Having Jesus as a Friend

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Having Jesus as a Friend

I saw this on a homiletic site that I visit from time to time. While this is not the direction I am going this weekend, I still think it is a powerful reflection for this Sunday.

People often stop me

at the well,

or along the path to the village,

and they ask me about those days.

They want to hear the story

of how water became wine,

and how a terrible storm was calmed by a word.

They ask about the day my husband, Peter,

dropped his nets to follow a stranger.

And every time our neighbors have a little too much wine,

they ask if Peter really tried to walk on water!

They say,

“Tell me what you saw.

Tell me what you heard.

Tell me what you know about Jesus.”

It’s hard sometimes,

to know just how to begin,

because it’s not always easy

having Jesus for a friend.

As soon as we met Jesus,

our quiet lives

turned upside down

and everything was changed.

Strange events,

like lepers becoming whole,

began to seem normal,

and ordinary things,

like bread and wine

became something startling and new.

Sometimes,

it seemed as if every person in Galilee

with a limp

or a rash

or a demon

eventually found their way to our house.

It didn’t matter

if it was late at night

or long before dawn;

when Jesus was here,

the whole town crowded

around our door,

blocking the path,

and begging to come in.

I worried about the children,

and tried to keep them safe.

But they scrambled through the mob

and dodged walking sticks

and stray dogs,

and talked—even to lepers!

and watched

as Jesus stretched out his hand

to embrace them all.

I worried about the food,

and tried not to mourn every fish

and count every loaf.

Peter told me

that Jesus would make them

fishers of men.

Well, that sounded very nice,

but I couldn’t help wishing

that sometimes,

just sometimes,

there were a lot more fish

and a few less men.

I can’t forget

the first time I met Jesus.

My mother was sick,

and I was so afraid.

Her fever raged,

and the children cried,

and I…

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

And then he came.

They told Jesus about her straightaway.

And moved by pity,

he went to her,

took her by the hand,

and then he helped her up!

Since then, I have seen

a cripple dance

and a blind woman see.

I’ve watched devils run away

and I have touched a leper’s hand.

But nothing,

not even the miracle of my mother,

prepared me for the time

that someone stripped the roof.

Jesus was here that night,

preaching,

and his words filled the room.

The crowd spilled through the doorway

and many stood outside,

trying to come in.

Leaning forward to catch each word,

I felt something hit me on the head!

Brushing a sudden shower

of twigs and dirt from our robes,

we looked up in amazement

to see hands

tearing a hole in the roof!

When they made an opening

large enough for a stretcher,

we watched

as someone lowered a paralyzed man

down through the roof

and onto the floor,

right there in front of Jesus!

In my house!

Through my roof!

As I said,

It’s not easy

having Jesus for a friend.

Jesus turned to the paralytic

but instead of healing him

as we expected,

he said,

“My child, your sins are forgiven.”

It was as if a sudden storm

swept through the room.

Sins!

The word hissed from a dozen lips

as scribes shouted “Blasphemy!”

and the crowd watched in amazement.

Who could forgive sins?

And yet it was clear that Jesus

wanted to teach us something

about sin and forgiveness

and maybe more important--

something about himself.

For when he told the paralytic to rise

and take his pallet and leave,

he did—

out the door,

down the road—

gone!

I often think about that night,

and about those people

who brought their friend to Jesus.

They didn’t care

if people laughed at them

or shoved them aside.

They didn’t let

crowded paths or blocked doorways stop them.

They didn’t worry that they had come too late

or had not been invited at all.

They didn’t ask permission

to climb up on my roof.

They came to Jesus

as fools and vandals--

and trusted him to help their friend.

I think they got more that night

than they bargained for.

We all did.

Jesus asked us,

“Which is easier to say,

‘Your sins are forgiven’

or ‘pick up your stretcher

and walk’ ?”

I wanted to shout out,

“Neither!”

Neither is easy!

Both sayings

stretch my faith and my courage

almost beyond their limits.

There are days

when it would be easier to believe that fish fly

or nets repair themselves

than to believe I can be healed and forgiven of my sins.

It’s not easy,

having Jesus for a friend.

I meet the strangest people now,

Sick people,

sinful people,

hungry people,

People I’m not sure I want to know.

People that Jesus taught me

I need to know.

I give more now.

More than I ever wanted to give.

I give fish and bread

and my privacy—

and the safe and comfortable life

I knew with a man who used to be named Simon--

I’ve even given my roof!

I think about things now…

Strange things.

Things I never even considered before.

like forgiveness and sin and death and life

and the ways that God reaches out

to transform them all.

Sometimes,

people ask me

to tell them

about Jesus and Simon Peter.

They want to know what it was like

to sit at his feet

and listen to his words.

Sometimes they ask me about the night

when someone ripped off my roof

and lowered a paralytic to the floor.

I’m never quite sure

where to begin.

I only know

that everything changes

when you have Jesus for a friend.

Kudos and thanks to Dr. Susan Flemming McGurgan, director of the Lay Pastoral Formation Program at the Athenaeum of Ohio.

Posted by Fr. Austin Murphy at 8:19 AM