, I think of him asking questions to lead that person to insight. I think of his conversations with Peter and his conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well. I also think of the times he used people’s questions as teaching opportunities. Some of the people with questions were Jewish and Roman authorities, but not all of questioners are identified in the Bible as holding official leadership positions. I think of the unnamed man who asked Jesus what else he needed to do to inherit eternal life.
He took breaks.
Jesus knew he needed to let God love him so that he could love others. He knew he needed times of withdrawing from crowds and of leaning on Abba. He prayed in deserts and gardens. He slept on a fishing boat in the middle of a storm, and he prayed when his closest friends were sleeping.
Jesus’ ways of loving looked different at different times in his earthly life. The question for us is, what do the ways he loves look like at different moments in our lives? Each of us will have different answers at different times. If two of us were to compare our answers, we would likely find similarities without having exactly the same answers.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
Sitting with the Sacred 