Hearing is Healing

My daughter has been volunteering with at-risk youth in the city of Spokane for the past year. 

On a visit to celebrate her 21st birthday, I had the privilege of accompanying her to the Impact Center. She knew every kid in the facility and it was clear that they knew and loved her too.

At one point a new face appeared in the doorway and made her way to our table. The card game came to a stop as “Anne” began to pour her heart out to my daughter about some recent crises in her life.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little awkward with the situation. There were some pretty private things being shared with anyone and everyone within earshot. And a number of people were on hold waiting for the game to resume. But the end was worth waiting for.

After several minutes, a long pause enveloped us. Anne broke the silence. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You always listen to me.”

The message was clear: Anne experienced being loved by the simple act of being heard. Elizabeth didn’t offer advice or solutions. Just a listening ear tied to a heart that clearly cared.

It is only when we have truly heard someone that we can begin to love them the way they need to be loved. To offer the care they need and are asking for. Hearing is healing.

Whether it was a Samaritan woman at a well, a father with a dying child, or a woman suffering from an ongoing illness, Jesus never seemed to be in too much of a hurry to be present. He took the time to listen to and explore the stories of those He encountered.

In his Gospel, Mark describes a woman who suffered from an illness for more than a decade. She had spent everything she had to get well, but only got worse. Her one remaining hope was to encounter Jesus. Pushing her way through a large crowd, she managed to touch a piece of his tunic. The bleeding stopped immediately. She knew she was well.

Jesus felt it happen and stopped in his tracks before asking a seemingly ridiculous question: "Who touched me?" The disciples thought it was a joke. "Who touched you? In this crowd? A better question would be, "Who hasn't touched you?"

But Jesus was determined. Refusing to resume his journey until the person came forward. Eventually she did. And kneeling before him -- right in front of everyone -- she told her whole story. Don't miss those last five words.

Why did Jesus stop the procession and force everyone to wait -- including a distraught father whose daughter was in the process of dying? Because Jesus knew that the physical aspect of this woman's healing was only one part of her journey. Being heard -- and, therefore, loved -- was the other.

Who do you need to begin hearing in a new way today? Hearing is healing.

Listen with one intention -- to understand. Ask clarifying questions to make sure you heard them correctly. And then thank them for trusting you enough to share.

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Recommended Resource: Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, by Peter Scazzero.

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2KIXcGu

Where's My Miracle Part 2 - "A Greater Promise"

[An audio version of this blog post is also available - click here to listen]

And he said, “Where have you laid him?”
They said to him, “Lord, come and see.”

Jesus wept.

So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of
the blind man also have kept this man from dying?”
John 11:34-37

There’s something interesting about family. Ok, rephrase that. There are a lot of interesting things about family. But I’m thinking of one in particular. Have you ever noticed that we often show less courtesy to our own family members than we do to total strangers? Is it just that familiarity breeds contempt or is something else at work?

On a lighter note, I sometimes joke about my brother’s version of a family discount – he’ll sell me anything for just 20% more than he would sell it to a total stranger. Maybe he just knows what he can get out of me. In any event, it’s something we can both laugh about.

Jesus had family, too. A family that was very human – they even mocked his ministry in the beginning. Jesus’ earthly family was probably a lot like ours – some were blood relatives and some of them were just so close that they felt like family.

Well, if anyone was close enough to Jesus to be called family, it was a pair of sisters – Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha lived with their brother Lazarus in a town called Bethany. It’s likely that their home was a frequent destination for Jesus. Hospitality was huge in the Jewish world at this time and it appears that this family had a special place in the heart of Jesus.

If anyone was in good standing with God in the flesh, it was this family. And that is what makes the death of Lazarus, the brother, such a huge question mark. We don’t know what he died of, but we know he was sick for a few days – plenty of time for Jesus to get there and prevent his death.

The Gospels are filled with Jesus healing total strangers of all kinds of debilitating diseases – blindness, paralysis, leprosy, you name it. You’d think he would rush to the scene when a good friend like Lazarus is at deaths’ door.

But he doesn’t.

It’s not that he doesn’t know. He does. (John 11:3)

And it’s not that he doesn’t care. He does. (John 11:5)

Yet he seemingly does nothing. (John 11:6)

Lazarus is slipping. People are praying. His sisters are crying. And where is Jesus? About 2 days away. Waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for Lazarus to die.

So, when does Jesus show up? After Mary and Martha have been mourning their brothers’ death and, I imagine, questioning Jesus’ compassion. After four days of mourning and questioning, Jesus finally shows up.

It is a painful scene – one many of us are all too familiar with. Tears come in streams. The sound of weeping fills the house as family members arrive to cry, to console, and to comfort. Each knock at the door brings another familiar face and another wave of emotion. The death of Lazarus is recounted and re-lived time and again.

An elephant looms large in the room. It is the question everyone is asking, just not out loud: “Where was your friend, Jesus? Where was your miracle?”

Mary and Martha are in the middle of this scene when word arrives that Jesus is coming down the road.

We see the pain in Mary’s response: she has no response - at least not outwardly. She simply remains in the house, resigned. What pulsed through her heart at that moment? Anger? Doubt? Betrayal? All three?

And then there is Martha. She bolts out the door and charges down the road. When she meets Jesus, we see no embrace. Instead we see a bit of a rebuke, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In other words, “Where were you?!? Where was our miracle?!?”

It’s a perplexing question, really. Jesus healed total strangers and yet allowed his friend to die. Jesus even healed people that didn’t ask for it. Yet when his closest friends sent for help, he left them waiting. He left them wondering. And then he left them mourning.

For the record, I’m relieved that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus when he was sick. Because it means that I am not the only follower of Christ who, like Mary and Martha, has watched and waited for Jesus to come, only to see someone I love take her last breath.

I’m grateful that Jesus didn’t heal Lazarus. Because it tells me that Jesus knows and Jesus cares – even if he doesn’t show up in the way we would like him to.

And I’m glad that the tomb of Lazarus’ reeked of decomposition by the time Jesus showed up. Because it gives proof of a greater promise.

A greater promise? Yes, a greater promise! You see, all those people who were healed eventually died. The paralytics, the lame, the blind, the lepers. They all died. And even those few that Jesus raised from the dead during his earthly ministry all eventually died again.

But Lazarus was a believer. Jesus wanted to give Lazarus and his closest friends a taste of the promise he really came to make. Jesus never promised his followers a life of comfort here and now. He never promised a life free from suffering, pain or loss. He never even promised a long life.

No. He promised that he would overcome this world, this life. That after this life of struggle, disappointment and heartache, something greater awaits those who trust in Jesus – even when he seems two days away.

You see, Lazarus’ death was no accident. It was to display the glory of God and deepen the faith of all who witnessed what would come next: the raising of Lazarus from the dead.

Notice that when Jesus showed up and faced Martha on the road that day, he didn’t define himself as “the healer.” No. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And he wasn’t talking about this life. This life, the here and now, is important, but the ultimate promise – the greater promise – is in the life to come. A greater life than we will ever know here.

Mary and Martha and Lazarus were followers of Christ. They were in. They were family. And right now, at this very moment, they are experiencing the promise. A greater promise. An eternal promise.

A life that requires no mourning. A life that never disappoints. But a life that comes only in our death. It is a giving up of the temporary in order to obtain the eternal. Ahh, yes. Now that sounds like the promise of Jesus.

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live,
and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”

John 11:25-26

Where's My Miracle?

And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well;
go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” Mark 5:34

The Gospel of Mark.

A man with too many demons to count. Tormented day and night, he lives among the tombs. Written off. Alone. Yet at the feet of Jesus he is made whole again.

A woman plagued by bleeding for more than 12 years. She is drained – physically, emotionally and financially. With a touch of Jesus’ cloak, she is healed.

A ruler of the synagogue whose only daughter is at death’s door pleads with Jesus. Word comes of her death, but for Jesus death is no different than sleep. He “wakes” the girl and gives her back to her family.

These are wonderful accounts from the life and ministry of Jesus. The kind that make me wish I could spend just one day watching Jesus move mountains. The kind that make me stand in awe of the God of the universe. Faith. Healing. Resurrection. Great stuff!

Yet if we are honest, these accounts can leave a weird aftertaste. The kind of aftertaste that begs the question, “Where is my miracle?” or “Where was my miracle?”

Where was my miracle when my mother battled cancer for three and a half years? For that matter, where was her miracle?

Where is my brother’s miracle as he battles cancer today?

Where was my aunt’s miracle as her husband battled Leukemia?

Where are parents’ miracles as they watch their child slip away?

Where was your miracle? Where?

But caution is in order here. Miracles are part of the story, but they are far from the whole story. Is it possible that the miracles are there to show us who Jesus is – God in the flesh – but that the other details show us what He came to do?

Jesus’ day was no different than our own. It was often some kind of personal need that brought people to Jesus: One of life’s fearful storms. Relentless demons. A debilitating disease. A loved one on the brink. These were the things that drove many to seek Him out. Yet Jesus always addressed a deeper need – a spiritual one.

Let’s take a look at the woman in these verses. She has secretly touched the hem of Jesus’ garment and has been healed. The story could have ended there: Jesus keeps walking. She goes home. Great story.

But it’s not the end. Rather, Jesus turns a secret healing mission into a public confession of faith. He moves from something good to something great. He takes a temporary physical fix and leverages it for permanent and eternal significance.

Her mission may be finished, but His is not.

Jesus stops the whole procession and calls out, “Who touched me?” She tries to hide, but she knows He knows. And He knows she knows He knows. So He asks again, looking her way this time, “Who touched me?” The compassion and gentleness of Christ compel her. She can hear it in His voice and see it in His eyes. She squeezes through the crowd, falls before him and “tells him the whole truth.”

And what is the result? She is saved. For eternity. Jesus makes it explicit. Although it is often translated “your faith has made you well,” we could just as easily translate it “your faith has saved you.” In this case, it meant both.

She could feel the physical healing in her body (v. 29) and now Jesus brings spiritual healing to her soul. He pronounces “shalom” or “peace” to her, a term with fantastic significance for the people of Israel. It meant that all was right between her and God – wholeness, unity, a restored relationship. Shalom. He calls her “daughter” – a child of God (something her disease had convinced her she wasn’t).

As the text says, the woman told Jesus the “whole truth.” I imagine “this whole truth” was quite a story. We don’t know where her story began or how long it lasted, but we know where it ended – at the feet of Jesus Christ – testifying of her faith and His redeeming work.

Jesus offers that same shalom, that same salvation to us. And He offers it the same way. The Apostle Paul tells us that “if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”

It’s a promise. And the miracles of Jesus are here to show us that He will make good on that promise.

"The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save." Zeph 3:17

Can't Get Away from Love

“So now faith, hope and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13

As I look at the life and preaching of Jesus and consider its echoes in the rest of the New Testament, the prominence of LOVE is absolutely striking. You just can’t get away from it.

For Jesus, it is the way to fulfill all the Law and the Prophets (i.e. the entire Old Testament). By loving God and loving your neighbor, every other commandment just falls into line. It is the very core of living the way God desires!

John’s Gospel mentions love more than the other three Gospels combined. One of his relatively brief writings, a letter we refer to as First John, does too. (These two writings mention love 103 times combined)

Love plays a central theme in the writings of the Apostle Paul as well. The book of Romans – Paul’s magnum opus – mentions love sixteen times. The first ten chapters or so refer repeatedly to the love of God toward us, while the remaining chapters mention love even more. This time it is all about how those who love God are to love others – the way God loved them.

Many of Paul’s other mentions of love are familiar to us. The fruit of the Spirit is love (Gal 5:22). Jesus’ sacrificial love for us is the example of how a husband should love his wife (Eph 5:25). More than that, Christ is to be the example of every aspect of a Christ follower’s love (Eph 5:2).

As one of my professors put it recently, love is the apex of Paul’s writing in First Corinthians. Without it, we are just a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal (1Cor 13). Let those images sink in for a moment. The passage is so familiar to many of us, that we tend to pass right over the images. A noisy gong. A clanging cymbal. These things are loud, right? But not just loud… violently loud – to the point of causing people to flee from their presence. At the very least, they cause anyone close by to want to cover their ears.

Do you hear what Paul is saying here? He is saying that all of our efforts to represent Christ and the Gospel will come off as a clanging cymbal if love is not the foundation. It will drive people away from us instead of towards Jesus. Because love is the foundation of Jesus. And if the love of Jesus isn’t our foundation, something else is. Pride. Rivalry. Empty glory. Self-interest. Self-righteousness. Self-something.

Let love be the hallmark and the very tone of all you do. Then and only then will you be a true Christ follower and not just a clanging cymbal.

In the words of Peter, “Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, for love covers a multitude of sins.” (1Pet 4:8)