“The Helping Cure”
Matthew 9:2-8, 18-26
I want to begin this morning by acknowledging that I find it extremely challenging to preach on stories of healing. The main reason for that is because I know these stories that are meant to give us hope and strengthen our faith leave many of us confused or angry or wondering what is wrong with us or why we haven’t been healed of an illness, a trauma, or an emotional wound that still festers.
This is especially true when several church members and their dear ones are living with serious illness, chronic illness, and debilitating and progressive conditions.
Rest assured that there will be no positive thinking or simplistic faith talk this morning. But there will, I hope, be good news.
Healing stories are challenging to understand because even with science and the wonders of modern medicine, some diseases still have no cure. Because who among us has not believed and prayed with all our heart, only to see our own illness or that of a dear one get worse and worse? And because there’s all that business about so-called faith.
A professor of mine was devastated when, as a young, ordained minister, his three-year-old daughter died of leukemia. But then his clergy colleagues suggested she might have lived if only he had prayed more fervently and faithfully.
That, my friends, is a lie—and that kind of thinking only creates more wounds in need of healing. Unlike the people of Jesus ‘time, who didn’t know from science and believed illness or disability was a sign of God’s judgment, we know we are not responsible for our genetics and that we cannot control every environmental factor that may contribute to disease. We need to remember, especially when we’re sick for otherwise-abled, that our physical condition is no reflection on our character or value.
At the same time, we can facilitate and participate in our emotional, spiritual, and, sometimes, even physical recovery and healing. And one of the simplest and most effective ways we can do that is by asking for and accepting help.
And so I want to reframe this idea of a faith that makes us well in two ways:
First, let’s reconsider the meaning of that phrase. The Greek word translated as “well” can have several meanings, including healing, preservation, or rescue. Wellness doesn’t necessarily mean a physical cure; it can also mean emotional, social, or spiritual healing.
And second, “faith” in the gospels isn’t really about belief. In most cases, the word faith implies trust, boldness, even audacity, or the willingness to take a risk, to bet on something, to open ourselves to possibility, to put ourselves in a position where something good can happen.
And while our gospel stories this morning show us dramatic examples of this—and we’ll get to them in a moment—I want to suggest that asking for help is important, effective, and potentially life-changing in every area of our lives. While I generally discourage any kind of talk or thinking that suggests there is a magic bullet for anything, asking for help may actually be the perfect response to everything.
Let’s begin by looking at an example that has nothing to do with physical illness.
The best-selling novelist Ann Patchett wasn’t born to wealth or sheltered from family dysfunction; she didn’t escape life’s normal setbacks or detours; there was nothing in her background to suggest she was destined for fame and fortune. She hasn’t always been the beloved Ann Patchett; she was just a person, like anyone else.
But during her first few weeks of college—shy and homesick and lonely and afraid she would never fit in—she made two life-changing decisions: First, she decided to do something nice for someone and, second, when that proved difficult, she asked for help.
The nice thing seemed simple enough: She wanted bake cookies for her adviser. So she walked into town, bought all the ingredients and supplies, and then mixed up the dough—only to discover that the oven in her dorm’s kitchenette wasn’t working.
This only added to her sense of hopelessness, but she really wanted to connect with someone. So when she noticed the large house near her dorm, she summoned all her courage and, carrying her cookie dough and baking supplies, marched across the street and knocked on the door.
Amazingly, the woman of the house invited her in, showed her to the kitchen, and told her to make herself at home. And so it was that shy, teenaged Ann Patchett baked her cookies and then left some on the counter, along with a thank you note written on a paper towel. Before long, she was invited back to babysit and help cook for dinner parties, of which there were many because, as it turns out, the woman of the house was the president of Sarah Lawrence College.
Now, I don’t want to suggest that Ann Patchett’s success is due to having had friends in high places; she is an immensely talented writer, a hard worker, and a delightful person. But Ann Patchett would be the first person to tell you that those connections altered the course of her life, providing guidance and support and opening doors.
And so it was with the people in our gospel stories this morning: They were healed by Jesus not primarily because they believed something. They were healed and their lives were changed because they knew what they needed, believed they were worthy of it, trusted it was possible, and were willing to take risks or go to great lengths to ask for it.
We don’t know if the paralyzed man asked his friends to take him to Jesus or if that was their idea. Either way, they traveled some distance and risked social ridicule to reach Jesus. According to the story, they never had to actually ask Jesus for help; their appearance was itself the ask, a request that Jesus quickly honored.
Likewise, the father of the sick girl went out of his way, at some risk to his social standing, to ask Jesus for help. He was a leader in his community, and still he humbled himself by asking a no-name rabble-rouser for help.
And no sooner had he implored Jesus to come to his home than yet another sick person approached Jesus. In this case it was a woman who had been bleeding for 12 years, which is to say that, according to Jewish law, she had been considered unclean, untouchable, and isolated for 12 long years. She was a social pariah. Other gospel accounts say she had spent all her money on doctors, but none could help her.
And still she ventured out from her home, made her way through all the people surrounding Jesus and reached out from her lowly position to touch the bottom of his cloak, trusting that power of his love was so great that even that might heal her.
Call it desperation if you want, but Jesus called it faith. I would also call it a God-given sense of holiness and self-worth. As important as what this woman believed was what she didn’t believe; she refused to accept the religious and social customs that cast her away from belonging and community. She trusted that God had something better in store for her.
And so she made her way to Jesus and, with a touch of her hand, asked to be made whole. And she was made whole.
Which highlights something else about asking for help. It doesn’t always have to be a verbal request. Sometimes the ask is an action. Sometimes it’s a change of attitude, an opening of the mind. Sometimes, as the writer Annie Dillard says, it’s a matter of putting ourselves in the path of the light, knowing that while we can’t make it shine on us, we can at least position our hearts, our minds, our lives in such a way that it can reach us.
We can do all we can, ask for all the prayers and help that we can, ask for support in making sense of our situation and maybe even finding the love of God in it.
Time and time again in this church I have seen the healing that comes in a casserole dish or a conversation, a card or a phone call, a hug or some other indication that we are not alone.
And, time and time again in this church, I have seen the struggle that comes when people are unable or unwilling to ask for help. It breaks my heart every time, in part because it’s so unnecessary. Because I know how many people want to help. I know how many people need to help and love and be needed by someone.
Time and time again in this church, we try to connect the would-be helpers with the people in need of help. And every once in a while we get to see not miracle cures, usually, but—almost just as miraculous—the healing and new life that comes from those connections.
After Jesus has healed and blessed and honored the bleeding woman, he finally makes it to the community leader’s house, only to be told that the man’s daughter has died. But Love sees the potential for healing and for life even when all hope seems lost. With insight, authority, and an utter rejection of death’s power, Jesus takes the girl’s hand and leads her to life.
Perhaps there is something in the girl’s revival that could help heal our despair of ever finding wholeness, life, or love for ourselves or our dear ones. In the girl’s case, she didn’t ask for help herself; it was the boldness and hope of the people who loved her that made all the difference.
Maybe we can learn from that example the importance of advocating for those who can’t help themselves. Maybe we can learn that we, too, have a role in the healing process.
Beloveds, Jesus sees us this morning, and tenderly offers us a hand up. Jesus sees us, and encourages us to ask for what we need. Jesus sees us, and promises to walk with us through our dis-ease, fear, and pain. Jesus sees us, and calls us by name into the great heart of Love.
