Last spring, Lori and I were in Fort Lauderdale, doing the best we could to absorb, in just a few days, enough sunshine and warmth to compensate for the Minnesota winter we’d just experienced. (Remember lastwinter?) One afternoon, we decided to take a boat tour through the canal system that ran from the ocean, to where the cruise ships docked, to where the cargo ships unloaded, and then into the smaller canals that wound their way in and around “Millionaire’s Row,” a beautiful, residential area full of mansions for the rich and the famous.
The homes we saw…they were amazing…huge…ornate…beautiful… expensive. Really expensive. We saw gardens, we saw outdoor cooking areas nicer than most of our kitchens…we saw pools…we saw pools with waterfalls. We saw the homes of movie stars…of billionaires.
As we cruised past these mammoth mansions on our little tour boat, I couldn’t help but wonder, what is the story here? Who are the people who live in these homes? How did they get here?
That evening, as we drove north up Florida highway 1, towards where we were staying, we drove past other homes. Smaller, more modest homes. Some that were very well-kept…others that were less so. They didn’t face a canal…they faced the four-lane highway. These were the homes of those who served the rich, and the famous.
And I wondered. What is their story? Who are the people who live in these homes? How did they get here?
Every home contains a story…a story of the people who live there. Lori and I live in a certain house, under a particular roof…and we have a story unique to us. The same is true for you. Your story is unique to you.
And every home’s story, regardless of size, or cost, or what it looks like, has joys and sorrows. Every person or family who lives there has experienced challenges and fears known only to them.
Here in Owatonna, as I walk or drive through neighborhoods, past homes, I sometimes wonder: What is the story here? Which of these homes is facing crisis? Who here is looking forward to tomorrow? Who finds it hard to sleep at night because of worry?
Each house contains its own mixture of hopes and challenges. Yours and mine.
I have a friend who has a spiritual practice that I like to copy. Every day he takes his dog for a walk. And as he passes each house, he prays. He lifts up to God the mystery of the people living there. He doesn’t know what they are facing, but he trusts that God does. God knows their situation intimately. So my friend prays.
Something like that happens in our Gospel reading for today. Peter brings Jesus and the other disciples to his home. What none of them know is that there is a crisis going on under that very roof. Peter’s mother-in-law is sick. She is very sick. And she is feverish. 2,000 years ago, fevers like this were often fatal.
They tell Jesus about her just as soon as he arrives. Jesus goes to her immediately. He kneels and gets close to her, and he takes her by the hand. The scriptures say that “he lifts her up.” Lifts her up. The word the scriptures use here is the exact same word that they will later use to describe Jesus’ resurrection. The Gospel writer, Mark, is saying that Jesus touches her with the power of “rising up;” the power of resurrection.
Immediately, the fever leaves her and her strength, and her energy, and her vitality is restored. She hops up and she heads to the kitchen so she can cook, and then serve them.
Wait…what?!? When I read that she immediately started to prepare food to serve to Jesus and the disciples, I kind of want to shout at the boys, “hey, come on…give her a break! Her clothing is still damp from the fever and you let her go and cook for you?” Let her take a nap!
But it was a different world back then. At that time, in that culture, those who are sick…those who can’t get out of bed…lost not only their health; they also lost their work, and their place in the community. When Jesus “raises her up,” he restores not just her health…he restores her role, her vocation…her very identity.
In Mark’s Gospel, the sign of discipleship is service. The Greek word is “diakonia,” from which we get the word “Deacon.” Peter’s mother-in-law understands this intuitively. She gets up to prepare food and to help, to show that she has been fully…wholistically…restored; both in terms of her health, and her ability to serve. She is the model disciple.
Yes, there is a story here…a story in this home. It is a story of sickness and health. It is a story of family, of friends and of miracles. It is a story of healing. It is a story of restoration.
This story reminds us of how very focused Jesus becomes when he’s concerned for someone. Throughout the scriptures, whenever Jesus encounters someone in need, he is 100%, laser focused on that person.
Let’s just be honest: laser focus can be a challenge for the people of God. There is much to distract us…much to draw us away. Laser focus is hard. But it is what Jesus calls us to: Laser focus on our mission…our vocation…our ministry.
It is the beginning of February, the beginning of Black History Month. Every year during February I go back and read some of the writings of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, and some of the other civil rights leaders…just to remind myself of the work that was done…and the work yet to do.
In January of 1956, if you had walked past the home of Martin Luther King Jr., his wife Coretta, and their first child, Yolanda, in Montgomery, Alabama, you would have had no idea what was going on in their home. It looked just like any other.
You would know about the Montgomery Bus Boycott, that was having a huge impact on the community. But you might not have known Dr. King’s role in it, and the effect it was having on his family.
Hostilities in the community over the boycott had boiled up. Late in the evening of January 27, 1956, the phone rang in the King home. Young Martin answered the phone. The gravelly voice he heard issued a chilling threat. If King didn’t stop speaking out, in three days, he would be targeted with violence.
The phone call chilled Martin to the bone. Unable to sleep, he went to the kitchen and made himself some coffee. When it was brewed, he sat down at the table and bowed his head in prayer. He prayed, “Lord, I’m trying to take a stand for what I believe is right. But I’m afraid. The people are looking to me for strength and courage. But if they sense that I’m afraid, then they’ll falter, too. Lord, I’m at the end of my powers. I’ve got nothing left.”
In the darkness of the night, no one would have known the drama unfolding under the roof of that home. But the Lord came near to Martin that night. King later wrote that: “the hand of the Lord drew near and lifted me up.” In the quiet of the kitchen, he heard a voice respond to him, “Martin, stand up for truth. Stand up for justice. I will be at your side forever.”
That night, the Lord came near to Martin, took his hand, and called him to arise. And he did. Dr. King continued being the prophetic voice behind the civil rights movement.
Three days later, on January 30th, Dr. King was at a boycott meeting. Coretta was home with little Yolanda. She heard footsteps on their front porch. She jumped to her feet and ran to the back bedroom where Yolanda was sleeping. A burning stick of dynamite left on the front porch exploded, blowing out the front of the house.
Dr. King rushed home. An angry crowd of outraged and armed people was assembling. They were ready to riot. King went outside and spoke to them. He said:
“We believe in law and order. Don’t get your weapons. Those who live by the sword will die by the sword. Remember that is what God said. We are not advocating violence. We want to love our enemies… Love them and let them know you love them.
I want it to be known the length and breadth of this land that if I am stopped, this movement will not stop. If I am stopped, our work will not stop. For what we are doing is right. What we are doing is just. And God is with us.”
The night of the phone call, in the hour of his despair, the Lord had taken Dr. King by the hand and lifted him up and prepared him for this moment. And King got up and served in the diaconal role that defined the purpose of his life. The Lord never left his side.
The Lord never leaves your side, either.
My friends, I don’t know what goes on in your home…under your roof. I don’t know the length or breadth of the challenges and problems you face. I don’t know what keeps you up at night. I don’t know your metaphorical “fevers,” or your despair.
But I do know this: God is with you. God walks through that fire with you. Jesus kneels down, gets close to you, takes your hand and in a moment of love and grace, He lifts you up…and you arise. And you are made whole.
Just like Jesus with Peter’s mother-in-law, God responds to your need and brings you back to health…to life…and to your call to serve…to your diakonia.
Like Dr. King, the task that lies before you then is simply to trust. With God, you can be honest about your fear…honest about your anxiety…honest about your brokenness. And you trust that God will reach out and take your hand…raise you up…give you new life.
My friends, the Gospel…the Good News for today, is that you are not alone…not ever, ever alone. The God who heals…the God who loves…the God who restores…comes to your home…takes your hand, and raises you up.
Because of Jesus, the story of our homes…our faith…and our very lives…is the story of restoration…the story of new life.
Thanks be to God!
Amen.
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