Not so long ago I was called to the hospital to administer the sacrament of the sick; or – as some wrongly call it – the last rites. Getting into an ICU ward is challenging in best of times; these days it’s near impossible because of the ongoing pandemic. Having gone through all the necessary hoops I stood by the bed of a patient and dutifully did what was required of me and then I left. The family has not contacted me regarding funeral arrangements since then; on the contrary, I’ve heard rumours that the patient and the family are planning an event that by definition is much more cheerful than a funeral. That incident was the latest of many similar ones I have experienced since my priestly ordination.
The gospel readings last week, today and next Sunday tell us the story of Jesus’ miraculous healings of various people, in various circumstances and of various illnesses. It looks like Jesus’ public ministry was an uninterrupted string of spectacular triumphs. So much so that in today’s gospel we heard reports that ‘the whole town came crowding round the door’ seeking healing and deliverance. The boom was so great that Jesus’ newly recruited disciples got enthusiastic; perhaps they quickly started to organise orderly queues and plan arrangements to efficiently cope with the expected influx of people coming into town soon. Suddenly their brilliant plans seemed to be completely ruined by the disappearance of Jesus. Panicked a bit, the disciples spread wide to find him. When they eventually did, their greeting didn’t mask their irritation: ‘Everybody is looking for you.’ I guess that His reply: ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns’ didn’t improve their mood. Why bother going anywhere new if people are drawn to you anyway? It would be so much easier to organise everything here, in the familiar and comfortable surroundings of Simon Peter’s house?
We understandably like our little comforts and familiar surroundings because they offer us a sense of safety, security and stability. It’s important for our well-being and mental health. It applies to all aspects of our lives; as creatures of habit, we feel safe when we know what to expect. But there’s a downside to comfort and familiarity; it can make us inactive, idle, indifferent, self-centred or self-obsessed. It happens when comforts and familiarity become the purpose of our life, not the means to live it well. We need to challenge ourselves. Sometimes, when we don’t, we are challenged against our will – like over the last eleven months. Many people have been badly affected; some lost their loved ones, some lost their jobs and incomes, some lost their businesses… This list can be very long indeed. On the other hand, many have risen to the challenge. They went out of their comfort zone to offer help and support to those who needed it. Some of them used their high public profiles for good causes; others accidentally created their high public profile like the late Captain Sir Thomas Moore. But I’ve been most impressed by the stories told by our fellow parishioners who quietly, without too much ado carry out vital services to others purely out of the goodness of their hearts. Sometimes it’s practical help like doing shopping; sometimes it’s a phone call or a Zoom meeting to have a wee blether. Yes, this pandemic has brought a lot of grief and sadness; but it has also revealed deep, deep layers of selflessness within our communities, be it the parish or the neighbourhood.
The stories of healing by Jesus as we have and will hear in the gospel readings are the stories of compassion and empathy, of going out of a narrowly understood comfort zone. Jesus isn’t easily pleased with what has been achieved in Capernaum: ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns, so that I can preach there too because that is why I came.’ He wants to take his followers with Him. That’s a mission for each and every one of us: to go with Jesus, to bring Jesus to those who need His healing touch, often without knowing it. I told you the story of my visit to the hospital patient not to boast because the healing wasn’t my doing. Neither my personal character qualities nor personal holiness were at work. I was just a tool in the hands of Jesus, who did the miracle through the sacrament. But we don’t have to be priests or nuns to bring Jesus to others. In the sacrament of baptism, each one of us was consecrated and commissioned to carry out Jesus’ mission: ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns, so that I can preach there too, because that is why I came.’
Image by Parentingupstream from Pixabay