Healing Begins With...

October 17, 2004 (Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost -- Proper 24)

By The Very Rev. Terry White, Dean

- Genesis 32:3-8,22-30
- Psalm 121
- 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
- Luke 18:1-8a

(From The Lectionary Page)

The story is told of a woman who visited her rabbi and complained to him for several hours that her life was nothing more than immense grief, pain, and sorrow. When it was time for the rabbi to speak, he told the woman that before he could help her, she needed to go out and find one person whose life had no troubles or hardship. As we would expect, the woman eventually returned saying that not only could she not find a person free of pain and hardship, but had learned that her life was easier than the lives of many she had met on her journey. (L. Hogan, New Proclamation, Yr C, 2004, Easter - Pentecost , p. 230)

Many of us are used to putting our lives in perspective, getting to the point where, except for serious illness, heartbreak, and death, we can get through most things. The British call it “keeping a stiff upper lip,” some Americans call it “picking yourself up by your bootstraps,” and if asked, politicians would say that all your problems are “the other party’s fault.” Perspective is a good thing to have.

But what of those times when pain and loss, uncertainty as well as the certainty of what is ahead, is too much to bear? And what if in the midst of such times, we feel that God is silent and our prayers are futile—what then?

Speaking in today’s lessons, Jacob, the psalmist, Timothy, and the widow from the Gospel, all answer that question. They say: continue wrestling, journey through the pain, call upon God day in and day out, rely on others when needed, and hold fast to a sure and certain truth: God loves us, we are Christ’s own forever, and nothing in all creation can ever separate us from the love of God.

One key, of course, is to take all of that, which sounds so good in times of ease, and find it of value in times of unease and trial.

Eight years ago at this time, the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Chicago, Joseph Cardinal Bernardin, was living with terminal cancer he chose no longer to treat, and as a faithful shepherd, he publicly shared his final journey. Nearly every day Cardinal Bernardin dictated a thought. These were compiled after his death and published as a book entitled The Gift of Peace. In one entry, Bishop Joseph wrote, “Make sure you pray when you are well because when you are real sick, you probably won’t.” (p. 99)

I was given a copy of this book by a parishioner, Floralouise, who was making an identical journey in 1996. Just a few days before her death, she pointed out that passage to me, and said, “It is so true. Father, do you think I’ve wracked up enough prayer time that I can be excused now?” Indeed she had, and indeed she was excused, as her parish prayed for her.

The Gospel lesson is about persistent prayer. Our Lord points out that prayer involves much more than isolated moments when we turn beyond ourselves for aid. To be sure, prayer is often spontaneous, if only because we instinctively turn to God in times of need, be it a prayer for wisdom as we talk to a troubled friend, or a prayer for wisdom as we begin the pop quiz we are not prepared for. But in this lesson, Jesus speaks of the need to pray always and not to lose heart. It is our Lord’s understanding that prayer is not so much isolated moments of petition and intercession, but that prayer is the lifelong development of a continuing and consistent relationship with God. (H. O’Driscoll, The Word Among US, Year C, Vol 3, pp140-1.)

Many of us are drawn to monasteries and convents for a few days of retreat. I had my first stay at Conception Abbey last month. The grounds are lovely, the surroundings are peaceful, the hospitality warm, the food …well, the food wasn’t very good, …but the lure of such a holy place is mostly due to the daily cycle of prayer which the monks offer every day, and have for over 130 years. Following the Rule of St. Benedict, monks have gathered six times a day between 6 a.m. and 7:15 p.m. to praise God and pray for all sorts and condition of people and needs. In that abbey and in places just like it, some of them Anglican, you and I are drawn to the stillness and trust and faithfulness of those who accept the discipline to pray always and not lose heart. And we are changed by their prayers. In a culture riddled with sound bites, spin, and infomercials, the need to increase our capacity to dwell consciously in the presence of God everyday is tested, but the benefits are indisputable.

Herbert O’Driscoll asserts that nothing could be more important for a parish than to emphasize “practicing the presence of God.” (Ibid.) Gathering in this cathedral three times every day for Morning and Evening Prayer and Eucharist is a goal I hope we reach. For as Cardinal Bernardin wrote, it is so true that we must practice the presence of God in times of choice so that we are prepared for those times when our only recourse is God and our strength to pray is gone.

A last word about this parable: Once again, Luke uses two of his favorite kinds of characters: a widow, one of the most vulnerable members of Jesus’ society: and someone dishonest, this time a judge, and a few weeks it was a dishonest manager. The widow reminds us of perhaps the worst pain of all, a pain we all fear at our core, losing the person we love most in the world, and then having to cope with all the distress that goes with such a loss. Frankly put, the widow wants justice, she wants things made right. But it was NOT in the judge’s power to make everything right.

We, too, must take the time to understand, to genuinely comprehend, what we really want to be made right: we want to be healed of the effects of sin, like resentment, hate, and greed, that we might be made free to serve others completely, give generously, forgive sincerely, and love unconditionally.

As Jacob wrestled with God, as the widow calls out repeatedly for justice, as any one desperate for wholeness looks to the hills as a last resort for help – Jesus sends you and me to share his life, his wholeness with all in any need or trouble. God alone heals, but by virtue of our baptism, we all share in the healing ministry, to reconcile the world to Christ. We are ministers of God’s wholeness not because we ourselves are without pain and grief and worry, but precisely because of our woundedness, God can especially use us as vessels of His grace.

My sisters and brothers: One of my favorite cartoons is of a nurse speaking to a doctor. The doctor’s mouth is wide open, and she wears an astonished look on her face, as the nurse says, “Mr. Jones called. He got your bill, but he says that God healed him, so he is giving a tenth of your bill to the church!” (See how I cleverly worked a stewardship reminder into this homily!)

God is the source of all health.

When Jacob finished wrestling with God, he was blessed and given a new name. The wrestling ended as the sun rose. That was not the last time Jacob would wrestle with God – simply one round in a life-long match. We all strive to understand, to bear our burdens with grace, to pray faithfully, to believe that Jesus is the only source of life and salvation. So today let us act on that faith, and unite to support each other in our striving. Let us promise to pray for each other especially when one of us finds praying impossible. Today let us name what needs to be healed, not at all sure how such a naming changes anything, but yet, believing that such a naming does indeed begin healing. And, as people wounded and restored, let us stretch out our hands to receive the Lord’s Body and Blood, for by his wounds we have been healed. By God’s grace, let us be agents of healing, making whole our city, our nation, our world, and our beloved Anglican Communion.

Pray always, do not lose heart, and never pass up the chance to wrestle with God, for that is how we arrive at a new dawn, where we learn once again how much we are loved by Christ Jesus our Lord.