God Raises up the Weary and Afflicted
Isaiah 40:21-31; Mark 1:29-39
February 4, 2024; 5th Sunday after Epiphany
Rev. Dr. Ritva H. Williams
The first week of February was and still is a week of birthdays in our house. Growing up we celebrated Gramma Salli on February 1st, me on the third, and my dad on the 4th. When we married, John’s special day on the 5th fell in right in line. My feelings about birthdays have changed over time from the delights of childhood, to a sense of accomplishment in young adulthood, a cringe and a grimace as the years advance into middle age, and now thanksgiving for all the 60+ years to date, with a side dish of grief as loved ones pass on. My dad died on February 2, 2016 the day before my 56th birthday. Ever since there has been a weird and painful element to our birthday week. Sometimes it’s a small and gentle sorrow, at other times the grief is almost overwhelming.
A wise old man described grief as coming in like waves:
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on [to some piece of wreckage] and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. … Somewhere down the line … you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas … You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.
All of us have, or are, or will experience grief like this in our lives. While we often feel isolated and alone in our grief, we are all in this grief boat together, and present with us is our Creator God, the Healing Christ, and the empowering Spirit.
Hear again the words of the prophet Isaiah from this morning’s reading:
“The Lord is the everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the earth. God does not faint or grow weary .… God gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”
What wonderful good news! We know, live and share a God who is walks with and roots for tired, exhausted people, faint and fearful people, despairing, doubting, and grieving people. This God is the Creator of all that is, residing both beyond the circle of the earth and standing firmly planted in the midst of creation, stretching out the expanse of the heavens like a tent for us to live in. Our God makes a home for us provides and protects, carries us through danger and disaster, and lifts us up with new energy to tackle whatever challenges lie before us. The good news is that when the waves of grief crash over us, we know God will not abandon us no matter what, but will help us breath even when we are under water. Thanks be to God!
In this morning’s gospel reading we meet Jesus doing what the prophet Isaiah promises that God will do, giving strengthening the powerless, energizing the fainting and the weary, raising up the sick and dying.
We meet Jesus on a Sabbath day as he leaves the synagogue in Capernaum, and enters the house of Simon and Peter with John and James. They tell him that Simon’s mother-in-law is lying down fevering. In the world of Jesus, “fevering’ is not normal activity for human persons, so an “unclean spirit” must have invaded her body and is trying to burn it up. Cool compresses and willow bark tea and cool compresses could bring temporary relief, but could not get at the underlying cause. This fever is life threatening. Jesus comes, takes her hand, and raises her up. The Greek verb used here is the same one used to describe what happened to Jesus after his crucifixion and burial. Just as God raised up Jesus to new life, Jesus’s touch raises up Simon’s mother-in-law, energizing and strengthening her body so that the fever is forced to flee.
And she begins to diakoneo. This verb is used in Mark’s Gospel to describe the action of angels ministering to Jesus in the wilderness (1:12), Jesus giving his life as a ransom for many (10:45), the Galilean women who faithfully follow and minister to Jesus (15:41). Diakoneo is now Simon’s mother-in-law’s purpose in life. Professor Sarah Henrich notes this verb is never used of Jesus’ male disciples (2012, workingpreacher.org). I wonder if that might explain more than a thousand years of male interpreters insisting that diakoneo means to serve and wait on others?
Recent scholarship, however, as shown that nowhere in the ancient world was diakoneo used to designate lowly, humble or charitable service. Instead diakoneo was to carry out a noble mission or engage in honorable duty as the agent and representative of some authority heavenly, civic, ecclesial, or personal. A person with such a commission was called a diakonos, from where we get the word deacon.
In the early church, a diakonos could be Christ’s agent, e.g. an apostle or evangelist, or a representative of a church or gathering of saints in a particular city managing and carrying out specific duties on their behalf. In this incident, Christ raises and restores Simon’s mother-in-law to health, empowering her to carry out the noble and honorable role and duties of the household matriarch organizing family members to provide and care for each other. This is holy work and would have included teaching younger members of the family not only what was expected of them as they grew to adulthood, but also leading them in prayer and learning scripture.
Today’s scriptures remind me of my father, who was afflicted by polio as a young adult while traveling in Iraq. His companion, Ali, got him to a British military base from where he was transported to Sweden where he was living in those days. He spent months paralyzed in an iron lung, and many more months in rehab learning to walk. He recovered and went on to lead a productive and successful life, just as Simon’s mother-in-law was raised up to new life and new ventures in the aftermath of illness and disaster.
My dad was a man of few words, the epitome of Scandinavia stoicism, who showed me what unconditional love looks like. Family members claim that I am very much like him in personality and intellect. He died two days short of his 82nd birthday, frail in both body and mind, leaving with a gentle smile.
Inexplicably this year, the wave of grief has been at least 50 feet tall. Thank you for your grace and patience in letting me remember my Dad today in my message and with our hymn of the day, “When Memory Fades.” Lyrics by Mary Louise Pringle, set to the tune of my father’s favorite hymn, Finlandia by Jean Sibelius. Thank you!
