July Changes and a Sermon

July brings with it a plethora of change.  First, we now have the following schedule of services:

Deacon's Distribution (Deacon led service with Eucharist) - 1st and 3rd Sundays, 9:00 a.m.
Morning Prayer - 2nd, 4th, and 5th Sundays, 9:00 a.m.
Noonday Prayer - Monday through Friday, 12:00 Noon.

We will be adding a Deacon's Distribution to one of the Noonday Prayer days, but we're not sure which day that will be as yet.  Everyone is welcome to attend at any time.

As you can probably tell, we now have a Deacon Administrator for Holy Trinity, and our focus is going to be on getting out into the community and finding ways to serve, both internally and externally.  Regular office hours will now be held from 10:30 to Noon Monday through Friday.  Please feel free to drop by during those hours if you have any questions or need to talk.

The first Deacon's service was held this morning, and the sermon was on the Gospel according to Mark, Chapter 5.  It's a first person account from the point of view of the hemorrhaging woman.  

          "Remember the Law of Tum'ah, הבת שלי (shelli baht), my daughter!"  I can hear my mother's voice in my head, as it has always been since this curse began.  I was 12 when I began to bleed, and as the Law of Tum'ah says, I had to remove myself from the community, for I was unclean.  For most women, this time away lasts for 7 days, and then they present themselves to the temple, give sacrifices and are made ritually pure again. 

          Only, I never stopped bleeding.  I never saw my father or my brothers close up again.  The only people willing to touch me were women in their courses, or who had just had a child, and were ritually unclean themselves – but even they were sometimes afraid to touch me, fearing that they, too, might never stop bleeding.

          It has been a rather lonely existence these last 12 years.  The physical weakness and pains are bearable, but the silence, the fear from others, and being ostracized from my family, from society has been agonizing.  I know that G-d has a purpose for me, but I am lost to figure out what it is.

          If nothing else, I have taught myself to read the Torah, and women who come will bring me other things.  I'm afraid I became rather discouraged when I read of even one of the Roman philosophers, Pliny, who warned that contact with blood like mine will "turn new wine sour, crops touched by it become barren, grafts die, seeds in gardens are dried up," and it brings about many other terrifying events.  The Law of Tum'ah is obviously alive and well in more than just my own community.

          I have been to physicians who, while they will not touch me, will listen to my symptoms.  They have recommended this and that and every other thing, and I have tried them all.  Nothing works. 

          I have come to believe that only the Divine Physician, G-d Himself, can heal me.  And that brings me to today, with my mother's voice ringing loudly and repeatedly in my ears.  Remember the Law of Tum'ah, from the Book of וַיִּקְרָא (Vayikra), Leviticus.  I have been absent from the community for so long, very few even know my face. 

          The teeming crowds would part like the Red Sea if they knew I was here.  Have you any idea what it's like to be invisible, to know that you are worthless?  I cannot serve my community.  I cannot marry or have children.  I cannot even take care of my aging parents. 

          I must be losing my mind.  Why would I think this would work when everything else I have tried has failed?  Am I just setting myself up for more heartache?

          I have been hearing stories of this rabbi, of Yeshua, who has been performing miracles, driving out demons, and healing those long forgotten souls at the fringes of society, the ones who know that "Silence is the most perfect expression of scorn." (George Bernard Shaw)  The message from others is loud and clear: "You do not matter." 

          But Yeshua has been preaching about us – the lost, the least, the last.  He tells us that we do matter to the Father in heaven.  "Oh, Abba, tell me what to do!  I know that I put all who touch me in danger of becoming unclean.  Please help me to be invisible just a little while longer, for I know that if I can only touch the hem of the cloak of your Rabbi, you will heal me.  Abba, grant my prayer, and I will serve you and your creation, always."

          The crowds move rather quickly as they follow the Rabbi.  I quicken my steps, doing my best not to touch others around me.  I can see one of the leaders of the synagogue approaching Yeshua, and falling at his feet.  As I draw near, I can hear him begging the teacher to come, lay hands on his daughter and heal her. 

          A part of me weeps, wishing that my own father had had someone to ask for help like this father.  And my tears have been abundant over the years at the loss of my father's presence.  I am grateful Yeshua will hear this man and help the girl.  She will not have to suffer as I have.

          But, he's leaving!  As he gathers his disciples, I know that this is my very last chance.  "If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well."  G-d will heal me.  I kneel on the ground, and reaching out my hand, touch the hem of his cloak. 

          At once, I feel a change.  I know that I am healed!  I can feel strength in my body that I have not felt since I was a child!  G-d has made me well.

          Yeshua stopped.  He looked around him, and asked, "who touched my clothes?"  As my heart almost stopped with fear, I could see his disciples looking at him askance – asking him how he could ask such a question with the crowd pressing around him.  I knew that the time of reckoning had come, and I fell at his feet, explaining in a rush of words that probably made no sense at all, about myself, and what I had done.  I was so afraid – even as I had been healed – that I was about to be ostracized again.

          "Daughter," he said to me.  Daughter!  My heart leapt, for I knew with that one word, that I was worthy again.  But it was his next words that astounded me: "your faith has made you well."  He took no credit for healing me.  My faith made me well?  I have been faithful my entire life.  How could my faith make me well?

          And all of a sudden, I knew the purpose that G-d had for me.  This was not just a rabbi.  This man represented G-d Himself.  He told me to "go in peace," and I will.  I will find others who know of Yeshua, and can tell me of his teachings. 

          First, I must go to the temple, for the first time since I was a child, and present myself to be ritually clean again.  I will give thanks to G-d for his generosity – not only for healing me, but for giving me back my family, my community, and giving me purpose for the rest of my days. 

          May any who hear of my story, know that faith can heal them.  May they know that we are not invisible, that we are worthy to be sons and daughters.  May the crowds of people who follow Yeshua realize that with a kind word or a touch or even just a smile, they can make a difference in the lives of the lost and the least.