Jesus had a way of ignoring the artificial boundaries people construct—whether lines drawn on a map or barriers raised in the human heart against those we think are different from us. We find him crossing over the border to gentile areas in this passage—the towns of Tyre and Sidon were in the news recently during the war between Israel and Hezbollah. Jesus had this strong drive to include everyone, to give himself for the salvation of the whole world. He wanted everyone to know God's love, he wanted everyone to be part of the new community, that he called the kingdom of God.
He had to work against prevailing attitudes—especially on the part of the religious leadership. They had a holiness code that excluded anyone with a problem, anyone who was foreign, or other. It created an ever-narrowing circle of those who were acceptable.
And Jesus Christ wants to expand the circle. His life, and his death, were all about reaching out to include those who find themselves outside, looking in. "They drew a circle that kept me out ... but love and I had the wit to win: we drew a circle that took them in."
That's the underlying feature of this story. He stopped to minister to a man who couldn't hear, and who as a result of his deafness, couldn't speak. If you can't hear yourself, you don't know the right sounds to make for words—and if you've never heard words, you wouldn't know what sounds to make anyway. Helen Keller, who was blind, hearing- and speech-impaired—all three—said, "Blindness cuts you off from objects, but deafness cuts you off from people." The man in Mark's gospel had that affliction—it cut him off from other people. Add to that the fact that he would have been judged to be excluded even from the love of God—why else would he have this problem? That was the brutal logic of exclusion. And so he was doubly cut off from the community.
But there were a couple of other factors—positive ones—at work. There was Jesus—the redeeming presence of God. Wherever he goes, there are new possibilities for human life. In addition, something crucial: this man who was deaf also had some people who cared about him a lot. And that's another key here. Maybe they were family, maybe they were friends—but they recognized him as part of their world, and they were unwilling to write him off or abandon him or give up on him.
Note the wording in the scripture: they brought to Jesus a man who was deaf and had a speech impediment—they brought him. They took the time and effort to get their friend to where he could find help. They wanted to do what they could to help him. So they brought him to Jesus. And then it says, "They begged him." They begged Jesus to help their friend. There's passion in that word. They didn't say, "Oh well, let's try Jesus. It can't hurt. We've got nothing to lose." They went to Jesus and brought all their hopes and pleaded with him. They begged him. They had a passion to help.
Well, it's a winning combination: Jesus is there, and the man himself is there, and some people who cared brought the two together. The circle is widening. Barriers are already coming down.
Now of course Christ wants to help the man with the disability. He doesn't really need to be convinced. He performed the healing, using the ancient way of the shaman, placing his fingers in the man's ears, and touching his tongue: Ephaphtha! He said. Be opened. And the One who opens sealed tombs also opened life to this one who had known only the isolation of his enforced solitude. I love how it carefully describes Christ's approach. "He took the man aside privately, away from the crowd." What sensitivity he showed to the man's situation. He was aware that this was a supremely personal time, a private time. Jesus was concerned for the privacy and dignity of people.
Jesus also did this, and said this, for the sake of the community. Jesus knows that the community is deprived of the gift of that person when he or she is excluded. The community can't be whole without that individual's unique contribution. He says, "Ephaphtha!" not just to the man whose ears were closed, but to us all. Be opened—open to all those called to be a part of your fellowship. Be opened—to the special gifts that you can only know by embracing those who have challenges. Be opened—to Christ's presence among you in the form of many who are differently abled—for they have much to share. Differently abled means their gifts and talents are manifested in different ways. Don't keep them out—indeed, do all you can to welcome them in.
Nella Wheatcliff is executive director of Friendship Ministries, an arm of the CRC devoted to full inclusion. She writes of some families who prayed and church shopped to find a church that would accept their children—often after learning the hard way that there are many churches that wouldn't.
One family whose daughter has autism looked for ten years before finding a small congregation that would embrace her—and the girl's dad was a pastor! Apparently the church he served was not one of the churches of acceptance, so the rest of the family had to go elsewhere.
Nella Wheatcliff declares, "One dangerous pitfall in any conversation about including people with disabilities is that we are actually claiming the power to grant or deny inclusion. This implies that people with disabilities are not naturally a part of the congregation and we, as able-bodied folks, graciously allow inclusion to occur." But it's not a privilege we grant—it's an imperative we follow as people of God. It is God's will, not a favor we do. It's also a recognition that life has a way of changing: our circumstances may alter, the categories we too readily assign to others may become our own.
Friends of ours moved from Wisconsin to Ohio. They left their life-long residence to build a new place in Ohio, a house completely accessible for their son Rob, who has ALS, sometimes called Lou Gehrig's disease. A form of it also affects the scientist Steven Hawking. It's a devastating disease—Rob was a big strapping former football player in early-middle age when the disease hit. But in this case there's been huge support from his employer, and also from his church. Every Wednesday the church has what they call, "Lunch with Rob." Two or three members come to get Rob each week and they have lunch together. It's a way of maintaining contact and fellowship through this whole process. It's a simple thing—but what a difference it has made in Rob's life—he feels he's part of the community. And—just as important. What a difference in the lives of those who have lunch with him—to learn from him about faith and steadfastness and grace under pressure, to receive the blessing of being Rob's friend. And what a difference for the other members of the church—knowing they are represented there, too.
What can we do? Continue to foster and deepen the acceptance that already exists here—continue to be God's welcoming community. And if we hear suggestions about how we can do better, let's be open to that too. Be as supportive and aware as we can be of the challenges that individuals and families in our own membership face. We can educate ourselves about the variety of conditions people face—from hearing impairment to neuro-muscular diseases and the spectrum of autism and Asperger's syndrome, Down syndrome and physical losses incurred through accident and war.
Scripture tells us to bear one another's burdens—and to do that we must know at least something about the burdens they bear. Look for ways that all members can contribute to the mission and ministry of the church. The wholeness of our community depends on it. And let's be open to ways we can expand our ministry in some special way. As citizens of this democracy, we can also advocate to bring help and care for families and individuals—as well as medical research dollars and the promise of stem cell research, to be a national priority.
Today Christ invites us to fellowship with him at the table. The words that accompany the Lord's Supper remind us of our shared vulnerability, and our shared support for one another. He broke the bread, he poured the wine. This is my body, he said. We're all broken. I am. You are. Our brokenness is what we all have in common—and our acceptance by the Lord.
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