Peter's Mother-in-Law

After leaving the synagogue he entered Simon's house. Now Simon's mother-in-law was suffering from a high fever, and they asked him about her. Then he stood over her and rebuked the fever, and it left her. Immediately she got up and began to serve them. -- Luke 4:38-39

I've always had a sneaking sympathy for Simon's mother-in-law. Frequently mothers-in-law are the topic of bad jokes, hurtful comments, or scorn. But just as often, mothers-in-law are loved, respected, and invaluable helpers. With Simon's, I'm not sure which was the case.

She isn't even important enough to give her a name, just her relationship to a relatively important character. She makes a very brief cameo appearance, without a word being spoken. Yet, she does, even briefly, take center stage in a miraculous recovery and a testimony to the power of Jesus.

She was suffering from a high fever, a signal of something severe, in a time when antibiotics and pain relievers were unknown, for the most part. Imagine being sick and not being able to take medicine to fight the illness, manage the fever, and accompanying discomfort. Healers could try their limited resources of herbs, but sometimes they didn't work.  Peter must have loved his mother-in-law (or at least his wife) to ask Jesus to come to his house to help. Perhaps the offer of lunch or a hearty snack accompanied by wine was a lure, but probably it was merely native hospitality since Peter lived near the synagogue.

Undoubtedly Jesus knew of the illness by this time and very probably offered to help. Immediately after he rebuked the fever (which people associated with possession of evil in those days), the mother-in-law immediately got out of bed and headed for the kitchen to cook for the whole group as if she'd never been ill.

That's where I find myself wondering about the episode. Granted, I know that Jesus had healed many people who folded up their blankets, got up and walked, or who immediately were able to see or hear. Where my pensiveness comes in is when I consider that the crippled, the people with epilepsy, the deaf, and the blind, even the woman hemorrhaging, had been suffering their various disabilities for long periods. Most of those were able to get around in some fashion as they had learned to do for years. For those with illnesses like severe flu, infections, recovery from surgery, or COVID-19, find that one doesn't just pop out of bed like a jack-in-the-box and pop back into the kitchen to make a good meal for a group of people as if nothing had happened. Most of us would barely be able to crawl out of bed to relieve ourselves or even move to the couch by the television. It may take several days to recover enough to feel halfway normal. Still, Jesus's healings seem to have been complete, even to the point of returning the person to absolute normalcy instantly.

I bet many wish they could have such healing from Jesus. People with painful cancers often suffer great pain that even the most potent pain relief treatments can't ease. Those with breathing problems gasp for air, even when sucking on oxygen provided by tanks and machines that force the air into diseased lungs. Many hereditary diseases and syndromes cause pain, even to small children, that are difficult or even impossible to treat. Older adults, crippled by strokes and compounded by various dementias, can do nothing but lie in bed and simply wait for death. We often pray to Jesus for deliverance for all of these, but it seems Jesus has a deaf ear, because nothing happens – or does it?

There are times when, if we happen to think of it, we might wish that we had Peter for a father, brother, son, or son-in-law. We'd even take him as an uncle or a cousin five- or six-times removed, so that we could claim him as a family member and ask for his help that way.

We can call Jesus our brother, and we do ask for his help in times of trouble, stress, pain, and anguish. If we can, we consult the best doctors, take the best treatments and medications, and hope for good results. Still, even when hope dims, a tiny flicker of it fights for life, like a guttering candle.

Perhaps the point of Peter's mother-in-law wasn't so much about an ill and useless person being healed and jumping up to return to normalcy in minutes as it was about trusting Jesus to perhaps not cure us of our illnesses and diseases, but to heal us of our need to control everything in our life. There's a big difference between the two states – healing and curing.  A cancer can be cured, and the person can go into remission, but the person can also have the disease and put it in God's hands, to hand it over, to trust God to do what is best, regardless of how it turns out.

Peter's mother-in-law was both healed and cured. So was Lazarus, the woman with the hemorrhage, the man let down through a hole in the roof,  and many others in the gospels. They were cured of their illnesses, diseases, and even lifelessness. Still, they were healed so that they could return to everyday life as testimonies to God's grace and Jesus's healing.

God bless. 

 

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, September 26, 2020. 

A Lesson from a Cat.

He was born about nine years ago or so, one of four born to a feral mother. He was the only one with medium-long hair and a classic tabby marking and coloring. He grew up feral, eager enough to eat the food a human brought him, but not allowing any contact and very strict social distancing that surpassed even the Covid-19 virus spacing. 

The kittens were too small and too frightened to be trapped for neutering, and I was reluctant (and also monetarily deficient) to take them to the vet’s office for vaccinations and health checks. Slowly, the kittens began to suffer from upper respiratory infections and the like, and one by one, they succumbed. The mother had wandered off or perhaps died somewhere away from the kittens who were by that time weaned and independent. The only surviving kitten was the one who came to be known as “Classy” for the spiral tabby markings on his sides. He didn’t escape totally; his eyes became infected, and one became cloudy while the other seemingly came out unscathed. After more than a year, I finally did get him trapped, neutered, and returned, with the promise that I would continue to feed him and take such care of him as he permitted. It took him a long time to let me get even ten feet away from him after all that.

Several years passed, and each year he let me get maybe six inches closer to him. He would listen to me if I sat down and talked to him, but there wasn’t enough trust for touching or petting. He accepted food but thanked me by waiting until I had moved some distance from the food dish before giving me a look in the eye and moving slowly to the now-replenished food.

I don’t remember precisely when he first got close enough for me to touch him. He immediately backed up and didn’t allow me to get that close for quite a while. Slowly he got closer once again, and this time when I tried to touch him, he permitted it for a second or so before moving off a couple of feet away.  He continued to get closer, though, until the day when he discovered that a touch on the head, if allowed to go on, developed into head-scratching and ear-rubbing. He found that these were quite pleasant, and as long as I didn’t get too ambitious or move beyond those touchpoints, he was amenable to more of it, even before eating.  Several times he’s been frightened enough to avoid my closeness for a week or so. Still, eventually, he allowed me to leave his bowl in the open door of the shed rather than on the patio, and finally for me to go in before I filled the bowl. He even made biscuits on the wooden floor of the shed and purred as I scratched his head and ears. Then he would eat, having found that trust had given him not only a full belly but the pleasure of comfort and enjoyment.

It occurred to me that sometimes I act like Classy when it comes to Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit. For a while, I go along, trusting and beginning to do the human equivalent of purring and kneading when I feel trusting and trustworthy.  Then something happens that makes me doubt that trust, and I move away until I can slowly regain my balance and my confidence.

I’m sure others like me have frights and memories that pop up at inconvenient moments and upset the hard-won feeling of faith and comfortableness.  Looking at Classy retreating but then showing a willingness to try again to have those feelings of pleasure and connectedness with another creature, I remember that even if I don’t knead the shed floor or floor pillow, I am willing to try again. Even if I physically back away from those who want to show their love for me as I did for Classy when I was trying to get him to let me pet him, It’s hard to back away from God, Jesus, or the Holy Spirit sometimes, especially as they have ways of being persistent and loving during the process. Like a cat, I may go and try to hide under the bed or in the closet or even outside somewhere, but they always find me and lure me out and one step closer.  Slowly the trust is rebuilt, and all is well.

I wonder – where today am I in danger of backing away and hiding from people who love me? Where am I when I feel the Trinity is getting too close or too intimate? What bowl of kibble can God put in front of me to encourage me to see the blessing it entails, not the possibility of danger? What can I do to retain the feelings of comfort, confidence, and returning to God the love that God has for me?

 I see I have a lot of work to do. I’ll keep looking out for, feeding, and showing Classy that trust doesn’t have to mean hurt or danger. I’ll try to remember that lesson myself when it shows up in my daily life. Just as I have patience with Classy, so God has patience with me. All I have to do is trust that.

God bless

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, September 19, 2020.

Sitting in Silence

A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may think aloud.

–Ralph Waldo Emerson


Another day of 115 degrees in our part of Arizona.  Another day of staying at home, seeming to spend most of my speaking time practicing the particular dialect of cat that my fur-kids continually pour in my ear. Another day of munching on peanuts and drinking iced tea. I’ve about Midsomer Murder-ed out, and ambulance programs from around the world as well as programs about how some planes crashed. I’ve noticed there are far fewer programs on TV that interest me than there are programs. But that’s life in the pandemic zone, I guess.


I was thinking today of how life used to be. Admittedly there used to be fewer parking places at malls and stores, as well as churches, schools, movie theaters, restaurants, and lots of other sites (ok, sports stadia, golf courses, exercise gyms, and museums). Things are starting to pick up a little, but the danger isn’t over. I’m sure I overthink my own health, not to mention the health of others with whom I have to come in accidental contact to risk giving (or getting) a nose full of ugly little viruses that might do me (or someone else) in. Life was more fun before all this stuff currently going on. It was a bit more exciting, educational, entertaining, and a lot less tedious. But, with God’s help, those days may come again,


One thing I really miss is friends. Oh, granted, I can still pick up a phone and talk to them, and these days I don’t have to worry about who else on our party line is listening. Oh, wait, maybe someone I don’t know IS listening, but I’d rather not think about that. Talking on the phone, or by text, email, or even by letter (if God grants that we will still have a post office to carry our mail back and forth), is nice, but it’s not like having a live person in the same room, feet propped up on a hassock, sipping tea, munching on cookies or pizza, and talking about any- and everything from the state of the world to what is on sale at the big box store this week. Sometimes the very best times of all is having the aforesaid friend sitting in the same room, etc., and neither of us saying anything at all. That is really the mark of real and loving friendship, the kind when we could talk about trivia, but instead, simply sit in companionable silence.


So man people have trouble sitting in silence, doing nothing, saying nothing, even thinking nothing.  We’ve gotten used to soundbites, videos, movies, comedies, dramas, or watching who comes and goes down the street. Books with audio versions are taking the place of substantial, calfskin- or paperbound books. I confess, I love my Kindle without sound, which lets my mind’s voice set the stage and direct the action.


I think back to ancient nights, millennia ago, where villages and tribes sat around campfires and listened to elders tell stories of the ancestors, stories that those who heard were supposed to pay attention to and remember so they could pass them on to their progeny. One of the main parts of religious life in monasteries and convents was the balance between work and silence, reading, chanting, and prayer. During meals, one person would read from scripture or some religious volume, and the others contemplated what they heard as they ate their simple meals. In chapel, there were periods of prayer but also periods of silence which had the intent of listening to God, Jesus, the Spirit, or saints, or contemplating something they had heard or read themselves. In a way, it was a method of sitting in silence as with a beloved and close friend, one where words were not necessary but would be welcomed, heard, and contemplated in turn.


Emerson, like many of his time, considered that men were suitable for friendship but that women were worthy of taking orders, overseeing or doing the housework, and only really speaking when absolutely necessary.  Despite the passage of decades, centuries, and even millennia, some still believe that this is the true and right course. Yet those who are real friends, no matter their social, cultural, economic or gender status, or even widely divergent in age, can enjoy sitting quietly or sharing their deep thoughts without fear of ridicule, dismissal, or fear.


We often hear that we should sit quietly in prayer to God daily, not merely presenting our petitions, thanksgivings, or whatever, but simply sit with open minds, still hands and feet, and just listen for what God may wish to tell us. I remember the first time I tried centering prayer. The instructions were to sit quietly, without thinking of anything, and, should any thought appear, simply note that it appeared and then dismiss it and return to the empty mind again.  It was hard because my mind was so used to taking control of silence, but gradually I found it got easier. I can’t say I can do that for long periods of time, but I know the more I practice it, I can increase the stillness of mind for longer and longer. I look at it as a way of physically doing what Emerson encouraged, and, furthermore, what saints, prophets, and deities have helped us to do since time immemorial.


God, Jesus, and the Spirit are supposed to be our good friends and guides. What better way to recognize this and encourage listening for messages from them than to patiently wait in silence? Now, in this time of isolation, perhaps we can make friends with silence – and with God – by using the exercise of sitting silently and patiently. I know I can do that, and then go back to my reading, knitting, or whatever.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, August 22, 2020.

My Good Idea for This Week

The pandemic continues. One thing in its favor is that it gives me time (and no reason not) to do things around the house that need doing. I've already thrown out more stuff in the last three months than I have in the past three years, and there's still more to go. Once in a while, though, I run across something I haven't seen in ages, and it brings me up short, remembering the who, what, when, and where the thing came into my hands.  It was a birthday card from an elderly friend I'd known and loved for close to 70 years. We hadn't talked on the phone for a while, and she wanted me to know she remembered my birthday and loved me very much. The night I found that I found myself mourning her death about three years ago, and how I'd never get to talk to her again. As if this week weren't bad enough, the grief just piled on like whitecaps on a rocky beach.


The next morning I felt a bit better, although there was still some gloom there. I suddenly thought of another friend whom I've known since before I could walk. Her phone number was only one digit different from my birthday card friend, and I wondered if it was still working. It was a bit of a risky move for me, but what the heck, it was the closest thing to an adventure I can experience, given the quarantine, low finances, and the distance to back home. I dialed it, and lo and behold, a familiar voice answered. I almost cried. I hadn't talked to her in probably fifteen years, and all I had to say was "Hey" and her name for her to know it was me. I started to laugh, and so did she. Even at over 80 years of age, her voice and her laugh haven't changed an iota. It was like we hadn't spoken since yesterday.


It was a real pick-me-up. Of course, we had things to catch up on and chit chat as well, but we talked for over an hour. It was re-establishing a bridge and a bond that I've missed but have just been too afraid or perhaps too lazy to repair. Oh, well, it's done now, and things are all for the better.


In less than one hour, my depression and lack of energy had lightened. It occurred to me that perhaps I need to get in touch with old friends a little more often before they too become residents of a place with no politics to argue about, no illness to handicap them, and no sadness to weigh them down. If the amount of love I have for them were enough, they'd be in the highest ranks of the heavenly host. As it is, I'm sure their lives here and how they lived them are much more important than just caring about and loving a little kid who grew up and then moved away to other places. No matter where I was, though, they still cared, and my knowing that was such a great blessing.

I remember when the phone was used only for local calls. For long-distance, it had to be something truly significant – a birth, a death, an engagement, or a check-up call on an ill family member who was too far away to visit. I remember being quite homesick at college, so I risked a long-distance call to my family simply to hear their voices. Calls cost money, and we had to be very frugal with it. Now I (and probably a lot of other people) think almost nothing of picking up a cell phone and calling someone on the other side of the country (or even the world) to ask a question, offer congratulations, or just get caught up on the local goings-on. For me, that's a change for the better. And I don't have to fight the bookie or the bootlegger on the party line to be able to get a call through!


Jesus didn't have a cell phone to use to call his mother once a week. Sometimes that's hard to think about since our worlds are so different. There wasn't an internet with access to newspapers all over the country, even small local ones, where a person could keep up with what was going on back home. I wonder – would Jesus had used Facebook or Twitter?  Would paparazzi have followed him around, taking flash pictures and jostling for soundbites? Would the message have gotten across as Jesus spoke it, or would it have been slanted to fit someone else's agenda? Would the Bible we use be even recognizable to us, or would the latest translation or interpretation jostle for a place on the New York Times Best-Seller List?

As much trouble as we have realizing that the writers of the Bible lived and wrote in very different times and cultures, we can't assume that our understanding is the right one until we have checked to see what the first hearers would have heard and comprehended.  Things that the people at the sermon on the mount understood would be very different today. At least with today's media and long-distance, we can hear and read a lot of different versions and try to gauge what is correct and what isn't. Even then, we aren't always sure.


For now, I think I will just settle for choosing the scholars who I understand to be accurate and correct in their interpretation. I'll skip reading the news until things calm down, both pandemically and politically. If I feel down, I'll call someone I haven't talked to in a while. It might just be that they might be wanting to hear a real person with a friendly voice with whom they can talk about anything they want (and skip what irritates, ticks them off, or makes them sad).  Now that's a real gift from God!  Please pass it along!

God Bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, September 5, 2020