Jesus comes into the home of his new disciples, the
gospel reading tells us this day, and the disciples report to him that the senior woman of the house—the person in that culture at that time who would be awaiting their arrival and preparing the Sabbath meal—is in bed with fever. I can almost hear the expected excuse of Simon Peter, “Jesus, I am so sorry that nothing is prepared for you, but Mom is sick and in bed.”
So brief and non-chalant is this healing story that we might miss its revolutionary significance. This is Jesus’ first healing in this first gospel. Jesus goes to her bed, which crosses all sorts of boundaries and customs, and then takes her by the hand—a gasp from the onlookers no doubt followed at the man touching the woman in her bed. The gospel says, “He lifted her up,” which leaves the image of hoisting her out of bed, which would be mistaken. Better to say, “He raised her,” as he would raise the paralyzed one laying on the mat who had been lowered through the open ceiling, as he would raise the 12 year old girl—Jairus’ daughter, as he would raise the widow’s son on the bier outside the gates of Nain, and as he would Lazarus, as he will you and me.
Yet another way to say this would be: “Jesus, standing at her bed, touched her on her hand, and called to her, ‘Rise.’” Jesus lifted her up by assuring her, and gently saying to her, “Rise.” Jesus never does the lifting for us. If we lay feverishly timid in our own bed, or paralytically uncommitted on our own stretcher, or hopelessly morbid upon the bier to which the world straps us, Jesus, holding our hand for guidance and strength, says, “Get up. Rise. Stand up.” The power to stand is within us, Jesus reminds us, as is the power to drive the demons out, or wash in the healing pool, or to touch the edges of a healing garment. The power to rise is contained in our faith. All we need is the hand, the companionship, the presence of the Risen Christ.
Look again at the healing of the epileptic child in Mark 9:14ff. Jesus drives from the boy the spirit that throws him into convulsions and keeps him from speaking. As the story ends, those standing around, after the spirit, is vanquished say about the boy, “He is dead.” But, again, “Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he was able to stand,” the scripture says. Or, in my translation: “Jesus grabbed him by the hand, and called to him, ‘Rise,’ and rise he did.”
In this healing story that we have today, what happens next never sounds quite right to me, but maybe I mishear. It says, “Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.” It sounds as if the purpose of the healing was in the interest of getting dinner. But, I realize, if I get my prejudices out of the way, that Simon’s mother-in-law, upon being restored, or made whole again, returns to the work that she would otherwise be doing. If I were expecting folks for dinner, fell ill and was unable to cook, but then one of the arriving guests made me better, I would go back to cooking.
I now see that the woman represents to me what life is like when restored to wholeness; in healing, she returns to the work given her to do. Again, I think I can improve on the translation: “The fever released her, and, immediately, she returned to ministering to the needs before her.” When we minister, however we are called, we are living our vocation.
And here we might glimpse the reality of Christian discipleship. The individual transformed seeks to transform the community nearby. This story is so intimate. It is Jesus coming to this woman, and ministering to her, uniquely and as an individual. And then she responds to the community. So it is for us. We receive gifts of God so freely given as individuals; we respond to those gifts by giving to the community about us.
I have found a way to hear differently this passage: she is responding to the blessing, not taking on work to simply provide the expected meal.
I always say, “Don’t trust a preacher who talks about the Greek,” but I beg your pardon. The word in Greek at play here—Deacon’s take note—is
diakoneō. It’s a bit of an exegetical stretch, but remember when the Apostles are seeking the first deacons (recounted in Acts 6:2), they gripe to the entire community: “It is not right that we should neglect the word of God so that we might wait (
diakoneō) on tables. So, seven deacons, led by Stephen, are appointed by the community and ordained by the Apostles.
It strikes me, in light of the gospel this day, that the mother-in-law of Simon is the first deacon.
May we all be given the strength to stand by the hand and call of the Risen Christ, and, in response to these healing blessings, so freely given, might we serve the needs of the community, like a deacon.