Readings

FIRST LESSON

The first lesson is from Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation by Parker J. Palmer

Seeking a path more purposeful than accumulating wealth, holding power, winning at competition, or securing a career, I started to understand that it is indeed possible to live a life other than one’s own. Fearful that I was doing just that—but uncertain about the deeper, truer life I sensed hidden inside me, whether it was real or trustworthy or within reach—I would snap awake in the middle of the night and stare for long hours at the ceiling.

I ran across the old Quaker saying, “Let your life speak.” I found those words encouraging, and I thought I understood what they meant: “Let the highest truths and values guide you. Live up to those demanding standards in everything you do.” Because I had heroes at the time who seemed to be doing exactly that, this exhortation had incarnate meaning for me—it meant living a life like that of Martin Luther King Jr. or Rosa Parks or Mahatma Gandhi or Dorothy Day, a life of high purpose.

So I lined up the loftiest ideals I could find and set out to achieve them. The results were rarely admirable, often laughable, and sometimes grotesque. But always they were unreal, a distortion of my true self—as must be the case when one lives from the outside in, not the inside out. I had simply found a “noble” way to live a life that was not my own, a life spent imitating heroes instead of listening to my heart.

SECOND LESSON

The first lesson is from the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 5, verses 25 through 34

Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’”

Jesus looked all round to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

This Week's Sermon

Date: June 28, 2009

Title: Who Touched Me?

Message Delivered By: Rev. Joe Mc Murray

In my last gasp at Catholicism – when I first moved to San Francisco from New York in 1986 – I attended what is undoubtedly the most progressive Catholic Church in San Francisco – Most Holy Redeemer. Most Holy Redeemer is in the heart of the Castro District – the gay district – and just one block from the MCC church.

There was a great priest there – Fr. Tony – who I got along with quite well. We were not close friends, but he knew my story and always welcomed me to the church.

Just for a little background information, the make-up of Most Holy Redeemer’s congregation at that time was about 70% gay men, 20% elderly widows, and families with children, including a large percentage of Hispanic families.

Father Tony used to tell a story that when he first came to Most Holy Redeemer, though he had served in parishes before and they were mostly Caucasian congregations, it was difficult for him to get used to the diversity of the San Francisco church.

The first few weeks he was there, he became somewhat annoyed because his room was located at a place in the rectory away from the door and he could not hear when someone knocked. The door did have a doorbell, but it was located off to the side where people could not see it and besides, it was painted the same color as the wall so it blended in.

People would come to the rectory to see him and would knock on the door, but the knock was often so light, he couldn’t hear it. So Fr. Tony came up with a solution: he placed a sign to the right of the door with an arrow pointing to the bell. The sign said, “Ring Once.”

Over the next few weeks, Fr. Tony became quite puzzled by something that kept happening. Most often, when someone rings the doorbell, they will ring once. But Fr. Tony noticed that most of the time, without waiting to see if anyone would even answer the door, whomever was pushing the bell rang it many, many times. To him, it seemed as though they thought no one would come to the door. Not wanting to be rude, he said nothing.
But when he explained this to his Associate Pastor, Fr. Juan Carlos, he was greeted with loud laughter. “What’s so funny?” Fr. Tony asked.

Father Juan Carlos said, “The problem is your sign. In English, the sign says, ‘Ring Once.’ But in Spanish, the sign says, ‘Ring Eleven.’ The English spelling of the word ‘once’ is pronounced ‘once’ (on-cee) in Spanish, which means ‘eleven.’”

What I admired and loved most about Fr. Tony was that he could always laugh at himself. And he told this story, many, many times.
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Will you pray with me? God, we are so grateful for all you have placed before us. Help us to realize that we are limited only when we refuse to act on our dreams. Give us the courage to develop ourselves more and more, even when we think we can achieve nothing more. Let us appreciate all the ways you have gifted us, both ourselves and others. And may my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. Amen.
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In last week’s sermon, we reviewed several remarkable yet typical instances when Jesus stepped outside the boundaries and limitations that had been imposed on him, his followers and many within his tradition.

When Jesus crossed to the Gentile side of the river, he broke a barrier that was forbidden under Jewish law, for the Torah taught that only the Jews were the chosen people. It was considered blasphemous to go beyond the strict interpretation of that law.

In many instances, Jesus openly questioned the religious authority, angering the elders from the Temple. Jesus, at his peril, even criticized the occupying Roman authority.

Jesus healed on the Sabbath. He spoke openly with people of different ethnic backgrounds, genders, and social classes, even though the religious law strictly forbade him or any adult Jewish male to do so.

And as evidenced in today’s scripture, Jesus broke the bank by committing several violations of the tradition all at once: he was in a mixed crowd of people—mixed meaning men and women.
He put himself in a situation where he allowed himself to be touched by the woman. And he addressed this unnamed woman in public and in the daylight.

The woman was deemed to be unclean because of her illness. Jesus was not allowed to speak to her or touch her without penalty and stringent remedies laid out in the Torah.

This latest example is but one of many more when Jesus redefined the boundaries of ministry. Jesus reclassified the religious law, much to the surprise of the disciples, and much to the consternation of the elders of the Temple.

But these situations all took place within a very specific framework: the framework of who Jesus was, how he practiced his ministry, who he ministered to and why, how he opened his heart with compassion for the marginalized, and who he believed was worthy and deserving of God’s love particularly because they had been denied access to what he believed God had intended for everyone.

Jesus was indeed extraordinary. Like those from the native traditions of all cultures, Jesus was at one with the Universe; he was at one with God. He was attuned to who he was and he sensed emotionally and spiritually what others needed.

He recognized the connection of all the cosmos; he felt the consistent and constant flow of energy and how it moved from one person to the next and through all of life.

It was no accident that Jesus knew someone touched him because the energy was drained from him. The scripture says “the power was gone from him.” Jesus’ whole being was responsive to a simple touch by a stranger in need.

If you have ever spent time with someone in dire need, perhaps someone in the midst of pain or suffering, you have a sense of this experience.

Have you been with a friend who has been traumatized or has found herself or himself in the midst of emotional distress? I know some of you—many of you—have been at the bedside of loved ones who are about to transition from this life to the next.
Though the feelings that come from such attendance are always profound and meaningful, and hopefully rewarding, at least in hindsight, they can also present a very challenging and draining experience to the body, mind and soul.

Sometimes we fail to realize the amount of energy that can seep from our bodies and from our spirits when we are so emotionally stretched.

I recalled with the Grief and Loss Group in one of our sessions that when I was doing my training in seminary, I also served, at that time, as a student intern while doing chaplaincy at California Pacific Medical Center.

In each setting, I was instructed, if not forewarned, that when I tended to people’s needs, I was to do everything within my power to be present to them while not taking on or taking in all the emotional upheaval that I was witnessing.

This meant that while it was hoped I could feel empathy and compassion, I was not to put myself in the place of the person I ministered to—only to be present to them in every way possible.

After my own experiences of loss, this was easier said than done. I am convinced that it is not only a good practice of self-care and emotional survival, but it is an art, and not something that comes instinctively to us as empathic beings.

I presided at the memorial service last Friday for “Barefoot” Bob Salamone here at the church. Bob was a man who was very beloved here in Key West. He had many family members and friends who idolized him because of who he was and how he lived.

The day was full of the whole gamut of emotions and feelings from the extreme joy that comes with stories of remembrance to the incredible sadness of emptiness of the loss.

Each emotion was very vividly on display. Deep grief was obvious and evident in every face. The tears flowed in abundance. Sometimes the various rooms here at the church were filled with loud cries as the finality and depth of the loss began to hit home.

When I entered the ministry eleven years ago, part of my calling was to minister specifically to people who experienced such deep sadness. And on Friday, I did my best to bear witness to the sorrow that surrounded me.

I did what I could to comfort those who were experiencing this unbelievable grief, and to be present in every way possible to anyone and everyone who needed a hug, a shoulder or a prayer. This is part of what I am called to do—being a steady presence for people in need. I very much love what I do.

Yet, I was thoroughly drained when I got home. I had so little energy left. I surfed the net for a few minutes, tried to distract myself with a game of Scrabble, and barely had enough left to prepare a small dinner and crawl into bed. I started watching a movie I had just finished the day before; one that I’ve seen about a hundred times.

And so there it is. There are certain circumstances when the body, mind and spirit find themselves wide open to the touch of those who are desperate to reach out for connection. We take a risk in doing so, for we open ourselves to experiences and feelings that we may not have chosen on our own.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that each time we open ourselves like this all our energy must drain from us. This is not a requirement of compassion. But it does acquire a certain awareness, an alertness, a true presence of mind in order to sense the connection and react to it.

The woman who reached out to touch Jesus also had to be in touch with who she was and the power she had to impact lives. She must have had a strong faith—a very deep faith in order to trust that this man would be a connection point between her and the Divine—and perhaps Divine intervention.

The unnamed woman was desperate for connection. Perhaps she had not touched anyone for all those years—because her tradition told her she was unclean and she was forbidden to do so. So she defied convention and answered to a higher power the beckoned for her to reach out.

And we should note, as the scripture says, she did so reluctantly, fearfully, for she, too, was disobeying the laws of her faith and culture.

This all fits well into Parker J. Palmer’s quest, which we should make our own quest: to seek a path of purpose, to find and implement a set of values and truths that take us beyond that which we think is beyond our capability.

But we don’t have to become someone we’re not. The key comes by listening to our own hearts. Working with what we already have. Trusting that God is at the center of all that we are, and all that we do. God is the one that connects us to all of life.

We must never underestimate the power of touch—both in our own reaching out, and as family, friends, neighbors, and perhaps even total strangers reach out to us. For the connection that they seek may indeed be the connection to God that only we can provide for them.

May we be open to those powers that lie within us. Amen.