Do You See What I Hear?

Mark 7:31-37

[Jesus] returned from the region of Tyre, and went by way of Sidon towards the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. ³²They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech; and they begged him to lay his hand on him. ³³He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. ³⁴Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be opened.” ³⁵And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. ³⁶Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one; but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. ³⁷They were astounded beyond measure, saying, “He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.” 

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Breaking News ... "Nazarene Spits, Deaf Man Hears."

Jesus wasn't looking for tabloid headlines but there it was. It wasn’t the first time, nor the last, that he suggests that people not tell anyone what he has just done which had to be hard for the people that brought the man to be healed, but how incredibly difficult it must have been for the man himself. Suddenly this man could hear and his speech impairment was gone. How could he not tell anyone about it?  How could he possibly remain silent when he was finally able to speak clearly for the first time in his life?

There is a temptation to assume that this secrecy component of Mark's Gospel was some kind of marketing tool for Jesus—a psychological ploy that would force people to talk it up. Pan a film, people will line up for tickets. Ban a book, it becomes a best seller. Order them not to tell, they'll tell the world.

In fact, this existence of this story makes it clear that once Jesus told them not to spread the word, that's exactly what everyone did. Yet despite the temptation, I think there was more to it than publicity. Jesus feared that human nature would do exactly what the tabloids count on to sell their papers, he knew that his healing would cause a sensation and he was certain that people would read only the headlines without getting the whole story. Nothing could be worse than having the good news about God's reign ­reduced to head­lines.

Good news—the reign of God has come near. Sometimes with Jesus that was headline material:  "Demons Cast Out"; "Lepers Cleansed"; "Para­lyzed Man Walks" ("Paralyzed Man … Forgiven" doesn't quite do it, right? Not enough attraction in that to sell the story). There were many miracle healings and they were newsworthy. 

Most of the "God’s reign" stuff, the less than glamorous stuff, the ordinary and mundane stuff, was not front page materi­al. But this tabloid headline was hot off the Jerusalem Press wire service from the region of the Ten Cities (The Decapolis): "Nazarene Spits, Deaf Man Hears."  We don't usually pay attention to the details of the story—don't want to get confused by the facts, right? But by ignoring the details, we may have missed the message. 

In private, away from the crowd, Jesus physically touched a man and in a very tangible way brought God near. For this particu­lar individual, God’s reign coming near meant having a stranger's fingers poked in his ears, having the strang­er spit, and having that poking, spitting, stranger touch his tongue, none of which seems like a very pleasant sensory experi­ence. The kin-dom of God comes near this man and he was touched by it, figura­tively and quite literal­ly.

So carefully has this story been handed down through the ages that an Aramaic word echoes from our reading even today. Ephphatha. Jesus and his disci­ples probably spoke and taught in Greek, a universal lan­guage of trade, com­merce and academy but their lan­guage of origin was Hebrew or a dialect of it called Aramaic, which they would have used in synagogue and in other private matters. In only three places in Christian scripture does Jesus’ use of Aramaic words survive in the original tongue, and this is one.[1] My suspicion is that maintaining this word in Aramaic suggests that this is a very significant piece of memory for the earliest Jesus followers and it became a key piece of their early scripture.

Ephphat­ha. 

It's not that the word has any sort of magical mystical value on its own because it’s use is more than just the specific, spoken word. What is critical to the story is the way that it is placed into context, the way in which it is gram­matically used, the way in which it rolls off the tongue. It was said with a different kind of empha­sis. It wasn't just spoken, it was "sighed.” [στενάζω / sten-ad'-zo / a sigh, to groan].

Sighed to heaven [οὐρανός / oo-ran-os' / the vaulted expanse of the sky with all things visible in it; the universe, the world], a groan from earth to the great expanse above, an emotional plea between child and parent. It is what John Bunyun had in mind when he penned that "the best prayers have often more groans than words." It is a prayer groaned for this particular person and a prayer groaned for all of humanity as well. Ephphatha— "be opened."  In groaning this prayer for us, Jesus has chal­lenged each of us in the name of his God.

Ephph­atha—"be opened."

It wasn't just any ordinary groan.  It wasn't like the groan of a husband that discovered that his wife has tickets to the ballet for Sunday afternoon when his favorite is to play in this year’s Super Bowl. No, it wasn't that kind of "Nooo! Ah, do I hafta?" groan. Perhaps it was more like the groaning prayer of Job as his life came crumbling down around him.  "Let the day perish in which I was born, and the night that said 'A man-child is conc­eiv­ed'. Let that night be darkness! ... Why did I not die at birth, come forth from the womb and expire?" [Job 3:3] Maybe like the imagined cry of Isaac at the sudden realization that his father, Abraham, was about to cut his throat at the altar and that he was to be the day's burnt offering. [Genesis 22] A plea for mercy and compassion, a groan from earth to heaven, from child to God. Or perhaps like the groan of the Psalmist, "O Lord, why do you cast me off?  Why do you hide your face from me?"  [Psalm 88]  Or forever the groan of Israel, from Pharaoh's Egypt to Hitler's Death Camps, "How long, O Lord, how long?".

But still, that's not quite it.

Maybe it’s like the guttural groan of a mom in a war-torn village who watches as her child is gunned down by soldiers or like the groan of an American dad who has just learned that his child was gunned down on the streets of his neighborhood. The groaning prayer of Jesus for us is deeper than we might possibly ever know yet he continues to cry out for us "with sighs too deep for words. [Romans 8:26]  

Despite all of that—the healing, the touching, the word, the groan—we still gravitate toward just the headline. "Naz­arene Spits, Deaf Man Hears.”   But that is not the point of this story.  What's important is that the prayer that Jesus groans is as much for us as it is for the man in the headline and it calls us to task. We are challenged by this groaning prayer from a first century Mediterranean peasant turned rabbi.

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I picked up my telephone and dialed the office number listed for my colleague, Peter, and as it rang I mentally prepared to speak with his wife, Jean. During his adult years, Peter had been steadily losing his capacity for hearing so I expected to speak with his wife who would relay my message to him since he wouldn't be able to hear me over the phone. 

The phone rang; it connected but there was no voice on the other end. I heard a beeping tone and a series of pings and twangs and rasps. My first thought was that there was a fax machine connected to the line. I said "Hello," but there was no response.  “Hello?”  I hung up and tried again. The same thing happened, a series of pings and twangs. I said “Hello?” again; a silent pause and then the tones again.

And then it occurred to me. I had called a TDD line, a telecommunication device for the deaf (TDD), a machine that allows you to see on a monitor the words spoken to you by the caller on the other end of the line. I hung up and called back on the other number listed as their home number. Jean answered the phone.

An awkward moment, and the more I thought about it, how frustrated I felt. I realized that I was the one with the disability, with the inability to communicate. A person who is deaf—someone whom society considers to be "disabled"—was quite willing and very able to communicate with me by telephone. I was the one unable to hear the message, I was the one unable—dis-abled—to do what was ordinary for someone else.

Jesus prayed for the man unable to hear—"be opened" and he was. Jesus prayed for me—"be opened"—and I wasn't.  I was very much closed off from one of God's children because of my own ignorance and inability to recognize different ways of communication. The reign of God had come near me—a miracle had occurred—a non-hearing friend could have "heard" what I said and he could have spoken back to me. In the dialing of a telephone, in an ordinary event, God had come near me but I didn't hear.

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The man in the gospel story didn't hear the prayer either. Remember, he couldn't physically hear so when Jesus groaned his prayer Ephphatha, the man never heard it. All he knew was the outcome. He saw Jesus' lips move and he watched Jesus spit, with his own tongue he tasted the dirt on Jesus' fingers, he felt the healing man poke at his ears, he experienced God through a miracle of sensation, but he never heard it happen. The lips moved, no prayer was heard. Is it possible that we don't have to "hear" the prayer to experience God? Is it possible that God’s kin-dom coming near is the point of the challenge to "be opened"?

What that might mean for us is remarkable. It could mean that God’s reign comes near us in very mundane, physical, tangible ways as well. The reign of God coming near us might mean having to “be opened” to things like the sweat and blood and groaning that accompanies the coming of new life into the world. It might mean having to cradle in your arms a friend addicted to drugs and having the tears of that friend mingle with your tears as she screams in pain and fear. The challenging prayer “be opened” might mean being opened enough to march with your LGBTQ siblings and endure the spit cast in your direction from the crowds along the way. 

The kin-dom of God might just mean that your neighbors despise and ignore you because you are physically and intellectually different than they are. It might mean that to be healed you have to experience the spit and dirt and offensive touching that the man in the gospel story had to endure. The coming of God into your life does not mean that you have to hear the groaning prayer, ephphatha, but it does mean that you have to be touched by it and live it.

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When I was in high school, the chorus would always perform at our annual winter concert.  There was one piece that was always saved until the end when chorus alumni were invited to come out of the audience and sing in the ensemble. "Do You Hear What I Hear?" is the title of the song. "Said the night wind to the little lamb, do you hear what I hear?" followed by the next verse, "Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy, do you see what I see?"

Every year, I would pray mischievously for someone to get confused and sing "Do you see what I hear?" or "Do you hear what I see?".  Even these many years later, strolling through the mall at Christmas, I wait to hear the next verse blaring over the speakers "Do you see what I hear?". 

That's what happened to me the day that I called my friend. "Do you see what I hear?"  No, Peter couldn't see what I was saying. "Do you hear what I see?" I could hear what he said but it made no sense, just pings and beeps. It would have helped if I had been able to see what he said, but I couldn't. I was not open to the coming of God into that moment.

Jesus challenged me at that very moment, Jesus groaned his prayer into my life. Ephphatha!  Did the prayer fail, did it fall on deaf ears? Did I fail to meet the challenge? At first glance, one might say yes. "The prayer failed and Jim didn't live up to the challenge." But on second thought, I have realized that my life was suddenly opened to a better way of communicating. I now know that I can call my friend Peter or anyone else using a TDD which connects us by use of a telephone operator who has the job of relaying messages between hearing persons and those using assistive devices.

"Do you see what I hear?" is the primary point of this gospel story and also the overarching theme of God's presence in this world. Jesus told the man to tell no one what had happened after he had been healed. That’s all well and good, but imagine him walking up to a neighbor saying clearly for the first time, "Do you see what I hear?  Can you see that I hear?!" He didn't have to explain how it happened, it just happened, and suddenly those with whom he came in contact experienced the kin-dom come near.

Jesus prayed for him "be opened." He was—his ears, yes; his tongue, yes; but most importantly, his life. People would treat him differently now, not simply because he could speak, but because he had suddenly been opened to the kin-dom of God which had been there all along. If God’s reign coming near us means that we will be touched in similar tangible ways, then we can each expect to be treated differently once we accept the challenge and respond to the prayer groaned on our behalf. Once opened, we can never be the same again because once opened, the kin-dom of God has come upon us and once that is real we will not be able to walk away keeping the secret. Others may see the headline, but we'll know the details of the story.

"Be opened" Jesus groans toward heaven.  "Be opened"—Ephphatha. If we are opened—our ears, eyes, tongue, our lives—then we can see the kin-dom of God and we can feel how close it really is, and we can hear how it speaks to us. We can, indeed, begin to recognize just how very near it is and finally we can begin to live it in very mundane and tangible ways.

Ephphatha, children of God, "be opened."

© Copyright 2019

James F. McIntire

All rights reserved. 

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[1] The other two Aramaic phrases are in Mark 5:41 "[Jesus] took [Jairus' daughter] by the hand and said to her, 'Talitha cum,' which maena, 'Litttle girl, get up!'" and in Mark 15:34  as Jesus is on the cross "At three o'clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, 'Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachtani' which means, 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?'" 

Here’s Mud in Yer Eye!

John 9:1-41

Ptooey!

The sound of someone spitting is the pronunciation of the Greek word for that very same action [ἔπτυσεν / ptoo'-o / to spit] so it is the way the writer of John’s Gospel describes what Jesus does when encountering a man who had been blind [τυφλὸν / toof-los' / blind; mentally blind] from birth [γενετῆς / ghen-et-ay / birth, from birth].

Ptooey!

Probably doesn’t fit the image most of us have had of Jesus, right? But when his disciples assume that this blindness was caused by somebody’s sin [ἥμαρτεν / ham-ar-tan'-o / to be without a share in; to miss the mark], that is exactly his reaction.

Ptooey!

Jesus spits. Spits in the dirt. Maybe it comes across as a bit vulgar to our delicate sensibilities but it’s an important part of the sensuality of this story. This text is so earthy, so sensory that we can almost hear the sound ptooey!, feel the slimy clay mud [πηλὸν / pay-los' / potters clay; mud; wet clay] used to anoint [ἐπέχρισεν / ep-ee-khree'- / to spread on, anoint] this man’s eyes, feel the warm breath of Jesus as he pulls the man in close to speak words of healing, taste the sweat pouring from our own brows as our beliefs about sin and righteousness are called to task. It’s a sensory experience extraordinaire.

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“Here’s mud in yer eye!” is an old saying originating probably in early 20th century America when farmers clinked glasses just before plow-time, wishing each other a good season since a plentiful crop would follow lots of rain and the mud it created. Or maybe as Frank Kelly Rich’s “On the Cuff & Under the Table: The Origin and History of Drinking Words and Phrases”—yes, it’s a real book—reads:

This toast may have been popular with the soldiers slogging through the muddy trenches of WWI, but it did not originate with them, as many believe. It was being bandied about in U.S. saloons as early as 1890 and was popular with the English fox hunting and race horse crowd before then. Most likely it’s a back-handed toast among jockeys, meaning “Here’s to you losing the race.” If you’ve ever been to a race track after a good rain, you’ll note that the leading horses throw up a lot a mud and the trailing jockeys tend to get splattered from head to toe. The phrase was all the more pertinent before the introduction of goggles to the sport.

“Here’s mud in yer eye!” says Jesus to the unsuspecting man who had been blind from birth, an encounter set in six scenes.

Scene 1.

As he walked along, [Jesus] saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. (John 9:1-7)

Jesus spits in the dirt, mixes up some mud, places it on the man’s eyes … and the man is incredibly blessed because he can now see … and he lives happily ever after. Is that how the story goes?  Restored sight equals God’s blessing?  Healing equals full welcome into the “in” crowd?  That might be how we want to read the story but that’s not quite how it all went down.  

Jesus spits in the dirt, mixes up some mud, places it on the man’s eyes …  and the man’s life is turned upside down, inside out, flipped and twisted, and made much more difficult than it ever had been before. That’s how the story actually reads.  

Jesus is there for Scene 1—the spit and mud—and then while the man is off washing in the Pool, Jesus disappears and doesn’t return until the very last scene. In the meantime while Jesus is gone, here is the man’s “blessing.”

Scene 2.

The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am the man.” But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?” He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.” They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.” (John 9:8-12)

The healed man tries to go home again but he can’t. So radical is the change in him that his reappearance in his old neighborhood generates no joy, no celebration, no welcome home, only questions and doubts.  His neighbors don’t even recognize him now when before this he was well-known in the neighborhood. 

“That’s the guy who sits and begs, the guy who can’t see, poor guy.” 

“Let’s give him some food leftover from dinner last night.”

“Let’s give him a coin or two.”

And the mostly unspoken feelings: “Let’s do whatever we can to assuage the guilt we have inside us. Let’s engage him enough to say that we did and so we can suppress the ‘It could have been me’ thoughts that run through our minds.”  

He has been treated his whole life as most people with disabilities. Pitied, ignored, shunned, rejected. And now that suddenly the community has to “see” him, he has to insist that he is the same man, a plea  which gains mixed responses. He was no longer the guy who stumbled his way through the streets, the guy who touched the walls as his hesitantly walked to his begging place, the dependent, poor, dirty beggar—these were the identity markers that defined his place in the community. Now he walks upright, assured of place and direction, and now he has a potential for being independent. What he discovers, though, is that he has no place anymore.

“Who are you? And who is this person who told you you could be whole? Where is he?”

Jesus is nowhere to be found.

Scene 3.

They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, “He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.” Some of the Pharisees said, “This man is not from God, for he does not observe the sabbath.” But others said, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?” And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, “What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.” He said, “He is a prophet.” (John 9:13-17)

The healed man is hauled before religious leaders who have their own identity markers in the community. They are interested in all reported miracles, especially if performed by unauthorized individuals and most especially if done in violation of some law. They protect the law, the law protects their role.

Such is the case here. The healing occurred on the sabbath so if this man is truly healed, it was done by someone with the power of God, but if the healing took place on the sabbath, then it was done by someone opposing God’s law and these well-placed authorities could not possibly allow someone to question their interpretation of God’s law. Protect the law at all costs.

“Are you sure you can see? Were you really blind? Who did it? Further investigation is needed.”

Like many of us wanting to defend the status quo, these religious leaders already knew what they wanted to hear—they wanted to hear that this healer healed on the Sabbath and that by doing so he broke the law. And that’s exactly where their investigation leads—surprise!

In the meantime, this man is dragged through the mud and his self, his integrity, his parents, his very existence are questioned and debated and disparaged in front of his neighbors and his synagogue. 

Jesus is nowhere to be found.

Scene 4.

The [religious leaders] did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?” His parents answered, “We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.” His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, “He is of age; ask him. He will speak for himself.” (John 9:18-21)

Again, like so many of us with disabilities, the man is not believed so the parents of the healed man are grilled by the religious leaders.

“Yes, he is our son.”

“Yes, he was born blind.”

“No, we do not know what happened.”

“No, we do not know who did it.”

“Of course we know it’s our son and that he was born blind, but we don’t know how this change has happened.”

Whatever joy they may have had in discovering that their son was now a sighted person was wiped out by fear of themselves being shunned from the community.

“Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.” 

They were on the verge of being expelled from the synagogue and being socially disgraced because of their connection to this ungodly, sabbath-violating, law-breaking act. But these parents didn’t ask for this. This “blessing” was too much for them to handle.

“Give us our son back. We liked our life just the way it was, thank you very much. This other way is way too difficult.” 

Jesus is nowhere to be found.

Scene 5.

So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.” He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.” They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?” Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.” The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.” They answered him, “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out. (John 9:22-34)

The religious authorities, faced with irrefutable evidence that a healing happened know that they must now denounce the healer as a sinner. But the healed man argued back. How cheeky of him! 

“I do not know whether [Jesus] is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see. ... Maybe you want to be his follower?”

This is not the pre-determined answers the authorities want to hear, not the expected conclusion of the investigation, not the statement that was supposed to be released to the public. That report was supposed to say, “Obviously it was Jesus who sinned and therefore this man he healed cannot be believed and is no longer to be a part of who we are.”  The official report was supposed to exonerate the officials, not raise more questions and stymie their plans for higher office.

So here is this guy.  A few days before he was ejected from the synagogue his life was as it always had been. And then God “blessed” him with:  

• his old friends don’t recognize him
• his neighbors disregard him
• his parents are threatened
• his parents reject him
• he is no longer welcome at his old place of worship 

So that's a blessing?!

Jesus is nowhere to be found.

Scene 6.

Jesus heard that they had driven [the man] out, and when he found him, he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” (John 9:35-41)

Jesus returns. Whew!

To this point, remember, the man has not seen Jesus. When they were last together, the man was blind and after he returned from the Pool at Siloam Jesus was gone. “Guess what,” says Jesus, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” The man is now seen by the world around him and the world rejects him.

So that’s the deal? God’s blessings may very well bring judgment. God’s blessings may very well cause your life to be turned upside down. God’s blessings might just cause you to be ousted from those institutions which the world around you values. God’s blessings might just bring persecution and ridicule on you.

But guess what? God’s blessings are God’s blessings. If the world rejects them, guess who is in the wrong?   

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From the very beginning of Scene 1, Jesus makes it clear that this man’s blindness has nothing to do with sin—not his nor his parents’ sin. Period. Jesus then says that the man is there so that “the works of God might be revealed.”

Does that mean that the man was born blind so that Jesus could come along, spit in the dirt, heal him, and in that we can experience God’s power? That makes for a pretty capricious god, doesn’t it? A god that would cause blindness just to prove that that god has the power to heal does not reflect the loving God of our faith.

Our insistence on long-held stereotypes about disabilities and their relationship to sin or bad decisions or evil living, unconscious or latent as those beliefs might be in our modern minds, still bring us to simplistic interpretations like this. A more enlightened reading is that God has created each one of us—not just the man in this story but all of us, in fact—so that God’s works can be revealed in and through our lives.

Remember, Jesus has no qualms about this man’s blindness. Jesus was walking through John’s Gospel, minding his own—and God’s—business when he came across this unnamed man.  His disciples assumed that because the man did not have his visual sense intact he or his parents must be sinners. “Ptooey!,” says Jesus to his once-again-confused disciples, “one’s disability has nothing to do with sin.”

There’s no pity in this encounter. Jesus’ response is not, “Oh, poor little blind man. Let me take away your affliction. Let me make you whole again.” Just as in all stories of people with disabilities in scripture, Jesus doesn’t even notice the man’s disability, his blindness—he simply sees the man—and note that the man doesn’t ask to have his blindness taken away—he’s fine with it. The encounter is quite simply about us experiencing God’s revealed awesomeness. If it takes bringing a man’s visual sense back to life, then that’s what Jesus is willing to do to get that message across.

This story is not about the man’s physical blindness. It’s not about his or his parents’ sin. It’s not about what Jesus could or couldn’t do. It’s not about determining where healing comes from. It’s not about categorization or segregation or exclusion of people based on ability. It’s not about Jesus making a point about all of us and our single-vision view of the world around us.

Or is it? Maybe it’s about all of those things. But primarily it is about what happens when we listen to God’s message and are truly blessed by God.  It changes us.

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Cesar Chavez, who led among California migrant farm workers a non-violent movement built on a foundation of humility, speaking truth to power, and making sure the voice of the poor was heard, famously said “If the poor aren’t included, nothing will ever change.”

That’s what this Gospel lesson is about. In fact, that’s what the entirety of the Jesus message is about.  “If the poor aren’t included …” Or fill in whoever is marginalized and you have the message … if the children aren’t included … if the women aren’t included … if the men .., if the elderly … if the people who look different than me.

And as to this encounter between Jesus and the man born blind and the doubters … if those who can’t walk … those who can’t speak … if those who can’t see aren’t included … nothing will ever change. That’s what Jesus does here. Inclusion of everyone in this story—the disciples, the man born blind, his parents, the neighbors, the Pharisees, you and me.  If we’re paying attention, change happens and we just might learn or unlearn some things:

• Our sins have no bearing on our abilities and our potentialities—we inherently know this but we need to keep reminding ourselves
• Each of us sins when we distance ourselves from each other and from God, when we push ourselves away and refuse to touch and be touched
• God works in and around all of us and God’s works are revealed in each and every life that has ever been created
• Some of us are born blind and see clearly while others are born with vision but simply choose to not see
• At times we treat each other so badly that some of us have to beg for food or money or shelter or health care or even simple compassion
• Our parents don’t know everything about us; children know very little about their parents
• At times we get so hung up on the rules that we have created that we fail to see the glory that God has created
• It’s okay—healing, even—to play in the mud

    And if real change happens, once oppression ends you cannot return to bondage. If true change happens then the man-who-had-been-blind now restored to wholeness would never be excluded again. It doesn’t really matter—and it didn’t really matter to Jesus—if the man could physically see using his eyes or if that form of vision stayed with him after Jesus went on his way. What mattered was that Jesus has taken this man and has restored him to the community. A painful process when the community doesn’t want to admit it is wrong and has to change. But it happens. This man is restored, healed, reconciled, into a community that, we pray, has learned to change.

And obviously the mud in your eye—in our eyes—didn’t resolve the marginalization of those whom we reject.  But with the Jesus message as clear as mud in the eye, we continue to share that message as we live out God’s will in this world.

Ptooey! Here’s mud in yer eye!

© Copyright 2019

James F. McIntire

All rights reserved. 

Paralyzed

Gus Portokalos says he can trace any word back to what he claims is its Greek roots, albeit, with a bit of a stretch.

Michael Constatine as Gus Portokalos

"Now, gimme a word, any word, and I'll show you how the root of that word is Greek. Okay? How about arachnophobia? Arachna, that comes from the Greek word for spider, and phobia is a … phobia … is mean fear. So, fear of spider, there you go.

"Okay, Mr. Portokalos. How about the word kimono? [asks his daughter’s young friend]

"Aha. Kimono. Kimono ... kimono … kimono. Ha! Of course! Kimono is come from the Greek word himona, is mean winter. So, what do you wear in the wintertime to stay warm? A robe. You see: robe, kimono. There you go!"

—My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)

Paralutikós. It really is Greek, Mr. Portokalos. The King James Bible identified the person come to visit Jesus in Capernaum as “palsied;” modern English translations use “paralytic.” The English word “paralysis” comes from the same root, from the Greek paralusis, (para—beside, near, along the side of; lusis—loosing, releasing, ransoming) and literally it means "one whose side was loose or weak." Today, though, when we encounter the word paralysis or paralyzed we tend to assume a total loss of body movement. The original meaning is not necessarily so.

Jesus was home—back in Capernaum—and he had a houseful of visitors. They wanted to see their homegrown teacher, preacher, healer so they swarmed into the house’s central courtyard and the living rooms surrounding it. “Then some people came, bringing to Jesus a paralutikós, carried (φέρω / pheró—to carry some burden, to bear with one's self) by four of them. [Lit. And they are coming, bringing to him a paralytic whose burden was being lifted by four.] And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralutikós lay.”

Paralutikós. The person lowered through the roof and now in front of Jesus is one who was living with “a weakened side.” Not necessarily full-body-motionless like our 21st century minds assume, but perhaps in a weakened physical state which would have created for that individual a weakened social status in Capernaum, a status which 21st-century-we probably would not understand. Ostracized, shunned, unclean, untouchable, sinful, unforgiveable for whatever the community thought happened to bring on this condition.

⭙

How often today we use phrases about paralysis to metaphorically describe life moments. Emotional paralysis is real and can certainly be debilitating but more often than not we use it casually as an excuse for not being able to move forward in our emotions or thinking or relating.

“He was paralyzed by fear when fire broke out.”

“Her anxiety left her paralyzed and unable to deal with the crisis.”

“It seems like Congress has paralyzed us by its inability to reach compromise.”

But rarely, if ever, do any of those metaphors separate us from the society in which we live in the same way that label did in 1st century Palestine.

⭙

Parakletos. “Is Greek!,” Gus Portokalos would remind us about this different word. Soon after his death and resurrection and the Pentecost moment (Acts 2) the followers of Jesus emerged as the Early Church and they started to recognize in Jesus his role as Parakletos—The Paraclete, The Comforter, Advocate, Counselor—the prophesied one summoned (kletos) to the side (para) of those needing comfort.

Nahum. “Is not Greek!” It’s Hebrew, in fact, and it means “comforter.” Namely, it’s the name of one of the Minor Prophets of Hebrew scripture who wrote poetically about the end of the Assyrian Empire, and its capital city, Nineveh. Nahum, according to his story, comes from a place called Alqosh yet no one knows for certain where that is. One popular candidate for Nauhum’s hometown is Capernaum—in Hebrew, the village of (Kaphar-) the comforter (-naum). Kapharnaum. Capernaum.

Still with me? Here is what the original hearers of this story, Mark’s Early Church audience, might have heard in its telling and retelling.

Jesus, the prophesied Parakletos (Comforter), was back in his hometown, Kaphar-naum (Village of the Comforter) providing comfort by coming to the side of (parakletos) someone who has been set apart from the community due to a weakened condition (a paralutikós), one with a side (para-) which was weakened (-lusis), one who had at least four people willing to carry the burden attached to this condition.

“Is Greek … and Hebrew!”

Four of Capernaum’s citizens brought this one-with-the-weakened-side to see Jesus but they couldn’t get through the door either because the crowd was so big or maybe because they had this outcast with them. Not to be turned away by their fellow citizens, they took the paralutikós up to the roof, poked a hole through, and lowered the person down to where Jesus was. Oh, and they brought along the person’s straw sleeping mat too, probably rolled up under an arm, and slipped down through the holey roof as well. Most likely the weakened-one could walk with the assistance of the four but the mat was necessary since the only economic option for this ostracized-one was to lay around on a mat and beg for money—“cap-in-hand” or “hand-i-cap,” if you will—and this oversized crowd was certainly a target for handouts.

⭙

I was consulting with a church which had a relatively minor physical access problem. Three steps from the driveway led to a first floor entry door. Once inside the building, there was full access to the Pastor’s Study and to the large Sanctuary used for worship. The upper floors and restrooms were a more difficult issue but first floor access from the parking lot and driveway seemed like one slight incline ramp would do the trick.

Resistance. “It will ruin the neo-Gothic façade,”; “It will cost too much;” “No one will use it.” This all despite the fact that a young man, key member and leader of the congregation, had been in a traumatic auto crash 10 years before and he was now unable to physically use the lower half of his body—a manual wheelchair provided freedom so that he could be a husband and dad, could create a successful professional career, and could participate fully in snow skiing with a disability sports program. What he couldn’t do was easily access his congregation’s building. On Sundays the sexton was usually ready with the portable ramp; otherwise Steve would use his strength to hop his wheelchair up the three steps and open the door.

“You know,” said an older church member, “it’s disappointing that we have to build a ramp. It’s shameful that we are no longer willing to carry someone up the steps. We’ve really lost something as Christians if we can’t do that anymore.”

Totally missed the point of what independence does for someone. Creating more access creates more freedom creates inclusion creates justice … and if followers of Jesus are about anything, they must be about justice.

⭙

On meeting this weakened-one for the first time—or maybe for a second or third time since this is a small village and Jesus is quite popular here at his home—Jesus says, knowing that God forgives all of us, “Teknon aphientai sou hai hamartiai.” “Is Greek!,” again, of course. “Child, your sins are sent away.”

This is the healing moment of the story. Suddenly, a respected someone has called the ostracized-weakened-one by the intimate and affectionate title which he uses of his beloved disciples. Child. No gender can be implied so we don’t know if it’s a male or female person, and throughout this encounter we have no clue as to the paralutikós’ gender or age—it could really be a child that Jesus has just brought back into the community which once shunned him or her.

“Child,” says Jesus. With a single word, Jesus heals.

What happens next? Conflict. Jesus knows that the Scribes, the doubters who are often trying to entrap him are thinking that he has been blasphemous by claiming for himself the role of God who is the only forgiver. He sets out to remind them of what’s what, that while only God forgives sins against God, any of us can forgive each other’s human sins.

“Which is it easier to say,” Jesus asks—not do, notice, but say—“’Your sins are sent away’ or “Take up your straw mat and go on with your life (περιπατέω / peripateó)?’”

An amazing moment in the Jesus story that we mostly miss with our contemporary eyes.

Jesus takes this opportune moment to remind us that neither of these statements is easy to say, or maybe they are too easy to say. The rubber meets the road in the results. If you say to another human being, “Your sins are forgiven, your sins are sent away from you” it begs the question whether or not you really mean it, particularly if the sin was against you. As well, if you say to someone, “Welcome back into the circle, now go on home knowing that you are fully included” but as soon as you see the back of that person you snicker along with your “in” friends, what kind of words are they?

But here, Jesus is quite comfortable saying—and doing, in fact—both.

“Know that God sends your sins away from you,” has says to the soon-to-be-former paralutikos, “So now, dear Child, lightened by the removal of those burdens, no longer let your weakness be the cause of your separation from this community. Just go on and live your life, forget about the critics, roll up your mat because you won’t need it, and go about your life.”

And so the former paralutikos does. Perhaps helped still by the four who brought him but walking straighter—or maybe still a bit bent by the physical weakness, it doesn’t really matter anymore—and most definitely more confident knowing that once shunned he or she is a Child of God despite what others might be assuming.

“Immediately taking the mat [the former paralutikos] went before all, so that to amaze all and to glorify God saying ‘We never saw this way.’”

Have you ever seen that way before? Have we ever seen that way before? If we insist on interpreting this story as a violation of the laws of nature, the laws of physics, so that this person who was once totally motionless could now walk and jump and dance and the four could pound their chests for their role in it and the naysayers are once again put in their place then we have never seen it the way that it was experienced that day in Capernaum. If we insist on the physicality of this healing, then we totally miss the spirituality and emotionality of this healing.

⭙

David lay in his bed. Still. David lay still in his bed that afternoon I visited. Still.

By the time I came to know him, David could move his eyes and mouth but nothing else, yet he could think and speak and breathe and live. David had been a brilliant physics professor at a major university in the city before a degenerative muscle disease invaded his body and gradually took away his freedom of movement. He was still brilliant, of course, and he was still writing and teaching through his assistant who was with him always.

“You know,” he said to me, “I always used to say I wouldn’t want to live if I became disabled. Just let me die.” I listened intently. “Then I got to this point in life. I don’t say that anymore.”

Paralyzed. David could move no part of his body but he could live and he could think and he could dream. “Have you ever been to The Guggenheim?,” he asked. I hadn’t. “Look it up sometime. Why can’t everything be designed like that? Frank Lloyd Wright. It’s totally accessible—it’s all ramps, running around the inside of this circular building. You don’t even realize you’re climbing higher and higher.” Brilliant. I had been telling him about my efforts at teaching congregations about accessibility—architecture and attitudes.

David wasn’t dead. Just still.

This 20th century paralutikos didn’t need me or anyone else to remind him that he had a valuable place in society. Sure some still shun him, some still ignore him as they walk by, some still would rather just toss coins onto his bed on the way past. But David knew better. He knew that The Guggenheim was perfect for any paralutikos, David knew that he wasn’t better off dead than alive, and David knew way more than I will ever understand about physics.

⭙

Why is it that we need a Jesus who makes things happen that defy the laws of physics, the natural world which governs the physicality of our bodies? Why do we insist that a “miracle”—in this case a “healing”—must include something which simply doesn’t happen in our limited world? There was no need to violate the laws of physics to bring this paralutikos back into the proverbial, societal fold.

And that, Mr. Portokalos, is most definitely not Greek. That is quite simply reality for so many people with disabilities. And surrendering this need for a physical healing substituting for it an emotional and societal healing can be so very healing for all of us.

When those with disabilities have said to society which has treated them as outcasts for most of history, “We know that God sends your sins away,”—your pejoratives, your shaming, your scape-goating of us, your insistence that we beg with cap-in-hand—“We know that God sends all those sins away,” we might want to accept that and learn what healing can truly mean.

“So take up your mat, you who live sadly in judgment of us, and live your life. We, the formerly pitied paralutikos, know that we can now live ours.”

⭙

Mark 2:1-12 

[NRSV]

When [Jesus] returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. 2 So many gathered around that there was no longer room for them, not even in front of the door; and he was speaking the word to them. 3 Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. 4 And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay. 5 When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” 6 Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, 7 “Why does this fellow speak in this way? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?” 8 At once Jesus perceived in his spirit that they were discussing these questions among themselves; and he said to them, “Why do you raise such questions in your hearts? 9 Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and take your mat and walk’? 10 But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—he said to the paralytic— 11 “I say to you, stand up, take your mat and go to your home.” 12 And he stood up, and immediately took the mat and went out before all of them; so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this!”

Mark 2:1-12

[a missed interpretation]

And returning again into Capernaum after days it was heard, “He is at home.” 2 And many were gathered so that these no longer were able to make room to the door, and he was speaking the word to them.

3 And they are coming, bringing to him one with a weakened side being lifted by four.

4 And not being able to approach him because of the crowd, they uncovered the roof where he was, and digging through let down the mat where the weakened one was lying. 5 And seeing their faith, Jesus says to the weakened one, “Child, your sins are sent away.”

6 Yet some of the scribes are seated there and are reasoning in their hearts, 7 “Why is he speaking this way? He is blaspheming! Who is able to forgive sins except God alone?” 8 And immediately Jesus, knowing in his spirit that they were reasoning in themselves this way, says to them, “What things are you reasoning in your hearts? 9 Which is easier, to say to this weakened one, ‘Your sins are sent away’ or to say, ‘Rise and take your mat and go to your home to live your life’?”

10 Yet, in order that you may see that the son of man has authority to send away sins on the earth, he says to the weakened one, 11 “I say to you, ‘Rise and take your mat and go to your home and live your life’.”

12 And the weakened one was raised and immediately taking the mat went before all, so that to amaze all and to glorify God saying “We never saw this way.”

[Translation adapted from “Left Behind and Loving It” by Mark Davis.

"Paralytic on Platter"--Mark 2:1-12 using GreekBible.com and Strong’s Greek at BibleHub.com]

© Copyright 2018 

James F. McIntire

All rights reserved.