June 28, 2009
Galatians 3: 23-29
Mark 5:21-43
"Prophetic Imagination and Mercy"
If you know of Flannery O'Connor then you know she was a Catholic author with deep Southern roots who died of lupus in Milledgeville, Georgia at age 39 in 1964. You may also know that central to her theology was the concept of "prophetic imagination."
Miss O'Connor believed that the fullness of God could be comprehended only through the imagination; that the Resurrection, the peace of Christ, and the beauty of the lion and lamb together could be known only through the prophetic imagination. It was this power that allowed the prophets to see God's will and that allows us to believe in a future filled with God's will.
In opposition to Biblical literalism and narrow, moralistic legalism Flannery O'Connor saw a much more powerful and brilliant divine imagination at work. I am sure she would agree that it is literalism and moralistic legalism that kill the spirit, that numb the believer's heart and diminish God to the role of small spirited rule maker. When all is certain and absolute, there is no need for faith, no room for God to expand our spirits beyond the narrow limits we place upon them.
Flannery O'Conner also favored the strange notion that we are to beware of the terrible swiftness of the judgment and mercy of the Lord.
We may understand the terrible swiftness of God's judgment. We may not believe in it anymore, but we can understand the concept. But the terrible swiftness of God's mercy? We see mercy, grace, and forgiveness as good so how could they come to us in a terrible swiftness? Why should we be aware of the terrible swiftness of God's mercy?
The power of prophetic imagination and the terrible swiftness of mercy:
The woman had bled for 12 years. She was ostracized by society that considered her illness sinful as making her unclean. She was odious, a pariah who lived on the outside out of sight, hidden and despised.
Yet, she is the one who moved into the crowd, who moved through the crowd towards the young rabbi, who reached to touch the hem of his robe. And then, when she had the clear opportunity to remain hidden she did not. She stepped forward to make herself known to both crowd and rabbi.
Is there any doubt that this woman, who spent more than a decade in rigid social isolation, imagined a very different life? She must have seen herself as healed, as well, as a member of society, as a person of courage. In her prophetic imagination her eyes were opened to something far beyond what anyone else saw, far beyond anything she had ever experienced, far beyond anything she had any right to expect.
She must have imagined a God that no one else saw or knew. Not a God of rules that exclude, not a God who would punish her for life, but a God of healing, of love, of wholeness. The woman must have imagined and seen that this God was present in this young rabbi. That is the power of the prophetic imagination: To see God where no one else does, to see God in a way no else ever had.
In an instant the woman is healed and made whole. The terrible swiftness of mercy is upon her. What is she to do now? How is she to live? Her life has been forever altered by mercy and grace. How is she to live now?
If she has sustained herself on bitterness or anger or helplessness, those are gone now. The terrible swiftness of God's mercy shattered all of the boundaries and barriers that defined her life, that defined her. To be crippled is a terrible thing. To be suddenly and absolutely free can be even more frightening. What will the woman do now that God's mercy has arrived?
Imagination and mercy can produce a vision that is at once frightening and beautiful. Paul said, "We are all one in Christ." There is no free or slave, no Greek or Jew, no male or female. We are one in Christ, heirs and joint heirs alike.
Consider the power of the prophetic imagination in Paul's statement. It is a vision stunning and shattering in its scope and breadth and depth.
What did he see? What did Paul see in God that let him write these words? What did Paul see in the crucified young rabbi that allowed him to write these words? How did Paul alone come to see and to envision a world of such confounding unity and such pervasive mercy, a world without the barriers that we depend upon to tell us where others belong, where we belong?
All I know is that the world that Paul saw and wrote about is deeply appealing, deeply attractive and gratifying. And I know that for centuries it has pushed and pulled countless people towards freedom, to commit acts of mercy and kindness, to cross and break barriers, to seek a different world. I know that Paul's world of prophetic imagination and deep mercy has not been realized. And I know that it has not disappeared.
What about us? What about the remnants of the two congregations that gather here on Sunday mornings? I can look around with realistic eyes and see uncertainty and apprehension, fear and lack of trust. I see unevenness in the expression of affection and distribution of kindness. I hear a too-quick use of phrases such as "those people" or "them" when describing each other. I see a couple of old, small congregations struggling, reaching out to each other with one hand while holding on for dear life to what is "ours" with the other. I see that, but if I look through different eyes I see something quite different.
Through the eyes of prophetic imagination I see a different gathering. I see an amazing group of God's children eager to believe that to be one in Christ is possible and available to them. That being united in Christ is not a myth, is not something for other people, but is for them.
I see a people who want to believe they are called to be together in Christ and who believe that call overwhelms the instinct to separate, to be careful, cautious, and fearful. I see a people who are not afraid of the terrible swiftness of God's mercy; not afraid to imagine a life without barriers and boundaries, a life in Christ where the reality is unity, trust, love and freedom. I see a people who are not afraid of the swift and merciful removal of barriers as old as time itself. Can you see that?
Every once in a while I imagine that the unmanned woman and Jairus met, that perhaps they even sat down together and talked. She the healed and restored woman and he the powerful man and grateful father of a living daughter bound together forever by the terrible swiftness of God's mercy.
What would they talk about these two who under the old ways were forbidden to notice each other, who under the old ways would have shared nothing but fear, disdain and repulsion for each other?
I imagine that these two, united by Jesus, spoke of the sudden newness in their lives, of the amazing joy of being healed and made whole. I imagine they spoke of their love for Jesus as they recalled the touch of his hand, the look in his eyes, his power and his love. I imagine they must have mentioned their new acceptance of each other, an acceptance founded on their acceptance by Jesus. I imagine they must have spoken of the stunning fact that because of Jesus they were actually free to be together, speaking and sharing as if they were truly one in Christ.
This may be the greatest healing in this story of two miracles: the woman and the man, one sick, one powerful, one on the outside the other on the inside, now united forever through their love of Christ, through Christ's love for them.
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