Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
We are far too civilized to feel the desperation of those who can’t even wait for the boat to be anchored before begging to be healed. We are much too composed to make any such demands. As Cheryl Bridges Johns observes, our church is not flooded with people racing to get here ahead of the pastor. There is no stampede to get the bread and wine first. No one will stand up to announce their need for prayer.
That may be less true today as we gather to reflect on the shooting in Aurora, Colorado this week. It’s impossible to know why anyone would walk into a movie theatre only to open fire — killing 12 people and injuring more than 50 others. It is horrifying and too hard to process, but it won’t change our worship. As horrified and disgusted as we may be, I’m going to ask you to do something that will make most of you uncomfortable. James Holmes may need healing. The people in that movie theatre Thursday night may need healing, but aren’t we just as eager to feel that divine healing touch? Don’t you need it?
Think about it for a moment. This may be the only time this week that you’ve stopped to think about yourself, so grant yourself permission to come away to this deserted place to consider your own need for healing. Because this is the invitation Jesus offers you, right here and right now, Come by yourselves to a secluded place and rest for a while.
The disciples (who get called apostles here for some reason that I don’t understand) are dead tired because of the political turmoil that has erupted around them. Herod has just served John the Baptizer’s head on a platter. It’s not really clear what Herod will do next but we sure know what it’s like when a governor doesn’t advocate for the poor or protect anyone’s civil liberties. It’s a reality we know but it might not be what has us so tired that we can’t even find time to eat. Honestly, things have got to be really bad if we aren’t finding time to eat. Even when terrible things happen, we are quick to ask each other, “Have you eaten?”
You may be rested. It’s summer in Maine so you may be very rested, but when was the last time that you immediately recognized the divine standing before you? When did you last have the hunch that God was sitting right beside you? When have you been so certain that God was there that you ran all over Greater Portland bringing sick people on their mats to where you recognized God to be?
Most of us aren’t as aware of such moments. We are aware when something is missing. We are aware when we need that divine feeling so much that we hunt for it. Sometimes we even go to extremes as Tampa Bay area lawyer Lucas Fleming did 15 years ago. Recently divorced and trying to raise his little girl, he felt like he was always failing. He needed God. So he made an appointment with the divine at a monastery just outside of Boston. In The New York Times article that shared Lucas’ story, a brother at this monastery told the reporter, “People are drowning in words and drowning in information… Words are bombarding us from every side — to buy things, to believe things, to subscribe to things. We are trying to build a place to be still and silent. So many voices around us are shouting. God tends not to shout.”
That may be. But, it seems only when a man opens fire in a movie theatre that we wonder why God isn’t shouting. Or talking. Or even whispering. Or maybe we’re just not listening when Jesus encourages: Come by yourselves to a secluded place and rest for a while. This isn’t just one of those red-letter things that Jesus says that sounds nice. He’s lived this truth. He knows how hard it is to get away from the many things that demand your attention — from horrifying headlines, from political ads, from medical bills, from another round of house guests, from those things that worry you day in and day out. Jesus knows. It’s hard to get away. It takes him several tries before Jesus finally says goodbye to everyone begging for his attention to climb a mountain to pray.
And then what? What happens when you finally make that appointment with God? Does God just show up? Is that what Jesus found on top of that mountain? Did Jesus immediately recognize God in prayer? Did he need to be healed too? Or had it been so long since Jesus had that hunch that God was there that he knew he needed to get away from all of his usual comings and goings to find God again?
When we tell this story, where Jesus strides out of that boat, we make it sound easy. As if it’s just a matter of setting a time and a place and God will show up. Just clear your calendar and climb to the top of that mountain. Just reserve a weekend at the monastery. Once you’re there, you’ll see that it happens just as it happened for the crowds when Jesus climbed out that boat. Immediate recognition!
We know better than that, don’t we? No matter how much we want to believe that God will meet us like that, it doesn’t happen that way. God doesn’t show up just because you stand on the beach looking for her. God doesn’t appear just because you need healing. Just because you want to find God doesn’t mean that you find that immediate recognition. God’s comings and goings don’t meet our expectations. God doesn’t look like the art we’ve seen. God doesn’t behave like the stories we tell. But, somehow, we still want to believe that we will find God with that immediate recognition that the Bible promises.
And when it doesn’t happen, we feel like we’ve somehow failed. We haven’t had enough faith. We haven’t believed enough. We should have made a few more appointments with God — but now, what’s the point? It just doesn’t seem worth it especially when horrifying events happen like they did this week.
That’s how the writer and poet Anne Sexton felt when she told Father Dunn, “Look, I’m not sure I believe in God anyway.” If she ever did, that faith was gone. Never to be found again. No immediate recognition. Just something that may have been. But, something shifted in Anne’s conversations with Father Dunn so that she was able to see that her typewriter could be her altar and her poems were her prayers. And so, eventually, she asked to be baptized. But, Father Dunn cautioned her. She’d have to study the faith to understand it’s history and it’s creeds. That wasn’t what Anne had in mind. “’I can’t do that, Father Dunn….It would ruin….my thinking: I’d want [God] to be my God, anyway. I don’t want to be taught about [God]; I want to make [God] up.”
And maybe that’s what happens when we get out of our usual comings and goings. When we allow ourselves to enter into that secluded place and rest for a while, we’re able to see that God doesn’t need to fit into our expectations. God doesn’t have to look or feel or sound any particular way. We allow ourselves simply to rest in God’s creative spirit. We recognize it immediately. This isn’t the God we were taught about — who responds in just this way at must this time. This is the God who is.