Fr. Bill Carroll – The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, June 30, 2024
O LORD my God, I cried out to you, and you restored me to health.
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
We are told that Jairus is a leader of the synagogue. Although he has likely prayed this psalm hundreds, if not thousands, of times before, I’m sure it’s the last thing on his mind today.
Jairus falls down at the feet of Jesus. His thoughts are consumed by the danger that his daughter is in. Repeatedly, he begs Jesus to come and heal her. “My little girl (he says) is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well and live.” Jairus is calling on God, from a place of confusion and fear.
We’ve all been there. If we’ve lived for any length of time, we have experienced this. Jesus himself knew it–in the garden and on the Cross. Sometimes, God seems so very far away. And yet, paradoxically, it is often in those lonely and seemingly Godforsaken places, that we find the presence and power of God. Our God is a God of the lowly.
I found God that way in high school, when a friend of mine died by suicide. But I had learned to cry out to God when I was much, much younger. As many of you know, my earliest memory of God comes from when I was five years old–and my best friend and his little sister died in a fire. I don’t think I’ve ever “gotten over” these deaths. Nor would I want to. But I have found mercy and healing in God.
“O Lord my God, I cried out to you (the Psalmist says), and you restored me to health.” And then, a little later, he adds that “Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning.)
One day, Tracey and I cried out to God in her obstetrician’s office. The doctor brought us news that meant the death of our first child. Years later, we prayed the same way in a neonatal ICU, when we were unsure whether Danny would live or die. That’s why many of us find the story of Jairus so moving, I think. Nothing moves us like a threat to the life of someone we love, especially when we are faced with the death of a child.
In my life, and throughout my ministry, I have experienced the power of prayer. Prayer is always answered, though not always the ways that we expect. And yet, we can boldly bring our needs–the things we really need, we can bring them always before the throne of grace. Jairus asks Jesus to lay hands on his little girl, so that she might be made well and live.
Sometimes, though, healing doesn’t mean a cure. Especially in times of death, it can’t mean that. In times of death, healing means God’s help in picking up the pieces and figuring out how to go on. We do this, even though we can’t possibly fill the hole that’s left behind. With time and with God’s help, our thoughts of those we’ve lost become less raw and less intrusive. But the loss never really goes away.
You brought me up, O Lord, from the dead; *
you restored my life, as I was going down to the grave.
Sing to the Lord, you servants of his; *
give thanks for the remembrance of his holiness.
Again and again, the Scriptures testify to the faithfulness and holiness of God. They tell us all about God’s steadfast love. God will never break his promise, not even when we break faith with him. In one of our Eucharistic prayers, we pray the following:
When our disobedience took us far from you, you did not abandon us to the power of death. In your mercy you came to our help, so that in seeking you we might find you.
Our hope comes from the faithfulness of God. And that faithfulness takes a concrete form in Jesus, who is at once God’s offer of forgiveness and the promise of resurrection. He is the “firstborn from the dead.”
And so, we put our trust in him. And we wait for him to act. Jesus doesn’t take away our need to wait. Sometimes it’s excruciating to have to wait. But he shows us how to put out trust in God. We live our lives in hope of resurrection. We trust in the goodness of God. But, this side of glory, we seldom see God face-to-face.
When we do see God, we see him most clearly in the face of Jesus, his Son. Jesus is God turned toward us in love. Jesus is God deciding to get involved in a new and exceedingly close way with his creation. He is the Good News of God in person. He is the sign and herald of God’s Kingdom. He is the One who shows us that God has come to reign. He is God’s own Son. He is our Lord and Savior, who conquers death forever.
That’s what Jairus discovered that day, when he prayed in his time of confusion and fear. It is what I have found to be true throughout my life. God hears the cry of Jairus and answers him. Jesus comes to his house, and takes his daughter by the hand.
And so today, no matter how far we have fallen. No matter where we have wandered or strayed. And whatever griefs or burdens we may be carrying, let us listen once more to the words of Jesus: “My child (he says to us). My child (he says to us this morning),” as he takes us by the hand…“My child, I say to you, get up.” Get up, get up, whoever you are. And whatever you have suffered or done. For you are my child, and I love you. And I have heard your prayer. I have joined you here–in the valley of the shadow of death. I have suffered for you, because I love you. I have joined you here—and I have triumphed here. For I have lived and died for you.
“My child (he says to us), my child, I say to you arise.”
Amen.