Palm Sunday, cycle B

Mark 14:1 – 15:47

I spend a lot of my time visiting elderly people. Many of them are impaired, physically or mentally or both. Sometimes over a relatively short time I'll witness further deterioration. One of the things I am told over and over again by many of these people is “I don't want to be a burden”.

Recently the assisted suicide issue has reared its head again. We will probably have it on the ballot next time, and I predict it will win. The last time this was on the ballot it barely lost and I don't see our society getting more religious. Part of the reason assisted suicide is popular is because people dread being a burden, dread being helpless.

We've just heard the Passion of Jesus read from the Gospel of Mark. First we heard the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem – pretty short and to the point. Then we hear the Passion. It took too long when I was a little kid and it takes too long now. If you take the time Mark devotes to the Passion, it makes up a bit more than one fourth of his Gospel. And that is probably as it should be – Christians see Jesus as a great teacher, and that's true, but Jesus didn't teach anything terribly new. What makes Jesus central to Christianity is the fact that he suffered and died and rose again. The word “passion” conveys to us modern people intense emotion, and we naturally associate Jesus' suffering with that. But the word really means “to have something done to you” – it comes from the latin root “passio” which means “I am moved”. One fourth of Mark's gospel tells us about when Jesus was helpless, when people were doing things to him, when he had no control over what was going on.

Saint Louis Martin, the father of Theresa of Liseaux, had seen his wife pass away from breast cancer; had seen three children die in early childhood; had known hardship, including a time when he and his family were forced to care for soldiers involved in a civil war. His daughters, all but one had entered the religious life and he had very little contact with them since they were in a cloistered order. One day he told his pastor that he worried about not becoming a saint because he had not really suffered. God must have been listening, because over the next ten years until his death he suffered from physical and mental deterioration due to vascular disease involving the brain and needed to be taken care of.

I think all of us will experience, if we have not already done so, some point in our lives when we will be helplessness. We will be like Saint Peter, whom Jesus predicted would be lead where he did not want to go. Some of us will know that we won't get better; the rest of our days will be increasing helplessness, increasing loss of physical and mental abilities. And we naturally dread this, we don't want to think about it. And when those days come we might very well say, “I don't want to be a burden!” and we may even feel sympathy for those who have the courage, or perhaps it isn't courage, to end their lives with the help of a few pills.

But Jesus has been there; he's been helpless, in such pain that he probably couldn't think straight, experiencing minutes that seemed to last hours, hanging there between heaven and earth. And someday, Jesus may invite you or I to enter into his passion. I dread that invitation. But I hope I remember, and if not, I hope someone reminds me, that it is my body hanging on that cross; it is my body that will be placed in the grave; and God willing, it is my body that will be raised on the third day, a body with no limitations, a body like Jesus' resurrected body..

That, after all, is the reason God became Man, lived and died for us, so that as he told us, “... this is the Father's will which has sent me, that of all which he has given me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up again at the last day.” With our baptisms we were given to Jesus, and nothing of us will ever be lost.

Fifth Sunday in Lent, Cycle B

John 12:20-33

Those of you who know me know that I've always been fascinated by religion. I lapped up the catechism in grade school, and could rattle off all the answers to the profound questions. In high school I used to go to the public library to read about church history, and under the influence of my grandmother, about other denominations and in fact, other religions. At Catholic University I reveled in the religion courses which offered whole new insights; my childish faith was being replaced by an adult faith. And my circle of friends felt the same way. We would discuss religion and philosophy far into the night. By the time I got to medical school I knew a lot, and enjoyed defending my faith, as it were, when confronted with criticisms by my classmates who came from other traditions. I especially liked clearing up misconceptions about the Catholic Church.

And the interesting thing was, whenever I was involved in studying religion, talking about religion, defending my faith – I always felt holy. I didn't feel as holy when I was studying mathematics or medicine, physics or biology.

In medical school I was persuaded to undergo some spiritual direction. My spiritual director was a professor of dentistry at the University of San Francisco, also a member of Opus Dei. When we would meet, I would try to steer the conversation towards some obscure point of theology, or a difficult scripture passage. He would gently steer it back to the question, “where are you in your relationship with Jesus Christ?” My silent answer was always, “I really know more than most people about my Church, about scripture, about Jesus Christ. My relationship must be pretty good.”

I made a private retreat during those years. I would meet with the retreat director once or twice a day, and spend the rest of the time in silence. I had a lot of questions on my mind, and I didn't know the answers, which really disturbed me, because I like to know the answers. But these were questions about my future – my career choices; should I marry the girl I loved or become a missionary? (Spoiler alert – I married the girl I loved). Should I move across the country to take post graduate training, or stay in the west where I had family? For the first time in my life I didn't have all the answers.

One night I was praying, and I felt a sudden immense sense of peace. I could almost hear a voice in my head saying “Wherever you go, I will be with you.” And suddenly, all the questions stopped swirling around in my mind and I left the retreat a different person.

“Sir, we wish to see Jesus,” some Greeks tell Philip. They did not want to learn about Jesus; they did not want to study the Jewish scriptures; they weren't even interested in watching him work miracles. They wanted to see him, they wanted to experience his presence, his person. And we don't know if they ever did. However we do know that when Jesus was informed of this, he said, “The hour has come...” Up till now, he has been saying, as he said at Cana, “My hour has not yet come.” And we know that in the part of John's gospel that follows, we hear about Jesus passion, death and resurrection. We hear about how the apostles who have been with Jesus during his ministry, desert him; we hear about how even his resurrection does not immediately convince them. And Peter, who has betrayed him, who has fearfully hidden from the Jews, who has gone back to fishing because he doesn't know what to do with himself, finally sees, really sees Jesus on the shore and jumps into the water crying out, “It is the Lord!”. For now he really sees.

When the Greeks want to see Jesus, it is a signal to Jesus that the next part of the divine plan is underway. Up to now, he has been showing a few people what the kingdom of God is like. He has been instruction a few people about the things that really matter. He has been demonstrating to a few people how true leadership means being a servant. And at some point, each of them was given the privilege of seeing Jesus, seeing the real Jesus, the one who comes to you and says, “Wherever you go, I will be with you”. And on the strength of that moment, the history of the world was changed.

There are many reasons God became Man, lived and taught, suffered and died, and ultimately rose again to live forever in and with his people. When his hour did come, Jesus made it possible for everyone from then to now to the far off future, to see him.

I have never had another experience like the one at that retreat I made during medical school. But I continue to see Jesus. I see Jesus in you, my fellow parishioners. I see Jesus in dedicated teachers who continue to pass on the faith to young people. I see Jesus in those who give up their time on Saturdays so that people who are confined to their homes, or who are grieving over a loss, or who are going through difficult times will have a couple of good meals. I see Jesus in young engaged and married couples who have decided that they want a relationship in which Jesus plays a central role – they know that marriage is for making saints. I see Jesus in the adult children who care for an aged parent who is gradually losing their mental and physical faculties. And so much more.

Jesus resurrected lives in his people. And he is there to be seen, if you only have the eyes to see. And perhaps as you come to see Jesus, you will be like Philip and Andrew and want to show Jesus to the world in your own life, in what you do, in what you live for. And someday you also may hear those words in your heart, “Wherever you go, I am with you.”

Fourth Sunday in Lent, cycle B

John 3:14-21

One summer during my college years I worked for the Forest Service in Montana. I worked alongside a couple of other college students, and we were supervised by a retired marine sargent who had never married; his life had been in the marine corps. And he spoke a different language – every other word was a curse word or a blasphemy or described some act which was probably anatomically impossible. But Sarge knew what he was doing, and we admired him. He was strong, smart, didn't complain, and knew how to do things. So naturally, as the summer wore on, we were becoming clones, as young impressionable people often do when they are around older people they admire. It got so when we talked to each other the birds would fall out of the sky.

One day my dad came to visit. My dad never peppered his speech with colorful words, nor did his father. So we were sitting there over a cup of coffee talking, and even though I was on my guard, I let slip a few words that I had learned from Sarge. My dad didn't say anything, just paused and asked me another question. I could feel my face getting red and the shame building. I had just come forward into the light, as the gospel says, and my wicked deeds were exposed. The experience was so intense that to this day I am limited to words like “darn it” and “heck” when I need to express my deepest feelings.

Today's gospel seems harsh on first reading. If you believe, you will not be condemned, but if you don't, it's all over. The very fact of not believing condemns you. And naturally I think of all the good people I know who don't believe in Jesus – and sometimes I even wonder if I have the right kind of belief. Is it just a matter of acknowledging who Jesus is – the Messiah, the Word, the Son of God – as some of our brothers and sisters believe, or is there more to New Testament belief. Because if you read all the way from Matthew to Revelation, you would not be at fault in thinking that belief is key – not behavior. Of course there is plenty about behavior in the New Testament, but Jesus and Peter and Paul and John all make belief central to salvation.

I think that's why this passage of scripture is so important; because it tells us a few things. First, even though the gospel talks about condemnation, it makes it clear that God did not send his Son into the world to condemn it but to save it. And God did this out of love – he loves the world and all that is in it, especially you and I – so much so that he sent his only begotten Son.

How does Jesus do this? John compares Jesus' saving action to light, and then points out that there are people who do wicked things and as a result, hate the light, fearing that their deeds will be exposed. But there are others who are not afraid of the light, knowing that there works will be clearly seen as done in God.

Salvation could not happen any other way! When God made us in his image and likeness he made us free to choose the light or the darkness. If he were to save us by force or coercion, we would not be human, or at least our humanity would be bypassed. So God offers salvation while totally respecting our freedom. So what then is belief in His Son all about?

The first part of belief is to recognize that God to our great surprise, loves us. All through our lives we have to work at this – how can he love us when such and such happens, when bad things happen to good people, when I am subject to sickness and death a all the other things that can happen. Sometimes it's hard, but we have to keep working at believing this. The first part of belief is to know something as fact.

It's possible to say, Jesus is Lord, or I believe in Jesus and mean it. But maybe it's just like saying that it takes eight minutes for the light of the sun to hit the earth, or that there are no two snowflakes alike. The second part of belief is for the fact in question to affect us. And the last part is to trust that changing our lives because of the belief is worth the effort. All of this, of course, is something God is involved in. Everything that is good comes from God, and belief in Jesus is no exception.

And finally belief in Jesus should inform everything in our lives; we should not have anything hidden. Are there things in my life that aren't consistent with believing in Jesus? Yes, of course. I've got pockets of selfishness; thoughts which aren't in keeping with Jesus – there's plenty of dirt that I would just as soon keep in the dark. But someone who believes in Jesus is constantly trying to change his life so that it can all be in the light, because that's the consequence of belief.

So one of the things we should concentrate on during lent is to hold ourselves up to Jesus, and see those parts of our lives which hide from the light of Jesus.

That's what being a Christian is all about. We look at Jesus and then look at ourselves. Jesus shows us where we are on the mark and where we miss the mark. And the amazing thing is that if we try to become more like Jesus He will help us. He invites us to be his brothers and sisters. He shares the Father with us.

The Holy Spirit lives in us, and helps us to become more and more like Jesus. The light that Christ brings into the world is not a very bright light. But it is a light that draws those who love God and love their neighbor. And when we are drawn to this light, and we ast off everything that keeps us from this light, we will have become part of the body of Christ, and we will participate in his resurrection

During this lent let us live in God's light and let him show us what we need to correct and what we need to improve. Because Lent is our annual effort to become more like Jesus Christ.

Third Sunday of Lent, cycle B

John 4:5 - 42

Today we have a choice of gospel readings. We could read the story of the man born blind, which is the cycle B reading. Or we could read the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, which is the cycle A reading, and the reading for the first of the scrutinies. The third, fourth and fifth Sundays of Lent are special days when those adults who are entering the Church are “scrutinized”. In a public ceremony associated with the regular Sunday Mass, they are welcomed by the congregation and given certain tokens of their Christian profession. And the readings are supposed to teach something as well to people who are entering the Church.

The story of the Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman is unusual. Most bible scholars don't think this was written by the writer of the Gospel of John. In some very old manuscripts of the gospel of Luke you can find the story, but again, it is written by someone else. But by the end of the second century, as far as we can tell, it became part of the Gospel of John. It's an unusual story, as well, and again, it may be that it is something along the lines of a midrash – a commentary in the form of a story designed to teach a lesson. So let's look at it that way.

First, we learn that Jesus meets the woman at a well. If you were a Jew you would right away know what that was about. Isaac sent his servant to find him a bride, and he met Rebecca at a well. Jacob found Rachel at a well. Moses met Zipporah, his future wife, at a well. Wells were where you went to find a bride if you were a young man looking for one. In that time and place, it was the woman's place to draw the water for the day's use.

Then we notice several things. The woman does not have a husband. In fact, Jesus points out that she is living with a man who is not her husband. Women generally drew water in the morning and it was a social ritual where everyone caught up on the gossip; our Samaritan woman is there in the middle of the day, when no one else would be around. In other words, her marital status has probably made her an outcast.

Jesus goes on to point out that she has had five husbands. This is significant, because after the Jewish people who inhabited Samaria were driven out by the Assyrians, they settled the land from five other peoples, who had also been driven out of their lands. The goal of the Assyrians was assimilation, and the best way to do that was to mix the people up. So the five tribes who inhabited Samaria all had separate gods. But in those days, your god stayed with the land, and you wanted to get on good with the local god, who in this case was Yaweh, so the Samaritans adopted a primitive form of Judaism, where they offered sacrifice at the old temple and used the first five books of the bible. When Jesus says the man she is living with is not her husband, and she has had five husbands, people would understand that He was speaking about the Samaritan people.

The Samaritan woman first calls Jesus “a Jew”. She moves on to “Sir”, then recognizes that he is a prophet, then concludes that he is the Christ. The gradual unfolding of Jesus' identity to her leads her to drop everything to go tell the other people in town, who after hearing Jesus, come to their own belief that this is the Messiah.

So why does the writer of the story have the central character a Samaritan woman? Partly because Samaritans were sort of half Jew and half gentile; they represent in this story that Jesus has a universal message – something he alludes to when he talks about true worshippers, who will worship the Father in Spirit and in truth, no longer confining their worship to this mountain or that.

So in the story we just heard, we see Jesus seeking out someone who is deeply mired in sin, who is shunned by the people in the village, who despite living with someone not her husband, really has no security at all. But Jesus seeks her out and offers her living water. She who represents both Jew and Gentile, is a symbol of Christ's future marriage to his church, and a symbol of the universal message Jesus has for mankind.

It is through Jesus that her eyes are opened and she gradually comes to recognize that He is the Christ. But it is not enough to come to this recognition. Those who really know Jesus as Christ feel compelled to broadcast the news, to bring others into that realtionship, and the Samaritan woman does what the Church will do, bringing others to faith in Christ.

And you and I are helpless to save ourselves, but we can be sure that Jesus seeks us out, and is always there offering his grace, his supernatural life which will give us new life. But what we need to take away from today's gospel story is that those who have met Jesus have received a great gift. When God gives us gifts, they are not to be held on to, but rather, to be given away. In that way we make room for more gifts, and others receive God's gifts from our hands, and come to recognize Jesus as well. So on this day let's resolve that since we have been given living water, water that never runs dry, let us offer that to our loved ones and all those we meet.

Second Sunday of Lent, cycle B

Mark 9:2-10

I think we all have moments when we catch a glimpse of glory. It's usually characterized by what seems to be an interruption in the flow of our thoughts; our monkey minds, as the Buddhists describe the mind, suddenly becomes still and takes a minute to re-boot.

One of the moments I remember, and you know I always tell the truth, was when I first saw my wife in her wedding dress. She appeared in the back of the church and came up the aisle to me on the arm of her father. I couldn't catch my breath. I had no words. I always thought she was beautiful, but this vision … I beheld glory. And of course it passed in a moment, and I returned to my nervous self, worried that I would trip or forget my lines or otherwise make a fool of myself.

Maybe you've had such experiences. If you are a fan of flowers, like I am, sometimes looking at a flower can trigger that momentary response – I am beholding glory. Who else but human beings can appreciate flowers? Mammals can't; most cannot see color. Birds, who can see color, are designed to pay attention to moving things, not something sitting there like a flower. And you go further down the chain of life and there is nothing in the brain to stop and appreciate something like a flower. I think the very fact of flowers is proof that God exists and likes to please us.

Some people appreciate music. I must say that I'm not into music. I tried for a long time to appreciate the classics, and while I can listen with pleasure, I am not moved to transcendence – but I know people who are. I know a man who used to go to Budapest whenever he could save up the money just to listen to opera. He was beholding glory.

We can behold glory in nature, in human art, in someone we love, perhaps, but there are people who behold glory in their religious life. We call them mystics. One characteristic of a mystic is that they haven't got time to explain to you what is happening; they are too busy pursuing more of it. Maybe being a mystic is genetic; I take consolation in knowing that Mother Theresa had about as much mystical experience as I've had. I'll never be a Saint Francis or Padre Pio, and I'm okay with that.

When I think about the transfiguration of Jesus, I have a lot of questions. Some are trivial, like how did the apostles know that Jesus was talking to Elijah and Moses? They didn't have photographs in those days. Maybe name badges? But the apostles most likely couldn't read. More seriously, though, why? Was it so that they would really pay attention after God himself said to listen to Jesus? I think the answer is no – the apostles leave the mountain wondering what it all means, just like before. Was it so that they would have something to remember, something to hang on to, as they watched Jesus being tortured and crucified? Maybe, but then I wonder why Jesus didn't take the other apostles along. The ones like Andrew and Philip and Matthew remained just as faithful as Peter, James and John, and they hadn't even heard about the transfiguration, let alone witnessed it. And I don't think this was a theophany – a moment when the veil is lifted and you realize Jesus is actually God. Jesus, after all was fully human, so whatever happened on that mountain was a fully human event, and maybe that's the point.

What the apostles beheld when Jesus appeared in dazzling white, radiating light, speaking to Elijah and Moses, long dead, was a vision of how human beings were meant to be. No limits of time or space, bodies of fire, not mud; and most of all, beloved, beloved by the father. The apostles beheld glory, the glory that is a human being fully alive, a human being the way we are meant to be, the way we will be some day, God willing.

Is that far-fetched? Am I stretching the story too much? In the book of Revelation, it says that those who have undergone the tribulation have washed their robes in the blood of the lamb and they have become white as snow. The book of Daniel describes those who are wise – the people who have chosen to follow God's law – as shining like the heavens and those who lead many to justice will shine as stars for all eternity. And the book of Revelation describes the woman clothed with the sun, with the moon at her feet, with a crown of twelve stars around her head. And many think this refers to Mary, who we believe has gone before us and is experiencing now what will be our future.

The apostles accompanied Jesus back down the mountain. They ponder what they have witnessed and wonder what it all means. They see Jesus dying on the cross, broken, bloody, in pain and agony. They will witness his resurrection. And as time goes on perhaps they began to see that every human being shares the divine spark that was revealed in Jesus.

Now there are certainly other ways of seeing the transfiguration. But here we are in the second Sunday of Lent, and those of us who have given something up for lent or taken on a lenten practice like daily mass, scripture reading, or some sort of regular prayer are faltering a bit. We say, this first week was hard. How am I going to get through the next five weeks? And we struggle with our human nature.

But we are reminded in the story of the transfiguration who we are really meant to be, what Jesus our older brother has in store for us. And that should give us strength to persevere, not only in keeping our lenten promises, but in everything we undertake as Christians. And as we realize oir own potential we can't help but begin to see each other transfigured. There is an ancient saying which is appropriate: Man is the mirror in which God sees himself. And just for a moment, on the mountain of the transfiguration, the apostles were given the privilege of seeing what God sees when he looks at one of his children.

First Sunday of Lent, cycle B

Mark 1:12-15

My father and his dad were avid fishermen. During the season, they would get out on the rivers and streams as often as they could. They disdained people who fished from boats on lakes; their method had a lot of walking and climbing involved; it seems as though the best fishing holes were where it was inconvenient to actually get to. I never caught the fishing bug, though. I can remember all the details of my first fishing trip. I think I was about five. It was early spring and Dad asked if I would like to go fishing with him the next day. I jumped at the chance. He had purchased a kid-sized fishing pole for me for Christmas and this was my first chance to try it out. I also felt honored because my father had several friends and his own dad and always went fishing with one of them. So the next morning I was awakened from a sound sleep and staggered out to the car in the dark. We drove for what seemed like a couple of hours, hiked through brambles and the damp morning cold, and finally reached the stream. Dad helped me put a worm on the hook and make my first cast, and then told me he was going upstream for a ways and I was to stay there. Again, time passed very slowly. I was hungry and cold and a little frightened, because I had imagined bears and wolves hiding in the brush. Finally Dad came back, triumphant. He had three good sized fish. He seemed a little disappointed that I hadn't gotten a nibble. From then on I tried to find excuses not to go on any more fishing trips.

Today we hear about another unwanted trip to the wilderness. If you remember, Mark starts his gospel with Jesus' baptism, in which the heavens are opened and Jesus hears the Father tell him, “You are my beloved, in whom I am well pleased”. But the very next thing that happens according to Mark is that Jesus is driven into the desert. The only other time Mark uses this word is when Jesus drives the money-changers out of the temple. I wonder what was going through Jesus' mind? Did he just for a moment regret having been baptized? It's clear in human terms, and Jesus is human, just as much as you and I, that he did not choose the wilderness – being driven into the wilderness implies that given a choice he wouldn't have chosen this. But you and I are driven into the wilderness, often more than once. Illness, the death of a loved one, a child who goes astray, a child who suffers, the end of a career we loved – there are so many times when we are in a situation we would rather not be in; we too have been driven into the wilderness.

The second thing we notice is that Jesus is there for forty days. Forty for the Hebrews, represented a long time. The Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years, King David reigned for 40 years; Noah rode the ark for 40 days. So it isn't important whether those forty days are literal or figurative; Mark wants us to know that Jesus was there a long time. During that time, Mark says Jesus was tempted. Unlike Matthew and Luke, he doesn't tell us a detailed account of who did the tempting and what the temptations were all about. It just says, he was tempted. When we are in our own wilderness, and even when we aren't, we are subject to many temptations. I may feel worthless if I was passed over for a promotion; I may feel unloved if I am having a quarrel with my spouse; I may feel helpless if my child is suffering and I can't do anything about it. And of course beneath all these feelings I may feel that God is not on my side. But even when we aren't in an obvious wilderness experience, we are still assailed by other temptations; the temptation to believe we are in control; the temptation to define ourselves by our relationships, by our profession, by our political party, by our race or gender. Because all temptations are trying to make us forget that there is only one thing we need to keep in mind – You and I are beloved sons, beloved daughters, in whom God is well pleased, even before we've done anything.

The third thing we see in this story is that angels minister to Jesus. When we are in the wilderness, there will be angels. I don't know what Jesus' angels were like – maybe they wore white robes and had wings but more likely they were more subtle; as our angels are. The point is that we are never alone in our wilderness, if we choose not to be. We have our friends, our families, and our church. There are always good people who will reach out if we but ask. God provides angels to minister to us, but very often we turn away from them.

Lent is supposed to be a wilderness experience which is why this gospel appears. That's why we fast, that's why we try to do something to mortify ourselves – giving something up, taking on a new spiritual practice, making the stations of the cross, something different, something that jolts us a little every day. It's when we step back and look at our lives – what are our temptations? Who or what is telling us something that's different from what God told Jesus and God tells us, – You are my beloved. Lent is to regain that perspective, that knowledge deep in our souls – we are His beloved. And Lent is oddly enough a time to remind ourselves that we are not alone in confronting our temptations. There are ministering angels. Angels are messengers from God, agents of God. I like many men, have a very hard time accepting help from people, although I can usually be counted upon to give help. Jesus accepted the ministering of angels. I think we need to look very carefully at our own lives and see that we are not alone in our struggles, and God, through his people, is always willing to help.

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle B

Mark 1:40-45

Like other professions, the profession of medicine has a certain culture. During medical school and residency, there is something called roundsmanship, in which physicians in training try to demonstrate that they know more about something than everyone else. Long after training, this surfaces in conferences and other gatherings, when otherwise mature physicians still try to prove that they know more than the rest of the group. Another part of the culture is described by the statement, “See one, do one, teach one.” This means that after you watch a certain procedure, you should be able to do it, and if you can do it, you should teach it to someone else. Obviously this doesn't hold for every procedure, but again, it's part of the culture.

As I was thinking about today's Gospel, I was reminded how Mark's story of Jesus seems to be one miracle after another, until Jesus goes down to Jerusalem and his passion. Mark has very few parables, no beatitudes, no collections of Jesus' sayings. It is the oldest gospel, and some people think it is the actual recollections of Peter, dictated to Mark. It is in Mark that Peter's mistakes and blunders are most obvious; the other writers tend to cover them up. So why is Mark telling us about all these miracles? Today we hear yet another story, the healing of a leper.

There are several things about this short story to notice. First of all, the leper approaches Jesus. As you heard in the first reading, they had laws in those days about lepers. One was that they were supposed to avoid people who didn't have leprosy. They were to live outside the city. Thy had to cover their faces. They couldn't have jobs and depended on the charity of relatives to survive. If they were walking on a road and healthy people were to come along, the lepers were to get off the road. So this leper is clearly in violation of all these rules. By Jewish standards he is not only a leper, he is a sinner.

When we read the English translation, it is kind of whitewashed. Some authorities say that the leper says something like “If you will it, you can declare me clean.” That kind of sounds like someone who would defy the laws about leprosy, doesn't it? Our leper has reached the point where he doesn't care what happens to him. He's at the end of his rope. And notice, he is challenging Jesus. If by chance someone who was declared a leper did get over his skin disease, and remember that many lepers had other problems, probably a little psoriasis here and there – the leper had to go to the priests, who would inspect him and then if no sign of leprosy was seen, declare him clean. Our leper is not only asking Jesus to cure him, but also to carry out the task of a priest.

It says Jesus was filled with compassion, but some manuscripts say that Jesus “snorted in anger” which is a very different picture. I think it is because he is angry with a system that treats people the way the leper has been treated. The least the society could do would be to provide food and shelter for these unfortunates. Instead, the Jewish society, convinced that you got leprosy because you were a sinner, shunned and ostracized lepers.

Jesus says, “I am willing, I declare you clean”, and demonstrates to all those who are watching that the leper is now cured by touching him. To touch a leper was to become unclean yourself, but if you touched a healthy person, you remained clean. When Jesus touched the leper, he invites him back into society.

Finally, Jesus tells the leper to go to the priest and follow the Jewish rituals for re-entry into society. Then he adds “as a testimony to them”. Who is them? Perhaps it is all of those who have shown no compassion for the leper. Words would probably not move them, but seeing the person they had kicked out of town returning with a clean bill of health – that might finally shame them into reconsidering how they should deal with the sick and the lame and the possessed among them.

And the last thing to consider about this story is what happens to Jesus. Jesus said, “I am willing.” And he must have known that his actions would lead to what happened. This was yet another miracle, and the consequence was that Jesus and the leper changed places; now Jesus couldn't enter the towns, while the leper returned to his former place in society. It seems as though this foreshadows the Passion, in which Jesus in some way takes our place.

So what does all this have to do with “see one, do one, teach one?” One of Mark's major themes is that the kingdom of God is at hand. The kingdom is here, you can enter it, you don't have to wait around to die. How do you enter it? Jesus shows you how. Jesus shows that in the kingdom of God there is no illness, no death, no demonic possession. In the kingdom there is no blindness, no paralysis, no withered limbs. Whenever Jesus runs across these sorts of things, he fixes them. But in the kingdom there is no hunger, and Jesus feeds the 5000. In the kingdom there are no barriers between people, and Jesus touches the leper, heals a gentile slave and a woman who has a disease which makes her unclean. And in the kingdom there are no people who abuse their authority, and Jesus heals the leper as a testimony to those in authority, who see sin as the cause of disease.

And we are not to stand in awe at yet another miracle. Jesus expects us to imitate him. If we are people who bear his name, we have to do everything in our power to heal the sick, to break down barriers between people, and to insist that justice be done. If we go where our Lord and Master has gone, we will have entered the kingdom of God.