(Note from Rowland. I don't always agree with my liberal Episcopal friend Harry Cook - see other examples of his writing on our website, together with my caveats - but I reckon this one is brilliant).

The Religion Works

Sermons by Harry T. Cook June 15, 2008

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To read this week's sermon, "The Mission," just scroll down. Churches and the church in general seem often to be adrift in a sea of confusion when what they should be doing is concerned. Some congregations advertise all kinds of activities that make them seem more like social clubs than New Testament communities. Is there a clear-cut definition of what the church ought to be doing? Yes. See the sermon below.

Harry T. Cook __________________________________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Mission

By Harry T. Cook

Matthew 9: 35-10:15

It has become commonplace for congregations to articulate what are known as "mission statements," which set forth their purpose, aims and goal. I know for a fact that there are more than a few congregations whose leaders and members have spent many months formulating those statements. I have come to see that such earnest efforts may be studies in avoidance.

I say that because I have read and re-read the passage from Matthew that is proper to this Sunday - that passage in which the writer depicts Jesus charging his troops with their mission. If one sorts out the first-century allusions, the mission quite clearly comes down to curing sickness and disease and sharing the fare - and maybe even the fate - of those to whom they go among what are called "the lost sheep." As near as I can tell there are no mentions of bishops' conferences or synodal gatherings or diocesan commissions. There are only "going" and "doing." Lurking among the complexities of the Greek text of this passage is the word... which in the English alphabet looks like "therapeuon." And that should be a clue sufficient to the realization that our words "therapy" and "therapeutic" and "therapist" are closely related to it.

The Greek word appears in the English text this way: Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness. It is the verb "to cure" that approximates the Greek means "to attend to by giving care in a servant-like manner."

Inasmuch as it would be a couple of thousand years before the word "therapist" would refer to credentialed members of the psychological and psychiatric communities, the first-century sense of the word conveyed an image of what today we call nurses, nurses' aids and other attendants.

So what was meant was not anything approaching medical or surgical cures of sickness but the thing we love to call TLC: tender, loving care. - As one who spends a lot of time visiting persons in hospital, I see the ones unfortunately underpaid and under-appreciated -we shall call them "therapists" - changing soiled linens and hospital gowns covered with every kind of bodily discharge, doing so amicably and with good cheer.

The kind of sickness "cured" by such people in that particular way is the sickness of feeling helpless and hopeless. Patients remark upon it with gratitude. Such a thing is supposed to be a big part of the ideal church's mission: to lift the spirits of the helpless and to give them a sense of being loved despite their helplessness. The faithful nurse or nurse's aid emptying bedpans at midnight is our model.

The other part of mission referenced in the gospel passage at hand is the deceptively simple matter of sharing the lot of those whose needs of whatsoever kind are the object of the mission. The disciples of Jesus are instructed to travel light, not to burden themselves with resources and provisions but to accept whatever they might receive from those who will share with them.

That's the devilishly tricky part of ministry. I more or less have to wear the clerical collar while doing hospital and nursing home visits. It gets me prompt entrée into emergency rooms and at deathbeds without a hassle. Yet when I appear in clerical garb, I am perceived as a figure of power and privilege rather than as one who has come to share the anxiety and grief attendant upon such times and places. What saves me are my tear ducts. I am by nature a weeper. My kids say that I get "all mushy." So at least when others are weeping, I am likely to do so, too. When I ask family members to join hands around the bed of a dying loved one, I, even as the professional who is supposed to be the non-anxious presence, am seen obviously to be feeling some of what others are feeling.

And that is what I take to be the second message of the gospel passage under consideration. Not only are we to be for all intents and purposes the bedpan emptiers of this world, but sharers in whatever emotions of which a person, a family, a household happen to be possessed when we arrive. We fulfill the mission to cure, as it were, sickness and disease by almost contracting them ourselves. Not so much that misery loves company, but that feeling one another's pain means accepting, inviting even, the wounds and injuries that have caused the pain. Thus has come into our language the compelling image of the "wounded healer." How transformative for all concerned is the accomplishment of such a mission.

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© Copyright 2008, Harry T. Cook. All rights reserved. This article may not be used or reproduced without proper credit.