A Sermon of Compassion

I wrote this "sermon" for my "Church as a Community of Compassion" class at Palmer. As of now, I've not given it, but I hope a time will come and soon when I can share this with the people of my congregation...

The front “page” of the New York Times web site this past Wednesday was filled with top stories of the ongoing war in Iraq. Interestingly, that same day, the Philadelphia Inquirer web site’s top story was about a fourteen year-old girl with cerebal palsy who wasted away and died due to supposed neglect by Philadelphia’s Department of Human Services. Two very different stories with two very different images. Two very different locations, concerns, and people effected. And yet, both strike at the very core of our shared humanity. Both of these stories are more than just the words on the proverbial page. Both of them have to do with life and death, and that which is between the two, the palpable tension of suffering versus compassion. What we have here in these stories are representative images of a world that is constantly struggling with the effects of that day in the garden when forbidden fruit was chosen over obedience and trust in a loving God. And my friends, we are still paying the bill for that choice.

I want you to consider this question, why is life so full of suffering? As much as it started in that garden, those two people, the first man and woman, have not been responsible for everything that has gone on since; that goes on to this day, today. And a second question that must be engaged lest anyone walk out of here feeling invigorated by a purely philosophical question: what does God expect of you and me in light of this suffering? Our focal text today is taken from Mark 9:14-29. Picture this story in your sanctified imagination. Jesus, Peter, James, and John are just returning from a night’s stay on a large hill top where the disciples experienced Jesus’ transfiguration. As they rejoin the rest of the group, they find the other disciples engaged in an argument with teachers of the law, all surrounded by a large crowd. Something of import and interest is going on here. Jesus is immediately brought into this event, when, as the scripture says, “As soon as all the people saw Jesus, they were overwhelmed with wonder and ran to greet him” (v.15). The people are overwhelmed with wonder, and upon seeing Jesus, they abandon the disciples, they abandon the teachers of the Law, and they run and greet Jesus. Something has happened that is beyond the scope of the disciples and the teachers. It is something that crowd understands or intuitively knows only Jesus can deal with.

Upon inquiring as to what’s going on, a man in the crowd speaks up and tells Jesus that his son is possessed by a spirit that is trying to kill him. He had gone to the disciples, but they were unable to drive out the spirit. Jesus did not need to read a newspaper to find a story of suffering. It found Him out. Unlike the priest, the Levite, and the teacher of the Law in Luke’s parable of the Good Samaritan, He did not walk around this man, his son, or their suffering. Curiously, Jesus speaks words of frustration at a crowd that is both quarrelsome and unbelieving before He engages the suffering of the man’s son. Remember, he engages. He does not jump in and just heal the boy. He engages with questions: “How long has he been like this?” (v.21a). “From childhood,” the man tells him (v.21b). When one is nervous, full of anxiety and fear, one tends to the extremes of either shutting down and not speaking, or talking too much. This man keeps on talking: “if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us” (v.22b). I wonder at the look on Jesus’ face when this man said this. Jesus’ reaction is swift, “If you can? Everything is possible for him who believes.” (v.23). Everything is possible for him who believes. Everything is possible for those who believe. What is Jesus thinking as He says this? Is He thinking, “Man, you brought your son to me, and now you’re wondering IF I can do anything?” Jesus’ words prick the man’s own fears and desperation, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (v.24). And Jesus heals the man’s son, even as the spirit seems to take the very life out of the boy, leaving him looking as if dead. Jesus, of course, knows this boy is not dead, and personally reaches out and takes the boy’s hand and helps him onto his feet. This engagement is what I believe we need to focus on. There are several nuggets with which we must wrestle in order to address our earlier questions.

It is telling that as soon as Jesus shows up, the crowd disperses from the antagonists, and heads straight to Jesus. We must remind ourselves that these disciples are pre-Pentecost, therefore, they are not yet full of the Holy Spirit; they are not yet emboldened for the kingdom of God. But people know, they can tell oft times who is able to help and who is not; they can sniff out a phony. Whatever it was they were arguing about, the disciples and the teachers of the Law were no closer to responding to the boy’s suffering then than they were at the start of this episode. And while some crowds seem to thrive on controversy and suffering, in this case, this crowd was caught up in the desperation of the man. And why should they not be? Were they not his neighbors? Did they not know this man; know his son? He was one of their own. They knew the suffering that has been going on, well predating that day’s theological or methodological debate, for they themselves were overwhelmed. And they wanted resolution. And they came to Jesus because He was their last best hope. As an aside, it strikes me as telling that after a night of spiritual high on the proverbial mountain top, both Jesus and His disciples come down to this challenge, almost a test to see if their faith is rooted in mere experience or reflection, or is their faith a real faith rooted in a real God working in a real world. In coming to Jesus with the man, they reveal they themselves are looking for an end to this suffering; they are together looking for compassion.

But Jesus is not just a miracle worker. By speaking His frustrations out loud, His own humanity and divinity are expressed mutually – His humanity cannot be silent regarding the fogging of the real issue here; His divinity cannot understand the disbelief that is present. By engaging the man in questions, Jesus incarnates God into this man’s pain, and here-to-fore, his hopelessness. By challenging the man’s lack of belief, Jesus is challenging the man to get rid of the hopelessness he has lived with for years, and make room in his heart for hope. In his response, the man confesses both his disbelief and his fear, and his desperate need for the power to overcome those shackles. While Jesus also speaks a word of command to the spirit in casting it out, I find it more important for these purposes to examine the after-effects. That is, the spirit leaves the boy with much theatrics – to the point where the crowd, and probably the father, thought he was dead. This is no small detail to be overlooked. If he is dead, then Jesus is no better than the disciples or the teachers of the Law who showed themselves impotent to do anything more than argue with one another rather than risk failure. If he is dead, then there is the risk of ceremonial uncleanness, and I imagine that the teachers of the Law at this point probably moved to the back of the crowd so as not to accidentally risk breaking their own purity laws. And then there is Jesus. The only risk Jesus takes is not waiting to see how the crowd will respond. Jesus reaches out, seemingly a risky move, and takes the boy by the hand, and lifts him up to his feet, and as Luke adds in his gospel, gives him back to his father.

What are we doing here this morning, my friends? – If all we can do at the end of this story is just say how wonderful Jesus is, we miss the point of today’s reading. Let us turn back to the first question: Why is life so full of suffering? I hesitate to give any answer that will sound of hubris, for I know there are many here who are engaged in the act of suffering, and sadly, many are doing so privately and silently. This is not a question to be dealt with lightly or in a trite manner, with either well-meaning intentions, nor petty hallmark card-like sayings. Indeed, the answer I want to offer for your consideration today is less about the origins of suffering, but rather one that contends that it is real, and it is here among us. My answer looks at each of us sitting here, individually, and as a collective. And my answer may be bothersome and uncomfortable, but I think it is honest, and it is the best I can offer you this morning. Why is life so full of suffering? Because on one level, we often find it safer to debate and argue over the causes of suffering, or the methodologies of resolving it, rather than risk ourselves (that is, our own comfort, our own time, our own resources, and maybe even our own lives) by entering into the fray. And the second is like unto the first, as we more often than not see the risk as exposing us to failure and our disbelief over God’s power at work within us, rather than as opportunities to give God room to be glorified in us and through us, for the beneficial comfort and/or healing of the Other. And what might be worse is that we will not admit it; not to others, not to God, and not to ourselves. As long we are talking about it, praying about it, and have money to give toward it, we are dealing with it. But are we? That leads us to deal with the second question.

What does God expect of you and me in light of this suffering? Again, I cannot speak an over-arching meta-answer. But what I will suggest, much to my own discomfort, is that God expects us. Yes, us. Not a particular game plan, though that may be needed. What is God’s expectation? Us. You and me. All of us, who are the body of Christ. I think it is because of our culture’s lust with individuality that we struggle, resist, and choose to be ignorant of belonging to one another, and in recognizing the face of Jesus, the imago dei, in the face of the Other who is suffering. And we do not reach out. We stand before one another indicted by the fact that we are guilty of the sin of omission. I’m not asking you to go up to a person who is suffering and play God. Jesus did what He did because He was God incarnate. But I am saying to you, to myself, that we must believe in the wake-up call that Jesus gave to the father, “Everything is possible for him who believes," and then act on that belief. But rather than be as honest as the father, we ignore or push down our own suffering, we prevent others from knowing of our suffering, or we ignore the suffering of those who inhabit the pews of life. We lean toward denial because we think it easier than risk the pain. I’m not saying that we need to turn worship into one big circus-like episode of Dr. Phil. Most of us already know we need to just stop acting like stupid lemmings running towards the cliffs of life’s bad decisions. Instead, we must call out to Jesus to claim belief, and ask Him to help us overcome our unbelief. This comes from living out of our faith, and not our fears. It means we acknowledge the brokenness of others and ourselves. It means we read that story from Mark 9, and realize that it is a call to pick up where Jesus left off, and continue the story of compassion that Jesus showed the father, his son, and yes, the crowd. It means we are called to risk all for the Other because we are the Other that Jesus risked for. It is His example, and His power, at work in each of us and all of us together. As we engage as Jesus engages, we will risk who we are and become more like Jesus. It will be painful and unpleasant at times, but if we have hope in all that Jesus promises, then we can believe that this journey of compassion will bring us a joy that is hidden on this side of suffering. As we leave here today, I ask you to prayerfully consider what God is calling you to do, and what He is calling us to do, that would bring compassion into this world of suffering. It is a challenge. But I say Amen. And I invite you to do the same.