A recording of today's gospel and blog can be accessed here.
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Today’s gospel (John 4:43-54) sees Jesus wandering between
Samaria, Judea, and Galilee. The narrative is not wholly clear, but at some
point along the road Jesus encounters a man whose son is sick and in need of being
cured. As sometimes in the gospel, the Lord is not immediately the sweet and
gentle Jesus of popular piety. Indeed, His first response seems quite cutting: Unless
you see signs and wonders, you will not believe. If this is where the
conversation had ended, the man’s son might never have been cured. But the
father presses his case further, saying: Sir, come down before my child dies.
The rest, as they say, is history. The man departed, found that his son was
cured at the very hour of Jesus had said to him, Your son will live, and
the man and his household became followers and believers. How could they not?
Jesus ends this gospel as the healer, but He begins it as
the great wanderer, the mobile preacher, or we could simply say, as the Good
Shepherd who has gone in search of the lost sheep of Israel. It is a search He
continues now in our world through His Church, through His disciples, although
how many of us are wholly willing to be the voice of His mercy and the touch of
His tender kindness? He returns as well to Cana where He had transformed the
water into wine. Can we believe that this story had not leaked out of a
gathering of so many people? Is it likely that the steward of that wedding
banquet had not dined out several times on the extraordinary story of Jesus’ miracle?
The story might even have become a favourite among hard drinkers in the district,
as well as the despair of every innkeeper with an eye on his business.
And now, Jesus is approached in Cana by a man from Capernaum
whose son is ill. Capernaum was some journey from Cana. Cana is 14 miles from Tiberias
on the Sea of Galilee and then it is another 10 miles around the lake to
Capernaum (or less if one sails across it). Is it possible that this man had
heard of the miracle of the water and wine amidst all the gossip of the
seashore markets, and thus pursued Jesus in search of a cure for his son?
If Jesus had read that story in
the man’s eyes, perhaps this is why He greeted him with such apparently unwelcoming
words: Unless you see signs and wonders, you will not believe – words said
with perhaps a raised eyebrow and an ironic smile? The gospel does not say.
This reproach – for reproach it is – is somehow gently delivered, for it does
not discourage the man who is in any case urged on by the desperation of the situation:
Sir, come down before my child dies. Why does Jesus apparently have then
a change of heart and respond to this man so positively? Has He not just
reproached him for being a chaser of signs and wonders? Beneath these exchanges,
there is a world of action, of decisions made and challenges launched, and it
is as well to dwell on them.
Jesus’ reproach is a reproach to us all: Unless you see
signs and wonders, you will not believe. We all seek signs and wonders, not
necessarily in some gaudy, carnivalesque manner, but it is human to rise to the
thrill of the spectacular. Even if we mature enough not to demand the cheap
thrill of the spectacular, it is, nevertheless, only a short distance to writing
ourselves into the story of faith as a deserving recipient of the Lord’s
wonders. How quickly we forget the words of the publican: O Lord, have pity
on me a poor sinner. Or as Aleksander Solzhenitsyn put it, Pride grows
on the human heart like lard on a pig. Happily, God knows our weakness. He knows
we sometimes need this comfort of the spectacular. He gifts His greatest saints
with charisms that sometimes leave us gasping with wonder. Jesus is not a
showman, but He knows the power of amazement, even though He also knows its
dangers.
In other words, Jesus asks for our faith, but He knows it
will be a journey for us; a gradual passage, if we are faithful to Him, away
from the shallows and into the shadows, the darkness of the afternoon of Good
Friday, where nothing but the consolation of obedience to the Eternal Father is
left to us. Jesus knows and can hear us pray: Lord, I believe, help my
unbelief. We do not need to be perfect enough to enter heaven instantly; we
just need to be humble enough to bow our heads and ask for His mercy. And then,
see how His mercy flows on the father in the scene. The shrift is short; the
outcome a transformation of all his hopes.
Who is he, this father, if not in some ways a figure of the
Eternal Father whose child – the humanity he has created – is sick and in need
of a healer? The Father sends the Son to save us, but in doing so, solicits
from the Son His obedience to heal the sickly child: Jesus is His Son by
nature; humanity a child of the Father by a grace which has been lost. Here we
see that in redeeming us, Jesus does not only reconcile us with the Father, but
He restores to the Father the child that has been lost or at least as many of
them as are willing to accept this gift.
Nothing is lacking to the Holy Trinity, and yet in the redemption
of the wayward child of humanity, the glory of the goodness of God shines
forth.
Your son will live, says Jesus. Indeed, he will. Be
it done unto us according to His word.