“HEAL ME, LORD JESUS!�
Isaiah 40:21-31; Psalm 147:1-11; Mark 1:29-39
February 5, 2006

Suffering,
hunger thick as flies
swarming about his sweet presence,
seeking his touch,
consuming compassion,
presence.

“Heal me,
heal me today!�

Crowding need,
possession,
addiction,
isolation,
depression—
“Me!�
“Me!�
“Me!�
“Heal me, Lord Jesus!�

The Sabbath day of rest just over,
they followed him
to his home of the moment,
crowding in at sunset,
need screaming into the dark.

As soon as he left the synagogue
they had gathered,
swarming all around,
so many,
so many,
needing,
crowding,
seeking,
“Heal me, Lord Jesus!�

The whole city
clamoring at the door
“Heal me!�
“Feed me!�
“Me!�
“Me!�
“Me!�

And he healed many,
until he was exhausted,
drained out into the dark.

He must have slept fitfully,
for he arose while it was still dark
and moved off
to a place alone.
Alone,
awaiting God’s presence.

“There are so many,� he wept.
“I am only one.

They need so much.
I have only two hands.

Their need has emptied me out.
What am I to do?�

“Be still,� the night breeze whispered.

“Be still.�

“Be still.�

Until he was still,
alone in the soft darkness
edging into palest dawn.

“Hear the doves coo,
and know that I am God.�

“Hear the rustle of olive leaves,
and know that I am God.�

“See the stretching pink fingers of light,
and know that I am God.�

“Be aware of the movement around you,
the world awakening from its sleep,
and know that I am God,
and have been God
through every darkness.�

“You are not alone,�
the breezes murmured.

“You are not alone,�
the doves called.

“You are not alone!�

A shaft of light
picked out whitewashed walls
of a house on the hill above.

“Do you think you are my only child?!?�

And then all the houses
were awash in fingers of light
as the voice went on.

“All of them,
every one of them,
--and you, of course, and you, too—
all mine,
all my lovely children.�

“Oh,� the sky rang out,
“Oh, I love you,
all of you,
and you are not alone.�

“Tell them that.�

And then there was a vision
heaped in pink and tawny clouds
of a table spread,
fragrant and steamy,
across the sky.

Pots
and bowls
and plates
of every good thing to eat,
and all around the table,
spoons tall as cypress trees,
straight and thin.
But the people,
so many people gathered around the table,
gathered and weeping
because they could not,
try as they might,
bend the spoons
to reach their own mouths.

Like infants in high chairs,
they struggled with over long spoons
and could not fed themselves.

“This is your world,�
the wind whispered,
“People starving,
for food and touch,
in the midst of plenty.

I do not ask you to feed them all.
That is not your calling.

But tell them,
tell them they are my children.
Tell them I love them,
every one,
and teach them,
teach them to reach out,
to feed each other
so that all may be full.�

The dawn advanced.
The day grew light,
and his companions came searching
eager
to bring him back to the task.

“There are so many,�
they said,
“and they need you,
you,
alone,
of all people.�

“No,� he said.
“They need the word,
and so do you.
Love one another.
Feed,
touch,
heal one another,
even as our God,
compassionate parent,
has loved us.�

Yet it came to pass,
over and over,
that certain ones came to believe,
one by one,
that he,
or that she,
was called to heal all the ills of the world.

And it never worked,
but only led to weeping,
discouragement
and despair.

Still the voice of God continued to echo
in the wind,
in the pink tints of dawn,
“Wherever two or three
or twenty or fifty,
are gathered,
loving each other,
feeding each other,
there am I,
always.�

Amen.

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