Mark 10:45

Tag: healing

  • Stretch Out Your Hand

    Stretch Out Your Hand

    Monday of the 23rd Week in Ordinary Time

    Labor Day (United States)

    Luke 6:6-11

    I remember when I started my first job, finding myself sitting in an office called ‘Personnel.’ A few years later, on my last day at that job, I sat in that same office. Only now it was called ‘Human Resources.’

    Later, a friend cynically remarked, “Yeah, we stopped being personnel a while ago. Now we’re ‘resources.’ At least they still call us human.”

    I thought of that when I pictured the scene in today’s Gospel.

    Every person in that synagogue could look at the man with the withered hand and see a person. But some chose to see a “resource” — someone who could be used to accomplish their own purposes.

    Of course, those who made that choice didn’t realize that Jesus saw them, too. He knew their motives. And he wouldn’t allow it or overlook it.

    Standing before them was not a hand to be examined or a man to be used. He was a person to be loved. And so Jesus said to him, “Stretch out your hand.”

    It seems especially appropriate on Labor Day to remember that phrase, and all the ways Christ says it to us.

    “Stretch out your hands to work.” Whatever work we do, at a job or at home, let us pray that we begin with God’s inspiration and, through Him, reach happy completion. As the psalmist says, “Give success to the work of our hands; give success to the work of our hands” (Psalm 90:17).

    “Stretch out your hands to serve.” May we remember that every person we serve is someone loved by God; and, in a very real sense, is Christ himself.

    “Stretch out your hands to heal.” Sometimes that means reaching out to make peace, forgive, comfort, mend a broken relationship, or simply set aside time for someone who needs us.

    “Stretch out your hands to pray.” May Almighty God give us the humility to receive, perhaps not what we want, but what we truly need.

    “Stretch out your hands and be healed.” Let us have the humility to approach our Lord in Confession. He waits for us with open arms.

    And above all, here at holy Mass, let us remember Christ, who stretched out his hands in the greatest and most loving work of all.

    And, in return, let us stretch out our hands — and our hearts — to receive Jesus as he is most pleased to give himself to us:

    in the most holy Eucharist.

    —

  • The “Yes” Hidden Inside “No”

    The “Yes” Hidden Inside “No”

    The 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Matthew 15:21-28

    In child psychology, we learn that children get very good at figuring out what parents mean when they say “No.” They do it by testing.

    For example, a child asks, “Mom, can I go in the pool?” Mom says, “No.”

    A minute later: “Now can I go in the pool?” Mom says nothing.

    A few minutes later: “Mom, can I go in the pool now?”

    Mom finally says, “Not now. After lunch.”

    The child has just learned that sometimes, “yes” is hidden in “no.”

    The Canaanite woman in today’s Gospel certainly understood that.

    She asks Jesus to heal her daughter. He says nothing. She asks again. This time, he says his mission is to others. After she asks again, Jesus speaks a short parable about food and dogs. Not only does she not stop, she gets creative, adding her own happy ending to his parable.

    Is our Lord annoyed by this? Not at all. He’s delighted at her faith.

    Her faith in what? In his mercy. It was her faith, no doubt born of love for her daughter, that told her there must be a “yes” hidden somewhere inside that “no.” She was right, as Jesus said, “O woman, great is your faith!”

    This is a good lesson for us. Keeping faith in prayer can be a battle; there are obstacles to overcome.

    One is humility. We can catch ourselves thinking, “Why doesn’t God grant me this one request? What’s the big deal?” Or, “I’m a sinner, so God must want nothing to do with me.”

    The Canaanite woman may well have thought that way. After all, in our Lord’s parable, she was the dog. But, where some might be humiliated by that term, she accepted the image and used it as an opening, a chance to go deeper, to find the “yes” hidden there.

    That’s our call, too. God loves each of us with an infinite love. Everything we say to Him matters. And He knows our intent; He understands the suffering and frustration that have brought us to His table. 

    Which brings us to the second obstacle – trust. How does the seeming silence of God affect our trust in Him? Do we doubt God’s ability to do what we want, or do we bargain with Him… “If you grant me this one request, I’ll do anything, even go to daily Mass for a year.”

    Again, look at the Canaanite woman. She was so confident in our Lord’s power that she saw the healing of her daughter as simple for Christ as a crumb falling from his table.

    Don’t let fear or doubt shake your confidence. The God who has been with you all this way will continue to make a way. We just have to keep asking, keep close to Him.

    And that’s the third obstacle: perseverance. We pray for a long time, and nothing happens. St. Augustine’s mother prayed for decades for her son’s conversion. How easy it would have been to give up after a few years of waiting.

    She didn’t. Neither did the Canaanite woman. Neither should we.

    It’s so hard. We don’t always know what God’s “no” means. Sometimes it means “Yes, but not yet.” Sometimes it means “No, it must be another way.” As parents know, sometimes the most loving thing a child can hear is “no,” whether they understand it or not.

    The story of the Canaanite woman teaches us not to mistake God’s silence for His absence, His “no” for a lack of love. And sometimes, the “yes” we’re looking for is hidden inside the “no.”

    —

  • Being a “Keeper”

    Being a “Keeper”

    Monday of the 3rd Week of Lent

    2 Kings 5:1-15ab

    When I was a boy, our family car stopped running while Dad and I were visiting one of his friends. A big, powerful engine… completely frozen. Dad and his friend tore the engine apart and discovered the problem: a tiny metal piece called a “keeper” that held a piston in place. Just a little part, no bigger than your fingertip. But without it, the whole engine was useless.

    Again and again in Scripture, God works through small voices:

    • A shepherd boy defeats a giant.
    • A widow’s two coins outweigh a fortune.
    • A child’s lunch feeds a crowd.
    • And today, a little slave girl starts the miracle that heals Naaman.

    I think the lesson is clear. We should never dismiss someone because they seem insignificant. God chooses whomever He wills, not whoever makes sense to us.

    The slave girl is a perfect case in point. On the one hand, she had no power, no position, no influence. On the other, she did have the courage to speak the truth she knew: “If only my master would go to the prophet in Israel…”

    Because she spoke, a man was healed. And that healing began with something very small: one person willing to speak, and another willing to listen, even to someone he could have easily ignored.

    This raises two questions for us:

    First: Who are the little voices in my life? Who might God be speaking through that I tend to overlook? A child… a spouse… a friend… a stranger… even someone who irritates me.

    Second: To whom might I be the little voice? Maybe God wants to use one small word from me – a word of encouragement, an invitation, a reminder about prayer, a quiet act of kindness — to start something good in someone else’s life.

    Sometimes the engine of grace in someone’s life is waiting for one tiny “keeper”— one small voice willing to speak. Let us ask Almighty God for the grace to hear that voice ourselves, and to be that voice for others.

  • Repentance and Renewal

    Repentance and Renewal

    Ash Wednesday

    Joel 2:12-18; Psalm 51:3-4, 5-6ab, 12-13, 14 and 17; 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:2; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18

    When my father’s mother died, it was customary where she lived to bring in women whose role was to mourn publicly at the wake. As a kid I thought it was strange, but my dad really disliked it. To him, their sorrow was a performance; it didn’t even remotely come from the heart. What was also clear was that my dad’s anger wasn’t mere self-righteousness; I saw in his behavior for a long time that his grief was real and heartfelt.

    That’s the question in the first reading. In the prophet Joel’s time, it was customary to tear your garments if you were sorrowful or repentant. But when it came to their relationship with the Lord God, were these people truly sorry or repentant? It was hard to tell. For years, they were back and forth, up and down in their fidelity to Him. That’s why the prophet insists that repentance is something far deeper than a torn garment; it is felt in the heart.

    We can see that difference in the psalm. Consider David’s words: “Have mercy on me, O God… Against you only have I sinned…Cast me not out from your presence…” We can almost feel his remorse. Despite all his ups and downs over the years, David truly loved the Lord. Any of us who have ever hurt someone we deeply love understand the sorrow, guilt, and remorse we feel. We’d do anything to take back what we’ve said or done, and never want to hurt them again.

    But David doesn’t stop there; from the depths of his repentance he goes on to say, “A clean heart create for me, O God… Give me back the joy of your salvation, and a willing spirit sustain in me.” He knows that only God can heal his brokenness and renew his spirit.

    That desire for repentance and renewal is something we can all relate to, especially on Ash Wednesday. Hopefully, it also helps us feel the urgency that goes with it. As St. Paul reminds us, repentance isn’t a “some day” project: “Now is the acceptable time; now is the day of salvation.” So as we come forward to receive ashes, remember: they have meaning only if they reflect a real desire for change within us. Otherwise, they’re just a smudge on our forehead. As we begin Lent, the question is this: Are we simply “wearing” ashes, or are we owning our sinfulness and turning like David to the only One who can heal what is broken within us?

  • If You Will, You Can Make Me Clean

    If You Will, You Can Make Me Clean

    As I lie on these hospital tables, beds, and gurneys – shuffled from one test or procedure to another – one Scripture verse keeps echoing through my mind: If you will, you can make me clean (Mark 1:40).

    A leper, suffering and solitary, kneels before Jesus and makes this plea. How he came to believe in Jesus, we don’t know. But I do know the desperation behind those words. I feel it.

    I have excellent, highly trained specialists working on my case. I trust them completely. But as each one would admit, they can’t simply will away the disease that is slowly trying to kill me.

    These men and women give me hope. But none of them are Hope. Only the man standing before the leper is that.

    And of course, Christ is willing. The leper is healed.

    That’s where I want to be, too. Everyone facing illness or trauma wants that healing. It’s easy to get frustrated and cry out:“He can do it! Why hasn’t He healed me? So many are praying! Lord, please will that I be healed! Please…”

    Silence.

    But not inaction.

    What do I mean? Well, look at what Mark says happened next: After Jesus cured the man, the leper went out and told everyone what had happened, while Jesus remained outside, in deserted places (Mark 1:45).

    In other words, Jesus traded places with him.

    So what am I saying – that Jesus has traded places with me? In a very real way, yes.

    In His divine nature, Jesus can only love infinitely. And that love was most fully expressed in His suffering and death on the cross. As He said, “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend” (John 15:13). And by His wounds, says Isaiah, we are healed (Isaiah 53:5).

    Love is healing, and there is no love without suffering.

    As I have lain here, I’ve realized something: I’m glad I have this cancer instead of my wife, my children, my siblings, or anyone else. I don’t mean that in a self-congratulatory way, I just mean that this suffering is shaping me. It’s making me a better man, in the sense of showing me even more clearly the vital importance of love in action. Love has to drive everything I do: every conversation, every act, every moment… joyful or painful.

    That’s how Christ lived, and how he calls me to live, too; not just in the good times, but also in the worst – to the cross and beyond.

    And that’s why Christ is my true Hope. Not because I expect him to will away my disease with a word (though of course he could), but because, out of love, he already healed the deeper, spiritual disease: sin and eternal separation from him.

    He asks me to unite myself to the Father’s will just as he did, and to trust that I’m not forgotten any more than he was. He took upon himself the leprosy of sin and went into the wilderness of suffering in my place so that I can proclaim, even where I am now, the love that is stronger than death (Song of Songs 8:6).

    Will my cancer be healed? I don’t know. Maybe God will heal me through the people at this hospital. Maybe He’ll heal it directly. Maybe He won’t heal it at all.

    But, no matter what, He loves me. He has taken my place. And in doing so, He has already made me clean in the only way that truly matters.

    —