A Light and Warm and Loving Touch
The current economic crisis might very well have us saying “Amen!” to Job’s sad commentary on life. Experts are saying that it may be several years before things settle down, and that assumes that there is not some other humanly contrived crisis or natural disaster. There are many ways to confront crises in our lives, and though wailing like Job may be one of the most instinctive, its therapeutic value may be short-lived.
Terry Anderson is best known as the longest held hostage of a
group of Americans captured by Hezbollah militants during the
Lebanese Civil War in the mid-eighties. In his book on the ordeal,
DEN OF LIONS, Anderson, a native of Lorain, Ohio, tells of his
first meeting with Fr. Martin Jenko, a priest also in captivity. In an
effort to get to speak to the priest, Anderson asked to go to
confession. His Arab guards questioned him about what this
"confession" was. He told them "It's part of my religion, I tell my
sins."
"You can tell me your sins," retorted his captor. Anderson insisted
that his religion only allowed a priest to hear one's sins. Finally,
the two were placed in the same room, blindfold. After insisting
that privacy was part of the religious practice, the two were left
alone.
They removed their blindfolds and saw each other for the first
time. They embraced, and Anderson confessed -- the first time in
over twenty years. When he finished, long beyond the ten minutes
the guards said they had, both men were in tears. Fr. Jenko
rested his hands lightly on Anderson's head and said, "In the
name of a gentle and loving God you are forgiven."
Anderson writes, "He pulls my head gently to his shoulder and
hugs me." In a few minutes the guard is back and they slip their
blindfolds down over their eyes again.
Later Anderson, reflecting on the experience and the whole issue
of the meaning of faith in crisis, he wrote in part:
…what of those who in their need
and pain cry out to God and go on suffering?
I do not know -- I wish I did.
Sometimes I feel all the world's pain.
I only say that once in my own need I felt
a light and warm and loving touch
that eased my soul and banished doubt
and let me go on to the end.
It's not proof -- there can be none.
Faith's what you find when you're alone
and find you're not.
Today’s Gospel makes it clear that when presented with people in crisis, whether physical or spiritual or material, Jesus heals with “a light and warm and loving touch.” It’s true of Peter’s mother-in-law; it’s true of the many who suffered from “diseases” or “demons.” It is clear in these first healing stories in Mark’s Gospel that Jesus’ mission will be to preach and to heal. In fact it would be safe to say that it is his preaching that heals. That’s why what he preaches is “Good News!”
Whatever demons might possess us, the compassion of Jesus can heal. Fractured relationships, lingering guilt, overwhelming addictions -- whatever it is that possesses us, that keeps us from the fullness of life, the compassion of Jesus can heal.
Where was that compassion in Terry Anderson's experience? Did he have a mystical vision? No. An apparition? No. He experienced that light and warm and loving touch through another person. And though in his case the mediator of Christ's compassion happened to be an ordained priest, that same compassion could have been experienced through the light and warm and loving touch of any one of us.
Might that not be Paul’s intent in his letter to the Corithinians?
I have made myself a slave to all
so as to win over as many as possible.
To the weak I became weak, to win over the weak.
I have become all things to all, to save at least some.
All this I do for the sake of the gospel,
so that I too may have a share in it.
Our Eucharistic celebration empowers each one of us with the compassion of Jesus. He became one like us so that, sharing in our humanity, he might show us the power of compassion, literally how to suffer with another. Even in our brokenness, our trials, our own pain, the compassion of Jesus shows us the way to understand, to feel the pain of others. In the Eucharist we become the Body of Christ, the very compassion of Christ, which is a light and warm and loving touch that eases the soul.
This week each one of us will be confronted with opportunities to be the Body Christ to someone. It is our AMEN to "The Body of Christ" in our Communion rite that is our affirmation that the compassion of Jesus once again orders the demons from within us to depart so that his spirit may live in us. This is the real power and mystery of this sacred meal. The spirit of the risen Christ is alive in each one of us to heal us and to empower us to heal others, to be for others what Christ is for us in this Eucharist:
a light and warm and loving touch
that eases the soul and banishes doubt
and let us go on to the end.
