Odd Witnesses
Lent 4
March 26, 2006
Mark 7:24-30, 31-37, 8:22-26
When it's time for the sermon all three of you should come up bringing chairs. When it's your turn to speak, you will stand holding the microphone. When you are done you will sit in the chair you brought to the front. At the end, I will stand in between each of you and do a wrap up. Thanks for your help, it's going to be a great preaching moment!
Judy: SyroPhoenecian Woman —(Mark 7:24-30) Phoenicia , Roman Provence of Syria
My life as a girl was wonderful. I lived on a farm with my siblings, my aunts and uncles. I learned to read the earth and the seasons…to give thanks for harvest and hope.
Take time to rest and leave the land to be still without crops.
We played hide and seek in the grain fields.
Our parents taught us to take care of one another, grow up strong, be good to the environment, and live off the strength of the land.
That was a long time ago…
My brothers got killed by Israelites they met on the road—the borderland between Phoenicia and Israel
We were taking our grain to market, it was the first time I was allowed to go. I was so excited to be considered adult enough to accompany the items to the market. At last I would get to see all the things my family spoke of after market trips. My head was spinning my heart beating quickly. I don't even think the first few taunts registered. But, finally, my heart skipped a beat. There was a group of people following behind us on the road. They kept yelling things at us. My aunt told us to ignore them and to keep walking, quickly. We were pulling the grain in a wagon and began pulling and walking faster. The air felt thick, I was afraid. One of my brothers couldn't ignore them; he became more and more upset. Then, the bad guys started talking about our mother, calling her filthy, disgusting, a pig. All of a sudden my brother stopped pulling the wagon. He had a really funny look on his face, very calm. He kissed my aunt, she just kept whispering no, no, no and then he kissed me and rubbed my hair, it made me smile when he did that.
Then, he walked over to the men and told them to only talk about our mother in ways they would want their mother spoken about. The men killed my brother—there on the street, with us watching; they spit on my brother and told him not to compare their mother to ours
The men went on their way…as if nothing happened…as if this was a minor obstacle in the road
I will never forget the look of hatred in their eyes as they leered at us and walked on. As if we had slowed them down. As if we had been a problem. They killed my brother and it was our fault.
Fast-forward to now—I am a mother with a sick daughter
I have done everything I can to protect her, keep her safe, teach her about the earth, and raise her strong
My 12-year old daughter is sick; no one can heal her
All the experts have examined her and declared she will die
Nothing can be done for her
In my heart, I don't believe that; I must find something/someone to help her
There is a story of a man who heals people
But he's one of them…he's an Israelite. After what happened to my brother, I can't possibly seek this man's help for my daughter
It's too painful
And yet, when I look at my daughter, I see death in her eyes
It breaks my heart open
I am overwhelmed with love for her
I find myself preparing to go…I must try everything to save her…I have to find this man who heals
I go to the borderland where I heard he was; there's a great crowd there
When I see him, my heart feels cold
With anger, I fight my way through the crowd, and fling myself at his feet
I cannot look at his face
As I ask him to heal my daughter, my voice cracks
I love her so much
I beg him to make her better
I keep my eyes on the ground so he can't see the hatred in my eyes
He spoke to me just as I imagined, with disgust and disdain
He called me a dog…as if I've never heard that from them before!
But it didn't matter this time. My daughter is the only one who matters.
I persisted questioning him about his teaching
And he said, “Go. Your daughter has been made well.”
I was shocked. For a moment, I forgot, and I looked up to see his face
We were both surprised
Chuck: The Deaf Mute –(Mark 7:31-37) Decapolis
I hadn't been able to hear clearly my whole life. I did the best I could, but was often in trouble for not quite understanding directions. When, I tried to ask questions or make requests, most people could not understand me. My siblings worked hard to include me. Luckily, I've been strong from the start. So, I could always go along to carry, push or pull things. Everybody needs that kind of help. I also spent a lot of time, watching how things worked. I liked to examine the intricate details of what made the wheels on a wagon spin or the pulley that lowers the bucket into the well. I loved trying to fix things. And it didn't matter how well you could hear to do these things that required strength or focus.
And, when you don't have to listen or speak to people, you see a lot of things in this world that you normally might miss. You can see when trouble is going to come. You see what's happening between people love, hate, neglect, abuse. You also notice when someone needs help, and often what you might do to help. You can see almost into people's souls with the help of the silence.
But my family did suffer. People could be cruel to me. Calling me names, spitting on me, making fun of me, beating me. Why would a family raise such a waste of a person, who will never marry or have a family of his own? That's why my brothers took me to see him. They took me to see this Jesus. They had heard he was performing all sorts of miracles for people like me. My brothers, they brought me to him, and he took me with him away from them. First, I think he spit on me. Then he pulled my mouth open and spit on my tongue. Finally, he put his fingers in my ears. I felt like I had when I was a kid, and the others were teasing me. My heart was pounding to be spit on and touched this way, Stop it! I shouted. I was looking into his face and we were both surprised. And, Jesus putting his finger over his mouth said, “shhh!”
Blind Man Mark 8:22-26
As a child I could see. I remember the blue sky. I remember the soft clouds. I remember how stars twinkled and the moon lit the night. But one afternoon as a teen I fell out of a tree hitting my head on a rock. All of my family thought I would die. But, when I awoke, they thanked God for my life and for sparing me. And, although I could hear them, I could not see them. Light the lamp, I kept saying, where are you? It was like a nightmare hearing them, picturing them, but not seeing them…not seeing anything. I could hear my mother sobbing as I felt her hugging me to her. “He's alive, that's all that matters. He's alive.” My mother died not long after that in childbirth. It was said, that my accident cursed our family and all would go wrong from then on. I was caste out into the street, forced to beg for my food. My sisters would come by when out on errands checking on me, bringing me what they could spare or sneak out unnoticed.
It's amazing how you can see without using your eyes. How you can feel the presence of a person approaching. How you can sense danger in the air. How people will say anything in front of you, because they can't see you. You learn a lot living on the street. That's how I heard about him. This man who was going around the countryside healing people, all kinds of people with all kinds of problems. I began to wonder, if he could heal, why couldn't he heal me. When my sisters came by I began to ask them about this man. How to find him, would they take me. Begging them to take me. I told them I would starve myself unless they would take me. I even reminded them how much our mother loved me, would not want me living here in the street, that it would make it worth the risk of taking me out of respect for our mother. Finally, the one that really turned the tide was my last attempt reminding them that this could lift the curse from our family allowing them to be free as well. That did it. They finally agreed to take me to him.
All of my siblings came, it was amazing to be in the middle of all of them again. They walked me to him on the other side of the village. When they saw him they began shouting and asking him to come and lay his hands on me. They shouted with all of the years of the curse piled up on them. He came toward the group and they parted. I felt his hand in mine. It was strong, firm, but gentle. We walked for quite awhile. I could hear my siblings footsteps behind us. I wondered where we were going, what would happen. If all that I had heard was true. He stopped and I felt something wet on my face then his hands. Then he asked me what I could see. I could see something…It looked like trees walking. He then put his hands back over my eyes and when he took his hand away all was in focus for me. I could see me siblings, the blue sky, the muddy ground, my heart soared! I caught Jesus' eye as tears spilled from mine, his finger pressed to his mouth, Don't even go back to the village he said.
Briget's: We have to remember that these people that are recorded in the gospel of mark were considered human trash. These were nobodies. These were people who were unclean, uncapable, undesireable. The world would be better without them the empire said. They only make us weak. So to have their stories recorded here is odd. It is odd that the witnesses of Jesus, the power of Jesus would be told by the weak. It is odd that the power of the Holy one is being spent upon the weak. It is just as if he's saying when the weakest one is strong, we are all stronger. And, you know this to be true. For just as each one of them was asked to go and not to tell, you've held on to a miracle within your life. There's a story there that's just a little bit odd. There's a story that you could tell about claiming, healing, sharing power with the weakest. And, you've held it within. It's a good thing too, because when these stories get out. When these stories start traveling around about how we've been opened, healed, changed people who need those same things start coming around. When we start talking about what happens to us when we come to this place, when we open ourselves to the God in our lives…people want to come and see it for themselves…and we wouldn't want that contagious transformation, that growth, that vulnerability to show…would we?