The following comes from “When the Path Gets Rocky, 2018”

SCRIPTURE:

MARK 3: 1-6

Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there who had a withered hand. They watched him to see whether he would cure him on the sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man who had the withered hand, "Come forward." Then he said to them, "Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?" But they were silent. He looked around at them with anger; he was grieved at their hardness of heart and said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." He stretched it out, and his hand was restored. The Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.

REFLECTION QUESTIONS:

Have you ever crossed a boundary to help someone? What walls prevent you from living as God wants you to live? What keeps you from being whole in body and spirit? Where do you most need God's healing?

FIVE-MINUTE STORY:

At a church carving group, I badly damaged the index finger on my left hand. The accident resulted in two medical procedures on my finger; one that night in the emergency room and one a few months later. The second surgery required my first personal experience with physical therapy.

As a pastor, I have regular contact with people who need to go through some physical therapy. It is pretty standard after surgery or an extended hospital stay. Physical therapy is as the name suggests very physical. It is an ordeal that can be exhausting. It can also be frustrating as skilled therapists guide the body to relearning basic functioning. Walking. Talking. Getting dressed. We take these things for granted – hardly think about them at all. However, when illness or accidents cause our bodies to forget or make them unable to do these things, we find ourselves in a situation that can challenge our spirit.

That was where I found myself after my finger surgery. Three times a week, I went for physical therapy. I had to report to a large room with tables and chairs set up in a large semi-circle. A series of strange-looking and somewhat ominous equipment lined the outside perimeter. When I started, my finger was still bandaged up from the hospital. The therapist unwrapped my hand and then began her work. Can you bend it?

Can I bend my finger? Of course, I can do that – I was in my thirties and had long mastered the movement of both fingers and toes. Bend my finger - uh, wait a minute - nothing happened. Try as I might, I couldn’t move my finger, never mind bend it. Somehow the connection between brain and body had been compromised. Although the finger was still attached to my hand, someone else could have owned it, for all the good it was doing me. It was a surreal experience. My body was not listening to me.

In that realization, I was given a glimpse into another reality. People need therapy because their bodies are not listening to them, try as they may. Therapy is a necessity because, without it, our bodies would remain inactive and unresponsive.

It took a solid month of working with picking up beads and moving finger putty before I was able to use my finger again. Slow. Tedious. Trying. What would it be like for the whole body to need therapy? One stubborn, inactive finger tried my patience. What would I do if an arm, leg, or the left side of my body refused to obey?

Maybe you know? Maybe you have seen the struggle of rehabilitation first hand.

Perhaps you have insight into this whole matter. I know that for me it was a struggle that made me question my worth and value. What good and use was I? I couldn’t move my finger to accomplish a simple task. One small “dis-ability” and I questioned larger competence and value.

Why did I entertain prejudicial feelings about my worth? Why did my inability to move finger putty spiral me into self-abnegation? Disappointed. Self-discounted. Discouraged.

Though I wasn’t aware of it at the time, I needed to mend not only my body but also my spirit. I needed to reclaim my sense of worth as a child of God – broken body and all. The healing that I yearned for – the shalom (wholeness) that I sought was more than physical. I needed to be made whole in my spirit – with or without the ability of my finger to move through a pile of putty.