Last Sunday, I got to yell the gospel. Of course, it was due to a microphone malfunction in church, but it made for a memorable experience – and a good lead into this Sunday’s gospel reading in the lectionary.
The microphone in question is a clip-on with a battery pack. The clip is a bit wonky so I’ve learned to be careful with it, and the foam cover for the microphone is long gone, but as long as the batteries are perky, we usually get on just fine. But last week was another story. I had three readings to get through and from the beginning of the first, the sound was iffy. I adjusted it a couple of times, and by the end of the passage, it seemed okay. I introduced the hymn and muted the microphone to sing. Hymn over, microphone back on, feeling confident. And so it didn’t work. More to the point, it cut in and out and in and out. Which makes speaking really awkward. You can project and have it boom when the microphone decides to work. Or you can speak softly and have ever second line absolutely inaudible. I struggled to the end, then took the microphone right off, set it down on the lectern, and plunged into the gospel. At our church, the congregation stands for the gospel reading, with respect and attention, and with all my audio woes on top of everything, I knew that everyone was listening. And it felt good. After all the microphone rigmarole, it felt good just to use my voice.
The passage I was reading from Mark 5 gives us images of Jesus’ profound ability to change grim situations. The woman with haemorrhages, Jairus’ young daughter – to those around, these were impossible situations. And yet, Jesus showed that there was something greater than despair. Life quite literally flowed through Jesus. Janine Goodwin, writing for the blog Feminist Theology in an Age of Fear and Hope, marks this story as scripture we “want to believe and live by.” These are “two female human beings who were not valued equally with males by their culture but who were brought to healing by a radically inclusive love.” These were women, young and older, who were weak beyond all social inclusion. But through Jesus’ profoundly healing love, their lives were returned to them. Miracles. And powerful stories to bellow.
But now I’m looking ahead. I sit down with this Sunday’s gospel and the lectionary tone shifts. At the beginning of Mark 6, things get harder. Jesus finds himself in his own neighbourhood, and no one there is interested in miracles, bellowed or otherwise. You might chalk it up to familiarity. They all think they know him so they can’t see anything more. They know the family and sure, he was a bright kid, but he’s just working class, isn’t he? Who does he think he is all of a sudden? Claiming to be special. Stepping out of line is more like it. And no one talks about his dad, so there’s rumours in the background on that one. No one really wants to pay too much attention.
…And he was amazed at their unbelief.
Really? Back then? In the age of miracles? When all was magic and superstition? Surely Jesus was amazed at their idol worship or their violence or something. But unbelief?
But yes. Because, as Kermit learned in Manhattan, peoples is peoples. Not a lot really changes over all the years. The human heart is sadly predictable and all-too-often closed. We think we know something or someone, so we don’t really look and we don’t really see. We’ve all heard the story already. And so we don’t see the life flowing through him. We don’t believe.
But from here, Jesus changes the script. He doesn’t rant about his true nature or throw his credentials around. He heals a few people. He is present. There is the question of whether the people’s unbelief is an obstacle to miracles, or if Jesus refrained because they would not see. But Jesus doesn’t sit still in this moment. In the next breath, he’s on his feet, travelling with his disciples into surrounding villages, teaching. And then, he sends out his disciples to teach and to heal. It’s their turn to step up to the plate that life might flow through them.
And he doesn’t send them out with fancy methods or special equipment. He doesn’t give them credentials or theological degrees. Just confidence that God will be with them. They have seen Jesus’ miracles and his hometown reactions – they have learned faith and experienced rejection, and they have Jesus’ own words.
If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet. Don’t carry the weight of rejection with you. Don’t carry too much of anything. Go with God.
Last Sunday, as well as bellowing scripture day, was also the birthday of William Strunk Jr. , English professor at Cornell and the man who wisely told writers to “omit needless word.” (As a English Lit nerd, I knew I had found love when I found someone who would roll with it when I mentioned Strunk and White rather than eye-roll.)
Wisdom. Omit needless words.
Take nothing for the journey.
Wear sandals. Speak with authority.
Bellow the gospel in your own voice. It feels good and you will be heard.
Heal the world with love. Go as you are because you are ready.
Go as you are. Ordained by baptism. Commissioned by the Spirit. God is within you.
Go.
