At the end of last Sunday’s gospel reading, we heard that word of Jesus’ fame spread around the whole surrounding region. Neighbor to neighbor, astonished voices must have asked one another – did you hear what happened in the synagogue? Were you there? Did you watch the demon leave? Did you hear Jesus’ voice, filled with authority?
Later that day, perhaps just a few doors down from the synagogue, Jesus continues his work of healing and liberation at the bedside of Simon’s mother-in-law, who is sick with a fever. Taking her by the hand, Jesus raised her up, and the fever left her.
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| Photo by Kristina Tripkovic on Unsplash |
By the time the sun sets and the Sabbath is over, there is a line out the door. Sick people, those who were possessed by demons – all gathered for the chance to be healed. Led there by family members and friends, they were perhaps curious, resigned, desperate for healing and liberation, hopeful that the nearing kingdom of God might come near to them, also.
The “whole city” gathered there at the house, and Jesus cured many who were sick with various diseases. Cured many, but not all. And Jesus cast out many demons, but presumably others left the crowded street later that evening still tormented.
I must admit that I am grateful for this small detail in the story. How often do we hear the Bible’s healing stories and think of our own dear ones who are ill or hurting or already gone from us? Where is their miracle, their healing story? Where is their encounter with the one whose power and authority even over lifeless bodies fills the pages of the gospel stories?
We know, all too well, the ones who are not numbered among the “many” who are healed or freed from that which possesses. We have prayed for them, crying out in anguish and hope. We have wished for a system, for concrete steps to take. We have bargained and coaxed and calculated. And while sometimes our words and actions have seemed to bring about healing, other times they have not.
Of course, the painful reality is that there is no system. There is no formula for how or how much to pray in order to bring about healing for ourselves or the ones we love.
We don’t know why Jesus healed many but not all in Capernaum that evening. We don’t know why our prayers for healing and liberation so often seem to go unanswered. We do know this, however: That in our grief and confusion, in our heartbreak and uncertainty, Jesus comes to us.
Jesus comes to us proclaiming a nearing kingdom where mourning and crying and pain are no more. Jesus comes to us with comfort, with mercy, and with peace that passes understanding. Jesus comes to us with his own scarred and broken body, taking us by the hand and raising us up to a newness of life that defies explanation.
While Jesus did not, or could not, heal all who waited at the door that night, I think he looked on each of them with love. And perhaps, even though they weren’t healed, his touch brought some measure of comfort and wholeness just as they were. In the midst of our anguish and questions, Jesus looks on us in love, too. Through his body, broken and given for us in the Communion meal, and through his body, the people of God called the Church, we, too, experience comfort and wholeness, just as we are. Together, we receive the promise that while death eventually comes to everyone, it’s not the end of the story. For a God who promises to be with us in all things, we give thanks.
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