Ordinary Faith: Courage to Be & Believe

Sermon for The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 8

Saint Peter's | Arlington, VA

Mark 5:21-43

“If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.”

There’s a boldness to these words that makes them leap off the page. They’ve stuck with me throughout this week because they’re so audacious, but even more so, because they say something critical about what faith looks like.

“I will be made well...”

For twelve long-suffering years, this woman has endured endless hemorrhages. We don’t know their exact nature—but we know her condition has surely been physically debilitating.

But not only this, there are great economic implications in this story, too. In spite of her persistence—countless good-faith efforts which Mark suggests have been subjected to the dishonesty of opportunistic physicians—the woman’s finances are now depleted. And she has nothing to show for it...

Yet, even still, in the face of physical, social, and financial disaster, somehow she manages to say with great courage, “I will be made well.” We of course know the end of this  story—but we also know of countless stories that don’t end quite so neatly, don’t we? So, I can’t help but wonder how she musters up this conviction...

A pioneer of philosophical theology, Paul Tillich, has much to offer our reflection. In his book ‘The Courage to Be,’ Tillich reflects on the existential concerns within this concept of courage—as well as its practical application when in matters of faith.

“Courage,” he writes, “is self-affirmation ‘in spite of,’ that is in spite of that which tends to prevent the self from affirming itself.”

To get a grasp on the human situation we find ourselves in, as Tillich suggests, we need to evaluate the presence, or absence, of courage in our lives. As I said though, all of this is oriented toward something practical... So, it would be understandable to think to yourself: what in the world does this jargon mean—and what does it have to do with all that awaits me on a Monday morning? Fair question.

Our ordinary day-to-day living presents no lack of things threatening to completely overwhelm us: college tuition, a medical diagnoses, the challenges of caring for an aging parent, the instability of these political times, or perhaps even the dirty dishes on the counter. Mustering the “courage to be” amid life’s great challenges is a direct confrontation with all those things that threaten our being—in whatever form they may take.

This kind of courage looks like facing the honest reality of our circumstances with an unflinching commitment to not only see the truth before us, but to allow it to ripple its way into how we live. I’m reminded of a phrase repeated often by an Episcopal monk, Br. Curtis Almquist: “This is your life. These are the terms. So, now what?”

We all face things that unsettle our sense of selves and our lives—our deepest fears and insecurities, and the devastations and tragedies we encounter. It looks different from person to person, but in this we share a common human experience. The kind of courage Tillich has in mind looks like staring into that existential abyss, and with full awareness of the facts of our temporal lives, saying: “I will be made well.”

...And it also looks like a bagel. Talk about practical, right? Stay with me here. This is how the “the courage to be” is portrayed in the film, Everything Everywhere All At Once.

For those unfamiliar, the film poignantly explores themes of love and regret, of acceptance and reconciliation. It is somehow simultaneously an action, drama, and comedy filled with vulnerability and insight—all while exploring the multiverse.

The story focuses on a young woman named “Joy.” And in spite of her namesake, she has devolved into the depths of total despair. Joy has simply seen too much and felt too much in her young life. And in the endless confrontation with life’s disappointments and desolations and uncertainties—with the everythingness of life—her response is to create a numbing alternate reality. She seals herself off from anything that might cause any more pain—which is, truthfully, everything.

To her mother, she says “If nothing matters, then all the pain and guilt you feel for making nothing of your life goes away, sucked into a bagel.” And then, because anything is possible according to the laws of the multiverse, no matter how utterly absurd it may be, an all-consuming vortex materializes in the scene promising to swallow up everything in its path—and it takes the form of a 12-foot everything-seasoned bagel.

For all of its comic absurdity, the image is surprisingly effective.

Joy relinquishes all of her deep wounds into this swirling bagel of existential dread. But in the process she becomes a lifeless shell of a person—increasingly isolated, bitter, and hostile—and any semblance of joy is surrendered, too.

Her mother though, who has just entered her own mid-life crisis of despondency, chooses an alternative. Rather than entering into the everything bagel abyss, she turns toward the complex reality of her life. And choosing to embrace all of its beauty and pain, she says in effect, “I will be made well.” The choice is a confession of sorts—and it changes everything. Because now she stands on solid ground and she can reach into that abyss of despair, grab hold of her daughter, and the loving connection pulls Joy into the healing and freedom she so desperately desires.

It’s a curious thing that the woman in today’s Gospel lesson initiates the act of healing. “If I but touch his clothes...,”she says, and then reaches out.

But what’s especially curious is Jesus’ response. A large crowd of people are following Jesus on his way anticipating another dazzling show. They’ve heard of the miracle-maker and they’re filled with great expectation. An electric charge is in the air and people close in. Sweaty, eager bodies press up against him on every side, close enough to feel and smell the palpable longing.

And then Jesus stops and says, “Who touched me?”

There’s evidently something different about the touch from this woman. She too has heard of Jesus—and she also knows all-too-well the reality of her life. Giving herself over to a pathological escapism surely remains an option before her, I mean it has been 12 years after all!

But now before her stands Jesus. She recognizes in him a divine spiritual authority—and it infuses her touch with deep faith. So, with courageous fear and trembling she orients herself toward Christ. And set free from any inhibition, she reaches out and draws forth the healing power of God—and is made well.

It is no doubt the woman who initiates the act of healing: but her act is merely done in response to who she knows and trusts Jesus to be. As Mark’s Gospel lesson would seek to make evident to us, it is the Kingship of Jesus that is the source of wellbeing. And in the words of the Prophet Isaiah, he has come to bind up the brokenhearted, to comfort all who mourn, to proclaim freedom, and to anoint them in joy.

This too, is the invitation before us. “Do not fear, only believe.”

An “ordinary faith” is just this: the courage to be and to believe.

It doesn’t arm us with some kind of magical wand, though. We are given no guarantee healing will come in the form we desire. But it will set us free.

In loosening our grip on all that we hold so tightly to in our lives, we enter more fully into the Spirit’s presence and work in our lives. To an awareness that each breath is sustained by the very source of creation. And with our own courageous fear and trembling, we are drawn up into an eternal reality—and no matter our circumstances, we are made whole.

Through ordinary faith we are made free to join in praying with this woman healed by Jesus and with St. Teresa of Avila, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Amen