We are still near the beginning of St. Mark’s Gospel, in his first Chapter. So Mark is putting before us, as if for the first time, in his typically breathless sort of way, the person of Jesus. Mark wants us to feel for ourselves what it was like to be there, right at the beginning: to be an eye witness; to see the ministry of Jesus unfold. Last week we saw how Jesus spoke with authority, such as to astonish his audience. Then we witnessed him drive out a demon, by a sheer act of power. Now he begins to heal the sick: first a little, just intimately, and indoors; then a lot, publicly, in the open.
Who then is Jesus? What is he up to? What does he want? We know, from the first sentence of the Gospel, that Mark believes Jesus to be the Messiah, the Christ, the Saviour, the Lord. Let us presume that we, as if newly come to this Gospel, are not yet sure of that. So, with St. Mark, with those folk of Capernaum, we watch Jesus carefully. We observe what he does, what he says, what he claims. And with Mark, with the crowd, we are astonished. This is a King, who does not recruit any war band, or slay any enemies; who has neither crown nor weapons nor money. He makes no effort to win over the powerful people, or to gather the crowds, or influence local politics.
He clearly possesses extraordinary power. But he uses this exclusively for good: for others, not for himself; to undo harm, to heal, to liberate, to bring blessing, to give joy.
Lots of people find the Ignatian method of prayer very helpful. In his famous Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius of Loyola recommended using our imagination in prayer. We read a Gospel scene, and imagine ourselves inside it. Imagine Jesus then coming into my house, my own private room. Imagine him taking my hand and raising me up. Or taking the hand of some sick person I love and raising them up. Or imagine being one of the crowd, who get to hear about this, and come rushing along to seek Jesus; and who actually do see him, and are touched by him, and wonderfully healed, and changed forever.
Please notice how in the first place the disciples tell Jesus about the sick woman. That’s an image of our prayer of petition. God knows all our needs already of course, but he wants us to ask, for ourselves and for others; to turn to him in confidence, knowing his will and his power to save.
And then: so many other sick or afflicted people in that small town! And here are we, with our modern medicine, modern health care, modern diet, modern welfare, modern psychology, modern conveniences: and still so many people are sick! So many have cancer, or other debilitating or life-threatening diseases; so many children with autism; so many psychological or emotional wounds; so much mental illness; so much pain! So little authentic love; such need everywhere for healing! So we ask that Jesus come into all of that, to do what he does – to touch, to raise up, to heal, to give life.
But also: humanity as such is sick. There is a sort of lethal infection in our very nature, always tending to pull us downwards: towards sin, towards this earth and earthly things - away from God - and inevitably at last towards death. This is the radical human sickness that Jesus came to take away. The other sorts of healing must always be temporary. This sort of healing, if we will only receive it, will carry over into eternity. So it is that sometimes the sick who ask are not always cured. But for them also, the visit of Jesus, his presence, his healing touch is transformative. Now, perhaps, he invites them to bear their cross with him; to suffer and at last to die with him. Even amid their pain, they are set now on a journey that will end in the fullness of life, and the fullness of joy. And this for them is a very great grace and blessing indeed!
Spiritually speaking, all who are in a state of grace welcome Jesus into their house. Still today he reaches out to touch them, through his holy Body, extended for all time in his Church. He touches them in the first place by means of the Sacraments. The first function of the Sacraments, we could say, is to communicate to us the presence of Jesus; to make us one with him, our lives conformed to his life; to raise us up, through him, to God. But grace, we know, has many ways of working; and we have many ways of opening our hearts and lives to the presence of Jesus. If we desire him, if we ask him to come, if we show him our wounds, our sickness, our need, he will not refuse to take our hand and raise us up.
The escape of Jesus into a solitary place to pray is a most important detail. This shows his humility; also his total dependence on his Father in heaven; also his human need to be alone with God. And from that time to this, disciples of Jesus have tried to follow that example. Experience shows that the very early morning is an excellent time for prayer. Helpful for prayer also are solitude, and silence, and remoteness from the bustle and demands of the crowd. It’s very good to be alone with God; to let the Holy Spirit speak to us in the silence of our hearts; to become aware of the presence and goodness and love of the Holy Trinity, all around us, and also within us.
Then come the crowds again. Having made this wonderful discovery, they want to keep Jesus for themselves; to have him at their disposal whenever more miracles are needed. But no; he won’t let them. And so it is with us. We have to be detached from the sensible consolations, the extraordinary graces, the marvellous interventions of our religion. We are to be united to Jesus above all by faith and hope and love; by prayer; by self-denial; by imitation of his goodness; by obedience to his word. Yes, sometimes we receive extraordinary graces. Sometimes there are real miracles, and we thank God for them all. But the mystics of the Church teach us that the night of faith is the safest way to proceed, and its results are sure.
So now, we are here at Mass. We come here now in order to meet Jesus; to express our faith in him, and our love for him; to listen to his word, to be close to him, if possible to touch him or be touched by him; in order that we may be healed, and on the last day, finally, raised up.