Tag Archives: healing

Advent 18: Away

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It’s okay to hide.

Sometimes, anyway.

We looked at some people searching for Jesus yesterday. He had spent the night healing people, whatever illness they brought to him. When day came, he left for a secluded place. He needed some rest. And then the people came looking for him, wanting him to stay and keep healing them.

This means that when he stopped and went to find a place away, there were people who hadn’t been healed yet. There were people who still had problems. There were people who didn’t have their lives together. And Jesus walked away.

We think that as God, he could have kept going. But he was also fully man, which meant that he needed to sleep, to rest, to be away. Which means that it is okay to be human. It is acceptable after a heavy day of work to go away, to head home, to leave work undone.

When you are working hard doing what God calls you to do, you have permission, by example, to not do everything, to not heal everyone, to go away.

And that is something to anticipate.

(From Luke 4:40-44)

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Here’s part of my reading list for this year: 2011 Books

go ahead. be a sheep.

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As much as I would like to believe that I am not a sheep, I am one.

Not, I suppose, a blind follower of a random mindless herd. (Unless that’s what all followers of Christ are). I like to believe that I have the capacity to think with some originality. I like to believe that I have some passion to do things that matter. In fact, I even have a passion statement.

But every time I hear conversations about not being sheep, about being original, about being independent and trailblazing and leaving cubicles, I struggle a bit.

Because I ache. Because no matter how hard I try I still find myself walking through the valley of the shadow of death. Because no matter how hard I try, I am in the presence of the enemy of my soul. Because I need, oh, I so desperately need still water. Because my soul needs restoration.

And you do too. Right? I mean there are moments when you cannot help but be a sheep. Not the conformist image we fight, but the somewhat fragile being that everyone  - everyone – wants a piece of.

I guess I’m not talking about jobs, about careers, about status and success. I’m talking about what’s behind all that, the gaping hole in your chest behind the facade of the press release. The dull ache the next morning when the sun comes up and everything you thought would work didn’t.

That’s when it’s worth understanding what it means to be a sheep. And what it means to have a shepherd who is willing to lead and feed and heal and restore. And in the middle of the valley, be present. And in the front of the enemies, serve a feast.

It is David’s favorite lyric:  ”The Lord is my shepherd.”

Stop

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Sometimes the best way to start over is to clear your plate.

The most vibrant church Heather and I were part of did just that. They wiped all their ministries off the plate. Small groups, worship teams, drama, Sunday school programs. Everything. And they let God rebuild the church slowly.

They lost a lot of members. But the result was a fresh new thing. They (and we) found that the new church was open to what God wanted to do through them, rather than being stuck with, “We’ve always done it that way.” Silos of power were broken down. Those married to old systems left. New people joined who were more open to God’s movement.

In Leviticus 25, God announced a plan for the Israelites called the “Year of Jubilee.” After every 49 years, all property would revert to its original owners. Slaves were also set free. The chapter includes ways that the system would work.

We easily become slaves to the systems we set up. We often end up going through the motions rather than doing things for the purposes we (or others) originally intended.

So I’d urge you (and me) to examine what things we can cut out this summer – allowing God to have a fresh start with us. Be radical. It will hurt. But after the wounds heal, we may find more health than we’ve experienced in a long while.

Unlike Leviticus 25, I am not going to give you a road map for how to do this. You’ll have to work that out with God and others involved. I would suggest starting with prayer. Ask God how He wants you to start over. Be still. Listen to Him.

Have you done this already at some point in your life? Please tell your story in the comments.

(Paul Merrill writes here every First Friday)

do you want to get well?

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(Today is a guest post from Rich Dixon, a new and frequent commenter here. I asked him to help me understand this text. He did. )

Jesus sees a man sitting beside a therapy pool. The guy’s been paralyzed for thirty-eight years. Jesus asks a surprising question. “Do you want to get well?”

I wonder if the man thought it was a dumb question.

I’ve lived twenty-two years with paralysis. If somebody asked if I wanted to get well, I’d think it’s a dumb question. Of course I want to walk again.

This guy already knows exactly what he needs. If he could only be the first one into the water … but nobody will help him. Perhaps this stranger intends to carry him to the source of healing.

I could tell Jesus just what I need to walk again. If I could find the right doctor … if only someone would carry me to the source of healing, some revolutionary medical treatment that mends damaged nerves.

Or … maybe the man heard the question differently: Do you REALLY want to get well? He’d seen the accusing glances, overheard the whispered gossip. Why does he just sit there? Is he lazy, just looking for a free ride?

Maybe he was like people who struggle with addiction or poverty or abuse, tired of asking for help and receiving condescending suggestions about trying a little harder. Perhaps the man at the pool felt attacked and defended himself by explaining that he was doing his best.

Jesus didn’t ask dumb questions. He didn’t make back-handed accusations. His question wasn’t about walking.

Jesus cared about something a lot bigger and deeper and more eternal than physical health. His question wasn’t just addressed to the paralyzed man.

He spoke to those who listened and wanted to learn, and to those who watched and judged and condemned based on their self-righteous concern for religious rules rather than people.

He’s still doing that.

sometimes faith means walking away

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Jesus told a man that his son would be healed.

The man took Jesus at his word and headed home.

Perhaps the man was good at taking direction because he worked for the king. That was certainly true for another healing situation. A centurion (military commander of 100 soldiers) wanted a servant healed. Jesus offered to come. The centurion said that Jesus had the power to command healing without being present, just like the centurion could command soldiers.

Perhaps this dad was used to being told “We’re finished. You can leave.” When Jesus said it, the man left. But you have to wonder what the man wondered. As he walked back home, an overnight trip, what was he thinking?

What do we think in those situations? We ask God for something. Some healing, some wisdom, some help. We finish asking (often with the formal “amen.”) And then what? We often read Bible verses to each other about trust and faith and timing. But most often we wonder. Or at least I do.

The man is getting close to home. His staff meets him on the road with good news. His son is well. The man asks for a timeline and discovers that exactly when Jesus says, “Your son will live,” the fever breaks. And now, finally, the man and his household (family and servants) believed that Jesus was who he said he was.

Our conversations with God are often unfocused. Sometimes we forget to draw lines connecting  events and prayers. We don’t expect that there will be an actual answer. We don’t remember what we asked when. And often, we don’t take Jesus at his word.

This dad did. He walked away from Jesus, trusting as much as he could. He arrived at home a believer.

Between? I bet he wondered.