Lamentations 2:1-4; 10-13
How the Lord in his anger
has humiliated daughter Zion! He has thrown down from heaven to earth the splendor of Israel; he has not remembered his footstool in the day of his anger.
The Lord has destroyed without mercy all the dwellings of Jacob; in his wrath he has broken down the strongholds of daughter Judah; he has brought down to the ground in dishonor the kingdom and its rulers.
He has cut down in fierce anger all the might of Israel; he has withdrawn his right hand from them in the face of the enemy; he has burned like a flaming fire in Jacob, consuming all around.
He has bent his bow like an enemy, with his right hand set like a foe; he has killed all in whom we took pride in the tent of daughter Zion; he has poured out his fury like fire.
The elders of daughter Zion sit on the ground in silence; they have thrown dust on their heads and put on sackcloth; the young girls of Jerusalem have bowed their heads to the ground.
My eyes are spent with weeping; my stomach churns; my bile is poured out on the ground because of the destruction of my people, because infants and babes faint in the streets of the city.
They cry to their mothers, “Where is bread and wine?” as they faint like the wounded in the streets of the city, as their life is poured out on their mothers’ bosom.
What can I say for you, to what compare you, O daughter Jerusalem? To what can I liken you, that I may comfort you, O virgin daughter Zion? For vast as the sea is your ruin; who can heal you?
We always have a section of the Eucharist called the "Liturgy of the Word." In this section there is a good amount of reading from Scripture. This morning there was an Old Testament reading from Lamentations (above) just before the Gospel text.
I sat with my eyes closed as I listened to this passage from Lamentations being read and I could feel the pinpricks of tears starting to well up behind my eyelids. The emotion of the author of Lamentations comes through so strongly. He weeps over the destruction he sees before him and wonders at the ruin that is all around. The final words rang out in my ears... "Who can heal you?"
Who can heal? Who can make whole? Who can bring about restoration? There is a part of me that knows I was made for Goodness and Truth and Beauty, and yet around me and in me I see destruction and ruin. I feel the cry of the author of Lamentations. And I question.
That's when we turned to the Gospel text.
Matthew 8:5-13
When he [Jesus] entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, appealing to him and saying, “Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed, in terrible distress.” And he said to him, “I will come and cure him.” The centurion answered, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; but only speak the word, and my servant will be healed. For I also am a man under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my slave, ‘Do this,’ and the slave does it.” When Jesus heard him, he was amazed and said to those who followed him, “Truly I tell you, in no one in Israel have I found such faith. I tell you, many will come from east and west and will eat with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, while the heirs of the kingdom will be thrown into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” And to the centurion Jesus said, “Go; let it be done for you according to your faith.” And the servant was healed in that hour.
Hearing these texts side by side, I couldn't help but see some correlations. As I've reflected this morning on it, I realize that the cry of Lamentations is the same cry of the Centurion. He comes to Jesus crying out for healing. He knows there is "terrible distress" around him and in the heart of his servant. He sees the ruin of his present circumstances, and in that ruin he comes, bringing his heartache to Jesus.
Who can heal? Is it you, Jesus?
How many of us are in this kind of circumstance? How many of us are hurting on a level that seems to invade the senses? How many of us see destruction and ruin around us? How many of us are isolated, cut off from the love we so desire? How many of us have said goodbye to people before we were ready, and are dealing with the aftermath of having those people ripped from our lives? How many of us are experiencing the chaos of our inner selves?
It doesn't matter if the destruction we see is outside us in the world's broken systems, or if it is inside our own hearts and minds. It doesn't matter what kind of ruin we experience. At some point, we all experience it. And we all will at some point will cry out with the cry of Lamentations and the Centurion.
Who can heal? Is it you, Jesus?
It's easy to find my own voice in the voice of Lamentations and the voice of the Centurion. And that's a gift in Scripture - realizing that we are not alone in our cries. We are not the only ones to hurt and to beg for healing. But I think there is another truth in these Scripture texts that is important.
Christ does heal the Centurion's servant. The cry for healing that he lifted up was met with grace and gifted with wholeness. But the author of Lamentations didn't have that experience. The destruction of Jerusalem was not followed with healing, but with exile.
Why is it that God decides to bring about healing in some circumstances but not in others? It's a question we all ask at some point in our lives. In this season of pandemic and the mounting realization of systemic injustices, I can't help but ask with renewed fervor.
I wonder if I'm not really asking the right question. Perhaps it's not really about "Why not heal me?" I believe that the resurrection of Jesus means that the final word is, in fact, Restoration. Wholeness. Redemption. Really, it's all about healing. And as I look at my own heart, I realize the question that truly matters is rather "Do I want to be healed?" In other words, "Am I willing to give up the hurt, and move into something else?"
We so often build our identities on our hurt, and it is hard to let them go after a while. It's hard to forgive - whether it's other people or ourselves. But we can do just that. We can be made whole.
I don't believe God acts alone in the process of bringing redemption to the world. God has chosen to act through the mystical Body of Christ. Christ's own scarred hands and feet move through this world made up of scarred humans. We are called, each and every one of us, to take a stand and act in ways that bring about the truest reality of all - that the God of wholeness reigns.
So what does that mean for you? What does that mean for me? It means that I am to take part in my own healing. It's not my job alone, but neither will God do it alone. We are co-workers with Christ. We are, in fact, co-creators in our great "becoming." We are each made in the Image of God. And this world, with it's great cosmic force of sin at work, does so much to try to mar this Image. But Christ has suffered and died on our behalf so that even our suffering and death is redeemed. Christ is risen, and we are called to also live into this risen life.
I believe that there is something I can do to take part in the process of healing. And Christ will partner with me in this work. Thanks be to God.