Lamentations 3:22-23, Psalm 30, Mark 5:21-43
Time after Pentecost–Lectionary 13 June 28, 2015
I will exalt you, O Lord, because you have lifted me up and have not let my enemies triumph over me. O Lord my God, I cried out to you, and you restored me to health. You brought me up, O Lord, from the dead; you restored my life as I was going down to the grave. So writes the Psalmist.
This Psalm is engraved in my memory. It was Sunday, September 17, 2005, right here in this worship space that Bishop Mauney spoke those words during his sermon. The occasion was my ordination.
I had not thought of this Psalm as mine until that day, and it has sustained me ever since. My calling as a pastor long preceded my graduation from seminary. I was in my last year, living on campus at Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg. My family still lived in Yorktown. My body didn’t feel right that fall, and I saw many doctors, and even went to Hershey Medical Center emergency room. After many misdiagnoses, it was determined that stage three colon cancer was the problem. This was a threatening diagnosis, and I, like the Psalmist, bargained with God. “What profit is there in my blood, if I go down to the pit? Will the dust praise you or declare your faithfulness?”
I had surgery over Christmas break. When winter classes started, I began chemotherapy in Virginia. The combination of drugs was harsh, and I found that I could only attend classes every other week. For most of the week of chemotherapy, I could not leave my bed. My faithful husband drove me to Pennsylvania, stayed with me, and then drove me home. My husband worked every other week, and I went to classes every other week. I graduated on time, and then began radiation.
God blessed me with a call to ministry, and my ordination was planned. “You have turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy. Therefore my heart sings to you without ceasing; O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever.”
It was at Gettysburg seminary that I met Bernadette, who was also a student. In class, her spark and humor set her apart. A few days later, I learned that she had been living with stage 4 colon cancer. We became friends, and together we talked openly about God, life and death. Bernadette’s zest and energy dwindled, and a few months later, she stopped treatments, knowing that death would come shortly after. It was in Bernadette’s dying that she lived her life differently than most. She loved people, and her greatest joy was to be with them in service. I had hoped that if this cancer was going to kill me, that I would die as gracefully and full of life as Bernadette did.
In our Gospel reading today, there are two females who are ill. Jarius’ daughter, and an unnamed woman who had been hemorrhaging for twelve years. Perhaps she had been misdiagnosed, too. The woman touched Jesus’ clothes and immediately her bleeding stopped.
Jarius’ daughter had been ill, “to the point of death.” Jesus was on his way to heal her when he encountered the bleeding woman, and by the time he got to the girl, she was dead. “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping,” Jesus told those who were gathered. Then he “took her hand and said, ‘Little girl, get up.’ And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about.”
I love these stories of two females and their faith and restoration to life. I want to cling to their stories, and to believe that daughters and sons, women and men are always healed. Bernadette died. My personal stories are not so different from yours. You know people who have died, and among you this morning are those who have survived transplants, cancer, kidney failure, and other serious illnesses. Many of you are living with bodies that are not 100% healthy. What do these stories have to say to those who are in the midst of these challenges, and to those who won’t recover? How does God turn mourning into dancing? How does God take us from a place of brokenness to wholeness?
Jesus said to the woman who was hemorrhaging, who “felt in her body that she was healed of her disease, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” Her bleeding had stopped, but after twelve years of living with her disease, it came to define her life. Afraid and forgotten, her illness cut her off from family and community. She had no control over her own life. She had gone down to the Pit, as our Psalmist says. Jesus claims this unclean, unnamed woman as his “daughter.” Her faith has “saved” her, as the Greek reads, and Jesus blesses her. There are two different aspects to the unnamed woman’s recovery, the stopping of her physical symptoms and her restoration to wholeness.
It is possible not to be healed from disease, but to be healed with it. Our scars will never be removed, but can we look at them as we do Jesus’ scarred hands and feet—that it is through suffering that we are brought to new life? The Psalmist says that God turned mourning into dancing. It is important to mourn our loss of health, of loved ones, and other losses. Jesus did not go from Palm Sunday to Easter resurrection.
Our hurt reminds us of our need for healing. Henri Nouwen writes, “Our glory is hidden in our pain, if we allow God to bring the gift of himself in our experience of it. If we turn to God, not rebelling against our hurt, we let God transform it into greater good….Our life span, whether thirty years or ninety, gives us opportunities to say yes to a hidden gift from God, to a reality that, while difficult, provides a place for divine encounter and deep growth. To find healing means to belong completely to God, to be born into a life and love that is lasting. It has more to do with seeking first God’s kingdom and finding the deepest longings of our hearts fulfilled than the condition of our bodies.[1]”
Five years after my treatment, I was found to be free of cancer, and my doctor pronounced me cured. During treatment, on the worst of days, I could simply give thanks for God allowing me to breathe and my heart to beat. I took comfort in knowing that with or without me, God would continue to bring love, peace and forgiveness into our world. The prayers of others sustained me. Ten years later, I remember that in an instant, life can change. I discovered through the making of the scars I bear what is important for me and my life–relationships, acts of kindness especially with those who cannot repay us, gratitude for even simple blessings, and prayer. Through God’s continued presence with me, I have learned to be present with others. As Paul said in his letter to the Corinthians, celebrate what you have instead of focusing on what you have lost.
“Daughter, your faith has saved you,” Jesus told the woman whose name no one knew. When she touched his clothes, she did not know what would come, but surrendering to the only one who could heal her, opened herself to God’s blessings. God promises never to abandon us. When we lose part of ourselves because of illness or death of a loved one, we have the one who has been through it all before us, Jesus.
Our reading from Lamentations expresses our divine hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “Therefore I will hope in him” [Lamentations 3:22-24].
Let’s dance!
~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin
[1] Nouwen, Henri. Turn my Mourning into Dancing. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001. 14-15, 94. Print.