Being Church by the water
September 17th
Michele Rizoli
Texts:
John 5:1-9,
Psalm 103,
Romans 12:1-8
The story we just heard, about the paralytic who waited for 38 years to be healed, is one of my favourites.
These last couple of weeks as I reflected on the character of Marg’s service as church secretary and on (yes, I’m going to say it) the spectre of Gary’s retirement that looms not far ahead, I couldn’t stop thinking about this story. But it’s taken me a while to figure out why. (I’m hoping it’s not some subconscious idea about them waiting for years to be free from us!)
I do think it is because of what I see this passage telling us about being the Church, about our ministry to be God’s presence in the world and about serving others. I recall Gary’s sermon a few Sunday’s ago (Aug 20th) where he reminded us to become shareholders in God’s work, shareholders and not only consumers.
There so many good points to be found in this story, but this morning, I challenge us as the TUMC community to look for glimpses about how to be God’s hands and feet.
A couple of years ago my sister Ginny and I visited an archaeological site by the Shepherd’s Gate in Old Jerusalem. We were trying to cram in as much as we could see into two days. We thought that the best way to do this was to hire an official guide to take us around and to give us some background. Our guide was an Armenian orthodox man, who gave us the most boring tour I have ever been on: he spewed out his monotone recitation, offered up questionable archaeological information and presumed (incorrectly) that what we were really interested in was to follow each and every one of the Stations of the Cross.
It was a mediocre tour, yet at the end of it our lacklustre guide inadvertently redeemed himself. The tour ended at the Church of St. Anne’s, a beautiful little Romanesque-style church, built just outside the Sheep’s Gate near what has later been determined to be the Pool(s) of Bethesaida from John 5. According to one guide book:, “St. Anne’s is the most beautiful church in Jerusalem, both visually and acoustically. It has purity, simplicity and grandeur. It transforms many a group of middling singers into a choir of angels.”
Indeed, to finish off the tour, our guide stood at the front of the little congregation of my sister, me and the French Canadian priest who managed the place and, in a beautiful baritone voice, chanted the Lord’s Prayer in Armenian. The acoustics were amazing. His voice bounced around and filled the space with sound and prayer, creating what I experienced as a sacred moment. Ginny and I basked in it then had to follow it up with our own two-part response, Praise, I will praise you Lord. Then we just sat there in awe.
As I reflect, I think this experience affects how I look at the story about the healing at the pool and why I think the story tell us something about how to be Christ’s body in the world.
What got me on that line of thinking was probably first of all the very warm hospitality we received from the French Canadian priest at the gate (he loved it that we were Canadian) and the explanation that he gave us about the building itself. As we looked around, and from one side of the aisle to the other, it became obvious that there was something amiss about the place. There was a clear and deliberate lack of architectural symmetry, it looked almost messy. The windows didn’t match each other in size, or shape, the arches weren’t even on each side and so on. “The architects did this on purpose” said the priest “to remind us of our own human imperfections, and they ended up with these amazing acoustics!” I haven’t found any other source to corroborate this insight, but it stuck with me. A beautiful result despite imperfections, as the brochure said, “transforming a group of middling singers into a choir of angels”: it sounded a lot like church! (Not that the singing in TUMC is middling.)
The name Bethsaida can mean House of Mercy or House of Grace. Is our church a community where grace and mercy find a home?
Just to be perfectly clear, when I’m talking about Church I’m not talking about the building or about any institution or MCEC (Mennonite Church of Eastern Canada). I’m talking about us, relating to each other, creating an environment for healing and grace.
There are a few noteworthy things that the story does not really tell us outright, but that are interesting for my metaphorical reading of the text.
We don’t really know about all the other people that were gathered by the water. We know that some of them were there expecting healing, and that others were there to help them in that.
Rumour had it that an angel would come and stir up the pool so that people could jump in to the troubled waters and get healed. They had one thing in common: they expected God to come, to move and to bring wholeness in his wake. They lived in hope of seeing God’s power at work. I would venture to say that God was already present in the care and compassion and in the hope that both the ill and the well people brought t
o Bethsaida.
Rumour has it that God in our midst can stir things up too! Are we ready to jump in? Are we willing to be there help others? Do we even still expect God to move?
If we read on in our passage we can see that-regardless of whether the angel showed up at the pool that day-Jesus did some stirring up of his own, by breaking a few rules (like healing on a Sabbath, one of his favourites), and teasing the now ex-paralytic and telling him to smarten up when he saw him later on.
Acting with compassion does not always run smoothly nor abide by certain rules of engagement. Anything can happen. Finding wholeness apparently does not involve lying by the still waters either but jumping in to the troubled ones, getting wet.
I think the best part is when Jesus asks this man that most obvious of questions “Do you want to be made well?”
Duh! Does he want to be healed? Why else would he be there year after year after year – for 38 years!- hoping against hope that he could get to that water despite not being able to walk and having no one to help him?
“Do you want to be made well?” In asking that question, Jesus knew, something even the man himself did not realise: that he was stuck; he didn’t even remember what he was doing there anymore, he even forgot what he was hoping for. He thought only of his predicament: “I don’t have anyone to help me; the others are always the ones to get ahead.”
There was something else obvious about Jesus’ question: it is obvious that he had spotted this man’s need in the middle of the hubbub and cared for him in a tender and personalized way.
We don’t know exactly how the man reacted either. He probably doubted and dawdled a bit, started moving little by little, learning how to walk all over again, amazed at each step. Maybe he even walked over to the pool in plain sight of all the others and bathed himself before setting out with his bedroll.
That day by the pool of Bethsaida, Jesus was probably on his way to the temple to participate in one of the feasts. He probably hadn’t set out on a planned mission to heal someone, but the thing about Jesus is that he was attuned to the needs around him; he saw the world with eyes of compassion.
We live in a busy world, where it always goes better if we plan ahead, where we delegate to fundraisers and charitable organizations, and accessibility studies. These are all good things, but living with compassion in the world is not something that can be delegated or institutionalized. As followers of Jesus we are all called to just live this way. Romans 12:1,2 when talking about how we are the body of Christ, starts out with:
“I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God – what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
Living as Christ’s body, living with compassion, takes a certain frame of mind.
I want to make it clear that this sermon is not in any way a reprimand, but rather an invitation to an enriched perspective on our ministry.
In one of her books , Anglican author Barbara Brown Taylor tells how affirming the ministry of every Christian is not a widely appealing idea. I quote:
It sounds like more work, and most [people] have all the work they can do. It sounds like more responsibility, while most of them are staggering under loads that are already too heavy. I will never forget the woman who listened to my speech on the ministry of the laity as God’s best hope for the world and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be that important.”
Like many of those who sit beside her in church, she hears the invitation to ministry as an invitation to do more … or to be more – more generous, more loving, more religious. No one has ever introduced her to the idea that her ministry might involve being just who she already is and doing just what she already does, with one difference: namely, that she understand herself to be God’s person in and for the world.” (end quote)
Let us minister God’s presence to this world by being there by the water caring for those in need, by expecting God to work, by not losing hope, by seeking wholeness and wading into the water, even when it’s churning.