Sermons

Ephphatha

Preached by The Reverend Lizette Larson-Miller on (Sunday, September 10, 2006)

Isaiah 35:4-7a, James 1:17-27; Mark 7:31-37

Wouldn’t it be great if miraculous healings were a regular part of our weekly get-togethers? What would it feel like to have such tangible manifestations of the power and presence of God in our midst? Here is your God – the eyes of the blind are opened, the ears of the deaf unstopped…just think who we could waggle our fingers at - take that!, you who place all your hope in what is rational and logical – see, we’re not kidding, this is true, this is real, we were right!! At least it would certainly put this parish on the map…

I have to admit that the stories of Jesus healing someone – miraculous, beyond natural explanation healings – such as we have in the gospel today, usually slide by me at first reading, and that reaction made me stop and wonder why. I’m perplexed because I have a particular personal interest in Christian healing. It has been an academic interest of mine for a number of years now – I have written and published on it, I’ve lectured and taught semester-long classes on it, and in my own practice of ministry, it has been not just important but mysteriously overwhelming. I also know that it is presented in the gospels as a major part of the ministry of Jesus – more than a hobby, rather at the heart of what he did…and yet, these stories don’t grab me the way some stories do.

As I pondered this I wondered if it actually has to do with the disconnect between what happens in these stories and our own experiences. I can only speak for my own experience, but I have not witnessed such overt, unambiguous healing as described in today’s story. I have not stood near such a thing and been able to be “astounded beyond measure”, or say “he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.” The lack of ability to weave the story of the gospel together with my own experience makes me keep it at a distance.

And this same disconnect has led churches over the centuries to respond in several different ways. A hallmark of some protestant responses during and after the 16 th century was to differentiate between what God did in Jesus the Christ and through the apostles and what God does now. They would tell us that God does not engage with us now in the same way – the Holy Spirit is removed just a bit from us – we should not expect miracles. That was then, this is now. Even less hopeful was the response that we do not experience a plethora of miraculous healing because of defect in ourselves – because we are simply not praying hard enough, because we are simply not holy enough, not deserving enough – that this is somehow dependent on us, not God.

And there is a contemporary explanation too – one that I have crossed paths with again and again in research and study that comes out of the more catholic traditions that have restored the anointing of the sick in the 20 th century. This approach emphasizes the difference between healing and curing – that while we may not see or know or experience a physical cure, the sacramental ministry of healing – particularly the anointing of the sick – heals, heals our relationship with our own body and brings wholeness to an individual human being, heals our relationships with others, relationships broken through the alienation that sickness brings, and heals our relationship with God, broken through anger, pain, feelings of rejection. Sacramental healing gives us strength – if not physically, then spiritually, emotionally, mentally to resist despair and feeling abandoned. I do not in any way want to suggest that these are not important or worthy effects – I believe in them, I believe that the sacrament of anointing does do all this and more.

But a number of theologians have begun to point out that we – liturgical theologians, practitioners of the sacraments, and/or all baptized believers, have ceased to expect or even hope for physical healing of a non-medically explainable type. They suggest that our modern (and even postmodern) culturally shaped mindset can no longer imagine or have room for the miraculous. So we find ways to distinguish miracle and sacramental reality, perhaps secure in that what we cannot see is more than enough, and to ask for more would be to court danger by crossing the line of divine power.

But if that is the case – what is scripture for us – only stories? How can we be evangelists/evangelical - if we rely on stories that cannot transcend time and space? How can we be catholic if we have only memory, but no hope, no imagination for what can and will be?

In the middle of the story of Jesus transforming the one who could neither hear nor speak, Jesus prays – without words – beyond words, with sighs, before saying to the deaf man Ephphatha – an Aramaic word transliterated into Greek and then translated for the Greek-speaking readers of Mark’s gospel: “Be opened”.

Depending on the assumptions of the biblical interpreter, the original Aramaic is retained here because that is exactly what Jesus said, or it is retained because the Aramaic is used in phrases which were thought to carry power in their original language – a type of verbal magic for important actions (or for both of these reasons). The phrase will increasingly gain authority and power throughout the early centuries of the church – it is found in very early Christian initiation rites, where the ears are touched and ephphatha said so that they can be open to hear the word of God, the eyes are touched and ephphatha is said so that they can be open to see their God. The sequence would continue through all the senses and beyond as a preparation for baptism. Ephphatha – be opened to receive the Holy Spirit and put on Christ in baptism.

And it is precisely at Jesus’ command to be open that the miraculous happens in our story – “and immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released…” Healed, cured – but for a reason. To proclaim the reign of God – the inbreaking of the reign of God into the reality of human existence in a fuller way. There was already creation, there was already the incarnation, and now physical reality turned again on its head – “they were astounded beyond measure.” What was prophetically pronounced in Isaiah, “Here is your God- He will come and save you – then the eyes of the blind shall be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped…” is made manifest in the ministry of Jesus.

This story could remain in the past – with no direct connection to us today. But might this story be our story also if we take the command to be open as our challenge and calling – ephphatha – be opened – be open to hear God in prayer, in the words of others, be open to see God in creation, in sacrament, in those around us, be open to taste the goodness of the Lord, be open to touch what is both concrete and elusive and know that it too can be a medium for the divine. Be open to God who may work in ways beyond our comprehension or imagination, but who has promised not to leave us orphaned – who has promised an abiding presence around us and even within us.

God did not leave us to our own devices 2000 years ago, the triune God dances in our midst and with us today as in all centuries – we are not solely responsible for enacting the sacramental system and all miracles, we always respond to God’s initiative, it is God who is the primary actor. Our letter of James today reminds us that every generous act of giving, every perfect gift is from above, not originally of us at all.

Memory is important, but so are imagination and hope – here is your God, ephphatha – for God has done everything well.