Reading 1JB 7:1-4, 6-7
Job spoke, saying:
Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery?
Responsorial PsalmPS 147:1-2, 3-4, 5-6
- (cf. 3a) Praise the Lord, who heals the brokenhearted.
Brothers and sisters:
If I preach the gospel, this is no reason for me to boast,
for an obligation has been imposed on me,
and woe to me if I do not preach it!
On leaving the synagogue
Jesus entered the house of Simon and Andrew with James and John.
Simon’s mother-in-law lay sick with a fever.
They immediately told him about her.
He approached, grasped her hand, and helped her up.
Then the fever left her and she waited on them.
When it was evening, after sunset,
they brought to him all who were ill or possessed by demons.
The whole town was gathered at the door.
He cured many who were sick with various diseases,
and he drove out many demons,
not permitting them to speak because they knew him.
Rising very early before dawn, he left
and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed.
Simon and those who were with him pursued him
and on finding him said, “Everyone is looking for you.”
He told them, “Let us go on to the nearby villages
that I may preach there also.
For this purpose have I come.”
So he went into their synagogues,
preaching and driving out demons throughout the whole of Galilee.
It’s easy to fall into the existential angst of Job – “what does anything matter?” We let the words of Ecclesiastes echo repeatedly in our heads: “All is vanity. Life is meaningless.” When we’re in that state of mind, it is profitable to remember that faith insists that humanity needs a Savior. God initiated a Covenant with mankind for this very purpose: deliverance from mere existence into fullness of life.
For us, the story of Jesus is a healing story. It’s restorative, transformative. Jesus’s destiny was and remains a healing ministry just as he healed Simon Peter’s mother-in-law and myriad of others long ago. But note Jesus’ exemplifies an essential aspect of his restorative technique right here in today’s Gospel for all of us to appreciate: solitude: “Rising very early before dawn, he left and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed.” We must remember that prayer does not / must not always include words. Sometimes in our despair, words are even too much for us to bear. Solidarity with God requires silence, too. Here’s a perfect example from a story by religious sister and spiritual writer José Hobday:
“One summer Saturday when I was 12, I was waiting for my friend who wanted to come over. We had planned the morning together. She was quite late. I was fretting and complaining and generally making a nuisance of myself. In fact, I was becoming rather obnoxious to everyone else in the house.
“Finally, my father said to me ‘Get a book a blanket and an apple and get into the car!’ I wanted to know why, but he repeated the order. So, I obeyed. My father drove me about eight miles from home to a canyon area and said, ‘Now get out. We cannot stand you any longer at home. You aren’t fit to live with. Stay out here by yourself today until you understand better how to act. I’ll come back for you this evening.’
I got out, angry, frustrated and defiant. The nerve of him! I thought immediately of walking home. Eight miles was no distance at all for me. Then the thought of meeting my father when I got there took hold and I changed my mind.
“I cried and threw the book, apple and blanket over the canyon ledge. I had been dumped and I was furious. But it is hard to keep up a good, rebellious cry with no audience, so finally, there was nothing to do but face up to the day alone.
“I sat on the rim, kicking the dirt and trying to get control of myself. After a couple of hours, as noon approached, I began to get hungry. I located the apple and climbed down to retrieve it– as well as the book and the blanket. I climbed back up and as I came over the top, I noticed the piñon tree. It was lovely and full.
I spread the blanket in the shade, put the book under my head and began to eat the apple. I was aware of a change of attitude. As I looked through the branches into the sky, a great sense of peace and beauty came to me. The clouds sat in still puffs, the blue was endless; I began to take in their spaciousness. I thought about the way I had acted and why daddy had treated me so harshly. Understanding began to come and I became more objective about my behavior. I found myself getting in touch with my feelings, with the world around me.
“Nature was my mother, holding me for comfort and healing. I became aware of being part of it all, and I found myself thinking of God. . .. I felt in communion with much that I could not know, but to which I was drawn. . . Of touching the holy.
“By the time my father came to get me, I was restored. Daddy did not press me about the day. He asked no questions and I gave him no answers. But I was different and we both knew it. . . Before I got out of the car, I thanked him.”
May we begin with a little more silence now then we usually do—that is, before we return to the words of The Creed. And so, may the balance of this Mass increase our comfortability with solitude and the mystical presence of Jesus.