Sermon for August 25, 2013: Just then, there appeared a woman...and Jesus saw her.

August 25, 2012

Luke 13:10-17

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Last month, when my family and I started our annual long, long drive to Texas to see my family, we first made our traditional stopover in St. Louis. This year, in a break with tradition, we stayed two nights—partly to better appreciate the city, and partly to break up that long, long drive. Did I mention it’s a long, long drive to Texas?

I was especially proud of our vacation plans this year because I planned to make liberal use of Groupons—web-based coupons—for everything from appetizers and drinks to a pedicure. On the first morning we were there, I was excited to use my St. Louis coffee Groupon, so I was up and out the door of the hotel before the men in my life had even rolled over and registered that we were no longer at home.

St. Louis is, shall we say, “balmy” even at 7 am in July, but I nevertheless walked briskly through downtown toward the coffee shop. There weren’t many folks on the street at that time of day, but as I turned the final corner, there she was. She sat nestled back in the doorway of a defunct business, in the shade, and I could see that she was in a wheelchair. Even out of the corner of my eyes, I could discern what she wanted. She was rattling a Styrofoam cup of coins, and quietly mumbling—like her own, personal, morning prayer liturgy—“Can you help me? Just a few coins, please. Anything will help. Can you help me?”

I didn’t want to see her, but I looked over anyway, and immediately saw that her face was completely normal on one side, but the other side seemed devoid of cheekbones and structure of any kind. It was as if Salvador Dali had been given the chance to design a human face, and she was the canvas. Her face was a face only on technicalities. I didn’t want to see her, but I looked over anyway.

And then I looked away.

I didn’t want to see her.  I was on a quest! I wanted my morning coffee! I wanted to use my Groupon! Above all else, I wanted to stay on schedule. This was a carefully planned vacation, with an itinerary and scenic overlooks and what my dad calls “hysterical markers” along the way. No time for detours or unplanned stops. Furthermore, what business did she have to interrupt my vacation in such a way? There are so many other days out of the year when I have no problem living into my Christian vocation, listening to people’s stories, and giving to the poor—but today was different. This was vacation. This was my Sabbath! And I didn’t want to see her.

If I were to place myself in today’s Gospel lesson, I think it’s pretty clear I would not be Jesus. In fact, I would say it’s a good practice for all of us to read the Gospels and realize that we are not Jesus. Amen? In fact, the truth is, I am probably the synagogue leader in this lesson today. At least on that day on vacation in St. Louis, I most closely resembled the synagogue leader, who watched Jesus call up a disabled woman and heal her on the spot and who then turned to the congregation and said: “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” 

The message was: “I don’t want to see you all doing this next week. This guy is a guest preacher, a revival preacher, and I know he’s doing some cool stuff. But rules are rules, and I don’t want to see you all coming in here for healing on the Sabbath when he’s gone.”

To the bent-over woman and all who, like her, came to the synagogue in need of healing, the message was pretty clear: It’s not just that I don’t want to see you coming here on the Sabbath. I don’t want to see you.

I suspect you can see yourself in the role of the synagogue leader in this story, too. How often have you passed by the homeless person in the doorway without a glance? How often have you averted your eyes away from wheelchairs, feeding tubes, scars, or the faces of those in deep grief or pain? Our fear of the pain and suffering around us leads us to find safety and security behind rules and regulations: If I don’t look, I don’t have to respond. Everyone says, if you give them any money, they’ll just spend it on drugs. You should never open your wallet in the presence of a homeless person. I give to the needy through my church. I wouldn’t know what to say to someone who just lost a child, so it’s better if I don’t say anything. The truth is: I just really don’t want to see him.

Yes, more often than we like to admit, we are the synagogue leader, more concerned with broken rules than the broken people around us, and if you get nothing else from the Gospel lesson for today, I hope in the coming week you will take a moment to see—really see—the people around you. Awhile back there was a campaign called “Start Seeing Motorcycles”, encouraging motorists to pay attention to the 2-wheeled folks on the roads with them. Do you remember that? In this case, I think the Gospel convicts us and reminds us that we would all do well to start seeing each other. Start seeing what your neighbor is going through. Start seeing the brokenness in our own community. Start seeing those whom the world has called hopeless, insignificant, or not worth looking at.

This week, on the 50^th anniversary of the March on Washington, we remember how people of color stood up and said to their fellow Americans “Look at me! See me! I exist.” Some of the most powerful images of that time period for me are the photos of the Memphis Sanitation Workers’ Strike, when workers marched with signs that said simply “I AM a man.” I am a man! See me! We give thanks to God this week for all those who boldly made themselves known, as well as for the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the other prophetic voices who said to the rest of us “Start seeing your darker brothers and sisters” and helped us to have a vision of what it would mean to be the “beloved community.” Amen!

Are you still with me? Good, because I want to challenge you now, sisters and brothers, to place yourselves not in the role of Jesus or in the role of the synagogue leader, but rather in the role of the bent-over woman. You may not be afflicted as she is, but what I know is this: each and every one of you appears in this place today carrying some kind of burden. Each and every one of you comes weighed down by something—depression, grief, anger, cancer, divorce, unemployment, credit card debt, addiction, doubt, mistakes made, or opportunities missed. It’s so heavy it sometimes causes you to be bent over, and you can hardly stand up straight. You’re just barely getting by.

But I also know this: almost all of you have appeared here today wearing your Sunday best, putting on a smile, and pretending to have it all together. Nod if you know what I’m talking about! Why do we do this? Because you know very well that other people don’t want to see that stuff. You know very well that people (and, sadly, especially church people) would rather keep to the schedule, keep church under an hour (ha!), and keep all that difficult stuff under wraps, unspoken, and unseen.

And yet…here you are. The Gospel according to Luke says: “And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, ‘Woman, you are set free from your ailment.’ When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God.”

We only know a few things about the woman in the synagogue, but none of them are as important as these key points: Just then, there appeared a woman….and Jesus saw her.

A woman in need appeared, and Jesus saw her. She was bent over in the same way at the market, and on the street, and at the river washing her clothes, and no one paid any attention, but just then she appeared…and Jesus saw her.

She came to pray at the synagogue every week, bent over almost to the ground, quite unable to pray or praise freely, and no one gave her a second glance, but just then she appeared…and Jesus saw her.

For eighteen years she was bound by this spirit, while others told her to sit in the back of the bus or to come back another day. But on that day in the synagogue, Jesus saw her and proclaimed that it may be the Sabbath, but now is the time for restoration. Now is the time for wholeness. Now is the time for liberation! Amen!

My dear people, the Good News of the Gospel is that you are here, and Jesus sees you. Jesus sees you, bent over, weighed down, and just getting by. Jesus sees you, when no one else wants to stop and look.

On this day, this Sabbath day, burdened and heavy-laden though we are, we come, wanting to give our praise to God, wanting to stand up straight, wanting to get it right, and what we find is that God, in God’s goodness, gives us something even greater than we could hope for—healing, wholeness, and restoration, through Jesus Christ. Not when it’s convenient for other people. Not when it’s on the schedule. Not when we get around to asking for it. Right now. Today. Here—in, with and under the bread and the wine, through the water and the Word, and yes, sometimes through this beloved community. Come to the table, all of you, and know that you are set free. Thanks be to God.

RALLY DAY: Sept. 9, 2012: "Jesus Heals"

Rally Day: Sunday, September 9, 2012: JESUS HEALS

Mark 7:24-37

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

There’s a good ol’ bluegrass gospel song that goes like this: 

  On Sunday when the church bells start ringin'

They're ringin' for you and for me

Let's all gather 'round at the altar

And pray that our souls may be free

I'll meet you in the church Sunday mornin'

   And we'll all kneel down and pray

   We'll pray to our Lord up in heaven

   To guide us safe home on our way

I'll Meet You in the Church Sunday Morning

I’m so very glad all y’all came to church this Sunday morning! It is so good, Lord, to be here! Amen!

Many thanks to our Bluegrass Band, the Chordfields, who have come to us from the metropolis of Harvard and its outlying suburb, the beautiful Capron, Illinois!

This is an exciting day, as we welcome fall and the launch of another year of Sunday School. It is a beautiful thing to see and hear the children of Bethany once again. And it’s good for us all to be together today, rallying around the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom we have our life, our hope, and our salvation. Amen!

But I must say, having just read the appointed Gospel text for the day, I can’t help but ask this question on Rally Day: Who would want to rally around this guy?

Jesus, in the two scenes we heard today from Mark chapter 7, is one weird dude. He may not be talking to an empty chair on national television, but he’s putting on a mighty strange performance anyhow.

First, we see Jesus brushing off a desperate woman who has come asking for healing for her daughter. And he doesn’t just say no, either! Instead of an eloquent sermon or a compassionate prayer, Jesus answers her very serious request with the equivalent of a folk saying: “It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Not only does he effectively call this woman and her daughter “dogs”, Jesus is seriously lowering his preaching standards by using such a folksy phrase. One expects more from the savior of the world than clichés like “Stay on the sunnyside of life”, or “If you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on”, or “The belly hates a long sermon!”

And his strange behavior isn’t done yet. In the next scene we see him stick his fingers into a deaf man’s ears, spit, grab the man’s tongue, and cast his eyes toward heaven like a Pentecostal preacher, speaking in tongues: “Ephphatha!” or "Be opened!"

Now come on, Jesus! We know you can heal without all that show. You just cast out a demon without even seeing the little girl! You multiplied bread and fish without so much as a prayer! You walked on water without breaking a sweat! What’s up with this performance? Who is this guy, and what is he up to?
Again, you might be asking: who would rally around this Jesus?

It’s a good thing Jesus isn’t running for office. Can you imagine what the spin doctors would do with this scene? Can you imagine what the campaign managers would be saying the next morning?

“You see, the Savior was just tired. He hasn’t had a day off in many weeks.”

“He was ambushed! That lady was planted!”

“It was just a joke! He was smiling when he called that woman a dog.”

“Jesus made a mistake. He used to be against salvation for the Gentiles, but now he’s for it.”

“He was testing her faith. He intended to heal her daughter all along.”

“Where Jesus comes from, spitting is a form of flattery. And haven’t you heard about the medical benefits of sticking your fingers in your ears?”

Countless theologians have written explanations just like these to explain Jesus’ behavior in this Gospel text. But there’s really no good way to spin this. And I’ll tell you right now: I don’t fully understand what Jesus is doing, especially in the scene with the Syrophoenician woman. In fact, this Jesus kind of ticks me off.

I like the loaves and fishes Jesus better. I like the walking on water Jesus better.
I like the Jesus who loves everybody, who never gets angry and never judges, who answers all our prayers when and how we want, and who sits on clouds all day painting rainbows in the sky.

But then…maybe that’s someone else. Maybe that’s the Jesus I want to believe in. That’s certainly the Jesus I would prefer to rally around. And that’s a Jesus who could run for office! Amen?

The thing is, this isn’t the Jesus we meet in today’s Gospel lesson. This isn’t Jesus Christ, candidate for office or slick politician.

This is Jesus Christ, born to a teenage mother, and raised in a carpenter’s home. He’s an itinerant preacher, a faith healer, and a man on a mission. This is the sandal-wearing, backwoods, audacious, politically incorrect and fully human Son of God. He did some strange stuff, including eating with prostitutes, sitting with sinners, healing the sick, raising the dead, and dying on a cross when he clearly had the power to escape.

And, apparently, when he encountered the Syrophoenecian woman, he made a mistake. Or he changed his mind. Or he had a bad day. Or the woman’s bold words opened his heart to a new mission. Or…we have completely misinterpreted this story for thousands of years.

 I wish I knew.

But you know what? I’ll take him anyway. I’ll “stand by my man”! Amen?

I’ll stand by Jesus, because even when I don’t understand what he’s doing—why he heals some and not others, why some suffer more than others, or why his timing isn’t the same as mine—I continue to be astounded beyond measure at the power of Jesus in the lives of those around me.

Jesus cast out the demon that was plaguing the Syrophoeneican woman’s daughter. He opened the ears of a man who was deaf and gave him the ability to speak for himself. He raised Jairus’ daughter when others had given up on her.

And I’ve also seen the love of Jesus heal families that had been torn apart for years. I’ve seen Christ’s forgiveness heal friendships threatened by hurt feelings and betrayal. I’ve seen grieving parents find healing at the foot of the cross, knowing they do not suffer alone. I’ve seen the Word of God heal hearts weighed down by depression, addiction, rejection, and anger.

Sisters and brothers, the Good News I can’t stop preaching, the News I can’t stop telling you about, the Good News I will zealously proclaim just like the friends of the deaf man healed by Jesus, is this: No matter who you are, there is healing in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen!

Say it with me: Jesus heals.

Whether you’re an insider or an outsider—Jesus heals.

Whether you have much faith, or just a little—Jesus heals.

Whether you’ve been in church all summer or you’re just finding your way back—Jesus heals.

Whether you can come to Jesus on your own strength or if your friends have to lift you up—Jesus heals.

When everyone says you’re a lost cause—Jesus heals.

When you’re on your knees in desperation—Jesus heals.

 The love of God, which we have seen in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, has the power to cast out demons, heal hearts, open minds, and free tongues for bold proclamation. Our Lord does everything well—he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.  Thanks be to God! Amen.

2nd Sunday after Pentecost: June 10, 2012

2^nd Sunday after Pentecost: June 10, 2012

Mark 3:20-35

Preacher: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

*Many thanks to Anna Carter Florence and her book "Preaching as Testimony" (Westminster John Knox Press, 2007) for introducing me to the story of Jarena Lee. Thanks also to Dr. Craig Satterlee for his Logjam Appointment which provided the inspiration for this sermon.*

Grace and peace to you from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Jarena Lee was born in Cape May, New Jersey, on February 11, 1783. She was most likely born to free parents, but at the age of seven her family’s poverty meant she was hired out as a servant and would not see her family again for fourteen years. This was effectively a legal form of slavery, and an all-too common African-American story of the time.

As a result of these difficult beginnings, Jarena struggled with depression and feelings of abandonment her whole life, but in 1804, at the age of twenty-one, she moved to Philadelphia to gain a fresh start. Her first order of business was to find a place to worship, and that she did, at the African Methodist Episcopal Church headed by Pastor Richard Allen. Upon finding her church family, she wrote, “This is the people to whom my heart unites.” 

But just three weeks into her time at the A.M.E. church, Jarena experienced a strange thing. Just as the preacher was beginning his Sunday sermon, Jarena writes:

“That moment, though hundreds were present, I did leap to my feet and declare that God, for Christ’s sake, had pardoned the sins of my soul…For a few moments I had the power to exhort sinners, and to tell of the wonders and of the goodness of Him who had clothed me with His salvation. During this time the minister was silent, until my soul felt its duty had been performed, when he declared another witness of the power of Christ to forgive sins on earth, was manifest in my conversion.” 

Now a parishioner leaping to her feet in the middle of a sermon would certainly get our attention today here at Bethany, but in 1804 there were some very good reasons why this would be more than odd—most notably, the fact that Jarena Lee was a woman.

If a man had leaped to his feet in such a manner, one might have expected him to be called in to the pastor’s office, perhaps taken under his wing and nurtured into an assistant preacher. But women were not only forbidden from being preachers in the year 1804—they weren’t even allowed to speak in church. This event, therefore, was for Jarena and her church community nothing more than an exciting anomaly in an otherwise normal Sunday worship service. No one called Jarena into the pastor’s office. No one recommended seminary or suggested she call the candidacy committee. No one took her seriously, because Jarena was a woman, and of course, God doesn’t work that way.

A few years later, however, in 1811, it happened again. Jarena writes:

“On a certain time, an impressive silence fell upon me, and I stood as if some one was about to speak to me, yet I had no such thought in my heart.—But to my utter surprise there seemed to sound a voice which I thought I distinctly heard, and most certainly understand, which said to me, “Go preach the Gospel”! I immediately replied aloud, “No one will believe me.” Again I listened, and again the same voice seemed to say—“Preach the Gospel; I will put words in your mouth, and will turn your enemies to become your friends.”

This time, Jarena began to seriously doubt her sanity. Maybe this was Satan speaking, and not God! After all, there were exactly zero “lady pastors” in her life to act as role models or mentors. Women preachers were as unbelievable as unicorns or the Cubs winning a World Series. How could she be certain this was God calling her? Just to be sure, Jarena went in to visit her pastor, Richard Allen.

Pastor Allen listened carefully as Jarena explained that God had called her to preach. And then he coolly commented that “the Discipline knew nothing at all about it—that it did not call for women preachers.” Call it tradition, call it church authority, call it “good order”, but for Jarena Lee, the answer was, “God doesn’t work that way.” 

So Jarena went home and did what many a frustrated woman preacher has done: she married one instead. Sadly, just six years later her husband, the Reverend Joseph Lee, died, leaving her with two small children. And Jarena couldn’t ignore the call any longer.

So she went back to visit Pastor Allen, and this time he granted her permission to hold “prayer meetings” and to “exhort” but of course never to preach. Why? Because, of course, God doesn’t work that way.

But one Sunday in worship, the preacher stood up and read the text from Jonah and then—in Jarena’s words—he seemed to “lose the Spirit.” So Jarena leaped to her feet and interrupted the preacher. 

“I told them I was like Jonah; for it had been then nearly eight years since the Lord had called me to preach his gospel to the fallen sons and daughters of Adam’s race, but that I had lingered like him, and delayed to go at the bidding of the Lord…During the exhortation, God made manifest his power in a manner sufficient to show the world that I was called to labor according to my ability, and the grace given unto me.”

When she sat down, Jarena braced herself to be thrown out of the church or at least publicly reprimanded. Instead, Pastor Allen stood up and told the congregation that God had changed his mind. He now believed that Jarena was indeed called preach! And really, what choice did he have? There she was: a unicorn; a preaching woman right there in their midst. 

After that day, Jarena went on to become the first woman licensed to preach in the A.M.E. church (a full 150 years before the ELCA, by the way) and to have a thirty year preaching career. She was also only the second African-American woman to have a book published—a book in which she chronicles how she "travelled two thousand three hundred and twenty-five miles, and preached one hundred and seventy-eight sermons.” God does work that way, it turns out.

Jarena Lee’s story highlights the way we so often get caught up in our judgments about how God can and does work in the world. It wasn’t too long ago that our denomination said: “Women can’t preachers! God doesn’t work that way!” And yet here I stand—along with Angela and Mary Carol and a host of other female Lutheran preachers who came before us. 

Women’s ordination is generally a non-issue for us today, but there are certainly others we get hung up on. 

Gay people can’t get married! God doesn’t work that way.

You can’t just welcome everybody to communion! God doesn’t work that way.

You can’t just feed people, because they’ll keep coming back! God doesn’t work that way. 

You can’t heal people on the Sabbath, Jesus! God doesn’t work that way.

You can’t send fishermen to cast out demons, Jesus! God doesn’t work that way. 

You can’t forgive everyone, all their sins, Jesus, and in such a dramatic and public way! God doesn’t work that way.

Most often, of course, when we say “God doesn’t work that way” what we really mean is “the church doesn’t work that way” or “our culture doesn’t work that way” or “our government doesn’t work that way”…or, if we’re honest: “I don’t feel comfortable when God works that way.”

This is what is happening in the scene from Mark chapter 3 which we heard this morning. Jesus was surrounded by the crowds, who were so eager to see him he couldn’t even find time to eat. He was healing people right and left, even on the Sabbath, and even when they were unclean. He was eating with tax collectors and sinners. He was silencing demons and teaching with authority. But others were uncomfortable with Jesus working like this. In fact, his family heard the rumors that he was out of his mind, and they showed up to haul him home. 

And the scribes—well, the scribes were like the pastor and other church authorities who told Jarena Lee “our discipline doesn’t call for woman preachers”. The scribes took one look at what Jesus was doing and said “God doesn’t work that way. This must be Beelzebul. He’s obviously possessed by a demon!” In other words: “You’re making us uncomfortable, Jesus.”

And Jesus’ response is one that should make us sit up and take notice.

There are many sins which we humans might consider to be unforgivable. And yet Jesus has said that the one thing God cannot forgive is blaspheming against the Holy Spirit—which, contrary to what I thought when growing up, has nothing to do with spouting four-letter words. Blaspheming against the Holy Spirit, as seen in this Gospel passage, is denying the work of God. Blaspheming against the Holy Spirit is what happens when we take a look at who Jesus is healing, who God is forgiving, who God is calling to preach the Gospel, or how the Spirit is moving in a place and among a people and say: “Nope. God doesn’t work that way. That must be Satan.”

Jesus directed these strong words to a people who thought they knew everything.  This was very bad news for the scribes and authority figures who thought they had the power to decide how God works and when. For there he was, standing before them: Jesus, son of a carpenter and Son of God; Jesus, healer of our souls; Jesus, friend of the friendless; Jesus, our brother; Jesus Christ, our Savior, come to set the captives free. 

And this Jesus, crucified and risen, reveals to us the Good News that God does indeed work this way:

God forgives beyond our deepest hopes.

God heals against anyone’s rules. 

God creates family where we least expect it. 

God saves us from our own judgments.

God seeks out the lost.

God makes a way out of no way.

God is still speaking—and still shattering our expectations.

Wherever we see healing, wholeness, forgiveness and reconciliation rising out of judgment, fear, and brokenness, we see Jesus Christ and the work of the Holy Spirit, and we can say without a doubt, “Yes, indeed God does work that way!”

February 12, 2012: 6th Sunday after Epiphany

February 12, 2012: 6^th Sunday after Epiphany

Mark 1:40-45

Preacher: Pastor Carrie Smith

“Control the Message”

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

On the surface, this morning’s Gospel lesson is a nice, feel-good, healing story. It’s the kind of story that could make the evening news—a human interest piece to counteract all the campaign reports and bickering about the economy. “Leper living on the edge of town gets healed by a stranger and is welcomed home by his family. No sign of the visitor with healing powers. More on the News at 10.”

Indeed, we need this kind of Good News today more than ever, and we give thanks that Jesus is our great healer. Jesus completely healed a man of his leprosy, and in the same way he heals us. Jesus heals our hearts, our grief, our guilt, and our relationships. He is the Balm in Gilead that heals the sin-sick soul. He is the healer of our every ill and the light of each tomorrow. He picks us up, turns us around, and puts our feet back on the ground…and I’m so glad Jesus lifted me! Amen?

But there’s something else going on here. There’s something in this particular scene from Jesus’ mission and ministry that seems…strange. The strange part is right there in verses 43-44, where Jesus, after sternly warning the healed man, sends him away saying, “See that you say nothing to anyone.”

Say nothing to anyone! Keep quiet! But wait…aren’t we to go, baptize, and share the Good News? Aren’t we called to participate in God’s mission to the whole world? What was Global Mission Sunday all about, if we’re not supposed to say anything to anyone about Jesus and his power to heal?

It’s hard to imagine Jesus telling a healed man to keep quiet. But then…maybe Jesus had his reasons.

Maybe, for example, he wanted to control the message.

We may not think of Jesus as a control freak, but these days, I often wish he would do a little more micro-managing. There are times when I wish Jesus had a better publicity team and a solid campaign strategy. He needs someone to work on his campaign playlist, for example. After all, if President Obama gets Al Green and Aretha Franklin, and Mitt Romney gets Kid Rock and Toby Keith, why can’t Jesus update his soundtrack a bit? (Some churches are working on it for him, by the way, holding communion services featuring the music of U2 called…wait for it…a “U2-charist”! And there’s even a church in California that holds a Lady Gaga mass.)

…But I digress.

Playlists and soundtracks aside, what really bugs me is how, when a cable news network wants to include the “Christian” perspective, they call on some guy with a suit and tie from Big Bob’s Better Bible Church or the All-American Anti-Outsider Heritage Society to share his thoughts. It drives me nuts to have my faith represented by people who summarize Jesus’ message in bitter sound bites and political positioning. Every time I hear a TV Christian spouting off about who Jesus hates this week, or how following Jesus can make us rich, or why Jesus, given the choice, would have certainly been an American—I just want to say “Jesus! Get a handle on your publicity! Can’t you do something about these spokespeople? Isn’t it time to hire a new campaign manager? Control the message!”

Considering how badly we’ve been known to mangle the mission and message of Jesus Christ, is it any wonder that he’d want to keep the story under wraps? After all, the stuff Jesus did was perfect fodder for gossip and misunderstanding. He didn’t just heal people—he restored relationships and changed whole communities. When Jesus healed this man’s leprosy, for example, he also re-introduced him to his whole life! As a leper, he had likely been living on the edge of town, cut off from everything he knew and loved—but now, because of Jesus, he was free to go back home, hold a job, and be a part of the community once again. This was such a dramatic life over-haul that Jesus had to have known the guy would want to share the news.

But what would he say? How would the story get re-told by his friends? Would they say Jesus was a quack doctor, selling leprosy potions just outside city limits? Would the authorities come and ask for a permit? This could slow down the mission considerably!

And so, it seems, Jesus tried to control the message, sternly warning the man: “DON’T tell anyone about this. Just go home and make an offering to the priest in your village. That’s it. And no interviews!”

But of course, that’s not what happened. The man couldn’t help himself—he did tell his friends. And then they told someone else. And those folks told their friends. The news about Jesus was like one of those YouTube videos of a cat playing with a dishcloth or a teenage boy riding a Big Wheel off his roof: it went viral! Scripture says “he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.”

Jesus may have wanted to control the message, but the thing about the Good News of Jesus Christ is this: it’s good news! And news gets around. But the problem is that once the news about Jesus got around, it was harder for him to teach and preach, to heal and restore, because both the crowds and the authorities watched his every move.

A friend told me about seeing Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt in Chicago a few years ago. It seems they wanted to take their kids to the bookstore while in town. But in order to make that happen, the authorities had to close down the street. Then they closed the bookstore and did a security sweep. They then roped off the entrance with those velvety red ropes, and when the Jolie-Pitts family got out of their limousine, they were rushed into the store. All of this so their kids could have the chance to walk among stacks of books, to peruse the selection of Dr. Seuss and Harry Potter, and to experience what most of us would consider to be a normal family activity.

If life is hard for Brad and Angelina, it’s hard to imagine how bad it was for Jesus. He wasn’t just famous—he was infamous. He was infamous because the things he did challenged the status quo, flew in the face of convention, and disrupted the way things used to be. Lepers didn’t come back home, for example. And now, in spite of his attempts to control the message, the word is out—Jesus is a leper-lover.

Writer Anne Lamott wrote: “You can safely assume you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” And it’s true: We have an awful knack for misinterpreting and misrepresenting the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We use his mission and ministry for our own purposes, shaping his message to fit our agenda. And even when we flock to him, seeking to follow him, looking for healing, we bring our agendas with us. Like the paparazzi crowding around Brad and Angelina, hungry for photos while they are trying be good parents, we come to Jesus assuming we know his purposes.

But time and again, Jesus overwhelms us with his goodness, with his grace, and with his healing. Time and again, even when we come to him with our agendas (and maybe especially then!), Jesus heals and restores us beyond our expectations. It turns out that no matter how we spin it, Jesus’ purposes are always the same. Jesus is always about healing, cleansing, restoring, and making us whole.

The leper who begged for healing received more than he imagined when he was sent back home completely cleansed.

Jairus’ daughter, already thought to be dead, was lifted up by Jesus and sent off to have dinner.

The woman who had a bleeding disorder for twelve years was made well just by touching his coat.

Families are restored, addicts find sobriety, the dying receive peace, and long-held hurts and grudges leave us like the healed man’s leprosy.

But chiefly, we proclaim that the whole world was healed and restored beyond our imagination (and in spite of our agendas), when Jesus Christ, son of God, was sacrificed on the cross for the sake of all.

Like the leper who was cleansed and sent away by Jesus, we too have received new life in Christ. But have you told anyone about it lately? Or are you letting others control the message?

We Lutherans are typically a quiet bunch. We don’t want to seem that we’re pushing our faith on anyone. But the sad result of that silence is that people who need healing remain unwell. Those who linger on the outskirts of society or of polite company never know true welcome and restoration. Those neighbors we don’t want to offend with our “Jesus-talk” wait, just outside the door, for a word of hope or a chance at forgiveness.

What would happen if we shared openly what Jesus has done for us? What would it be like if the story of Jesus’ power to heal and restore—your story, and mine—became the primary voice and face of Christianity today? What if we became Jesus’ new campaign managers, unseating those who would distort the message?

Sisters and brothers, as we approach the season of Lent, I invite you to consider sharing your story as your Lenten discipline. Share the Good News—not so you can grow the church. Not because you love Bethany. But because you love Jesus, and because he’s made a difference in your life. Share your healing story, that others may be healed. Amen.