On a walk with my mother along the Oceanside pier just a few days ago, we saw “the boats.” I knew exactly which boats she meant as she pointed them out: the boats which taught me mercy.
You see, when I was about three years old, my family vacationed along this exact stretch of California coastline. I remember it vividly. Perhaps it is even my earliest memory. In any case, it had been a long day of driving and playing at the beach, and my dad promised me that if I was very good, he would take me to look at all the boats in the harbour once my brother went to bed.
Well, as is the way with one-year-olds, my brother did not go to bed as early as I’d hoped. And, as is the way with three-year-olds, I was more than a little tired and more than a little cranky. As I already had the vocabulary of a well-filtered sailor (that is, I could speak in full sentences but was ignorant of “bad words”), I sassed back to my parents and was promptly sent to bed.
My dad, sympathetic to the thwarted hopes of an overtired (if much-too-outspoken) three-year-old, came to get me after I’d finished being angry. He took me to see the boats after all.
Now, I have always been stubborn. I have always, admittedly, preferred cold justice to gentle forgiveness. And yet, I believe that mercy cuts deeper than justice ever could. Even back then, I felt my father’s kindness more keenly than his anger; it is possibly more convicting to be permitted what we do not deserve than to be punished for what we do.
We looked at the boats for a while and I thought with all my might, trying to make sense of what had happened. Finally, I came to my first real theological conclusion:
“Dad,” I said, seriously, “You showed me mercy.”
This, my earliest memory, is also my first memory of the Gospel. I understood at three years old that I had been shown mercy and grace, for I did not get what I deserved. Instead, I got to go see the boats.
It is funny to look at the boats now. I laughed to myself as I ran past them this morning, twenty years later. Taking a cranky toddler go to look at the boats seems such a small thing. And yet, it meant everything. In that simple moment, with childlike clarity, I first understood the mercy of a good father.
In reading through Mark, I was struck by the recurring use of the word “immediately.” It is used to characterize many aspects of Christ’s ministry on Earth, but I was especially drawn to its use in relation to instances of healing. As I pondered this motif and these stories, I found myself understanding them with new clarity. In order to delve deeper into this idea of immediacy in Jesus’ miracles, I wrote a set of eight free verse poems exploring what the experiences of the individuals affected may have been like based on the details gleaned from the Gospel According to Mark.
Jesus Healing the Bleeding Woman, Roman Catacombs 300-350
Immediately
I. The Woman (Mark 5:21-34)
The crowd is throbbing
As my pain is
throbbing.
I have not come this far in years.
Twelve years.
Tears-
I cannot help them-
Begin to flow…
Flow as blood has
For twelve years.
I am so close.
But still feel so far and fears
Overcome me
As the people surround me.
They know.
They all know.
I see their glances:
Quick, horrified, averted.
I want to scream:
“Yes! See! See my shame!
Tell me, you proud, healthy,
Is it my fault?”
But instead I fall.
To my knees I am bent.
Beneath the weight of despair
I am kept.
But my eyes remain fixed
Before me, ahead.
I am fallen
And aching
But I am not yet dead.
My eyes catch
On a figure weaving
Through this throbbing, living sea.
As I rise to walk,
My vision fades.
I stretch my hand and fumble feebly forward…
A hem.
All I seek.
A hem to hem me behind and before
In healing safety.
My finger brushes
The rough cloth,
Not even for a breath,
But mine returns.
Immediately,
Blood dries and sight clears.
Love and hope and peace
Are all that flow
Not from, but over me.
Immediately,
I am again on my knees,
Not for lack of strength
But faith.
I tremble.
Yet this fear is new,
As I am made new
Immediately.
I cannot help
But want to sing,
“Oh, see! See! My shame undone!
See and know!
The saving One!”
Immediately.
.
II. The Man with the Withered Hand(3:1-6)
My bones lament
With hunger.
My eyes grow dim
From waiting.
Waiting for nothing,
Since who would help me today?
The sad irony of the Lord’s Day.
Synagogues and pockets full,
But hearts empty.
Even more empty than my hand.
At least I would to fill mine.
Another sad irony.
For I cannot.
I cannot even reach out
To work or to beg.
Why bother anyway?
You cannot pour from empty jars
And a broken pot like me-
A withered hand like mine-
Holds nothing.
Yet here I am,
Still waiting.
Waiting for someone
To heal and fill
And then,
“Come here.”
I lift my head.
A hand, not mine, reaches
As I cannot.
An order next:
“Stretch out your hand.”
Will the cruelty ever end?
Why does he mock me?
But then,
Immediately.
I watch fingers uncurl, lengthen.
Nails harden.
Palm fattens.
Muscles strengthen.
And it is my hand,
Yet not my hand
That is,
Immediately,
Opened and held out
For me.
The skin is softened,
Like my heart.
Immediately,
As limb is healed,
I am no longer empty.
Hardened hearts are whole jars,
Yet easily shattered.
Mine bends as my knuckles,
To take in life.
Immediately,
Hand restored, hope fulfilled.
I am sustained
And can sustain.
Oh, happy day!
Oh, sad irony cured
Immediately.
.
III. Jairus’s Daughter(5:35-43)
“Daughter, your faith has made you well,”
I hear the man say
To a woman kneeling.
Dealing with these commoners
Must be tiresome.
Some are calling him Teacher, after all.
He could be as me,
Lofty, a ruler.
I turn away,
But hear it again,
The word I hold dear.
“Daughter.”
Someone clutches my arm;
I am clutched by fear.
Dead.
In her bed.
Not sleeping?
No, nor breathing.
I stagger.
A gasp as one struck
Escapes my throat.
A wordless cry,
Yet I know he will hear.
Common or not,
I have to try.
My girl cannot just…die.
A man holds me back.
“Why trouble the Teacher?”
But I cannot just leave her.
And He heard,
And He knew
What had happened
And what I felt.
And He came.
“Do not fear.
Only believe.”
But can words alone dry
A father’s tears?
I know it is not sleep.
But then,
He spoke again.
His voice a lullaby.
“Talitha cumi,”
Commanding gently to rise.
Immediately,
Quicker even than on holiday mornings,
She did.
Eyes bright, arms outstretched
To wrap in embrace around
My once-stiff neck.
Immediately,
My daughter
Is born to me a second time
Of the water I wept.
Immediately,
She stands and,
Laughing and crying of joy,
We dance.
Immediately,
The Teacher, True Ruler,
Awakes daughter and father both
from death
And mourning dawns as morning
Immediately.
.
IV. The Leper(1:40-45)
Unclean,
I hide myself.
Lest I am seen
And sent away,
Purged from the city
While dogs and rats are allowed
To stay.
But they say
I am unclean.
I do not argue;
I am one of the unlucky ones
Who cannot hide his sins
Beneath a cloak of
Smooth, clear skin.
I am as unclean
Outside as others are within.
So I conceal my body,
But my spirit I’ll bear
An offering.
The sacrifice of Psalmist’s praise
Is not made up of lovely face
But a contrite heart,
Such a heart as mine.
Perhaps the only organ spared
But even it is broken.
Its pieces cry out
With my failing limbs.
Unclean,
But yearning.
I step out-
Painfully, timidly,
From where I’ve been
Hiding, waiting, dying…
Decaying though still living.
To my knees
I sink before You
To present my pitiful lot
Before You.
Its package fails, unclean.
But if you will…
You will?
Can it be?
At your word,
At your touch-
Ah, how long since I’ve been touched!
Oh fearful joy!
Immediately,
I am clean.
From that gentle press of the fingertips,
Life springs.
Immediately,
I feel it.
I feel it in nerves revived.
Shivering, pulsing,
Skin reforms before my eyes.
But even more,
Immediately,
My mangled heart
Laid at Your feet
Is touched too,
Molded and cradled
By hands invisible.
Immediately,
I stand humbled without shame,
Purified shell, Sanctified soul.
I am wonderfully remade
And run to present my whole self
Immediately.
.
V. The Paralytic (2:1-12)
People just keep going
Around, across, any way they can.
Stepping over me even.
But what can I do?
Nothing but what I am doing.
Lying here.
Still, in one piece
Yet shattered,
Feeling the full weight of despair
And at the same time
Feeling nothing.
Lying here, I can recall
When lying was pleasant
If it was with words to fool
Or women to love
In secrecy.
I fight the urge to laugh,
Bitterly.
Is it not funny how desires
So frequently
Turn to damnation
In a single, fateful
Instant?
The crowd is thick.
I watch as someone trips
Over the legs I no longer
Think of as my own.
As I am carried to the roof,
Still in my bed,
The thought crosses my mind
That maybe falling would not be so bad.
Yet even that end
Is not in my power.
They lower
Me down.
A face comes into view
Looking down but not in pride.
His eyes are sad
As if he sees
The past I wish to hide.
“Son,” he says,
Claiming me.
“Your sins are forgiven.”
Immediately,
Though my body remains still,
My heart leaps
And my soul is moved.
Immediately,
Outrage erupts around,
But I hear only one voice:
The Authority
Who speaks again.
Immediately,
I obey.
Could I ignore
The One who says,
“Rise and walk”?
Immediately,
I stand and take my bed.
No more lying for me.
Walking even
Is not enough
If it is not with Thee.
In your movements
I will follow
Immediately.
.
VI. The Deaf Man(7:31-37)
I cannot tell
What these gestures mean.
Why do you all wave
Your hands at me?
I can only guess at
The words on your lips.
And can only make
Vain attempts
To do as you do,
To speak as you speak.
By your wrinkled brows
And worried looks,
I know I am failing.
Where are you taking me?
Who is this man?
Oh, do not leave me!
I cannot understand
Your mute tongues,
But do not forsake me!
Where is he taking me?
I try to shout
But fall into silence,
Not that I am ever not
In that painful, ringing
Silence.
We stop.
The crowd is out of sight.
The man reaches out.
I flinch,
Expecting a blow
As from the cruel youths
Who saw me as a game,
An object of fun for them,
Confused torment for me.
But no blow comes,
Just a soft warmth
As He covers the sides of my head
And the tip of my tongue
With His hands.
Eyes wide, bewildered,
I watch.
He sighs.
I feel His breath on my face
And see Him mouth a word.
No- more!
More than see!
Immediately,
before the word
Has flown from His lips,
I hear.
I heart it!
Immediately,
As He speaks,
“Ephphatha”
“Be opened,”
I hear!
And realize the crowd
Is out of earshot
As well as sight.
Immediately,
My newborn ears
Are tuned to one voice,
The voice of my Healer
And Master.
Immediately,
I do what is now natural,
Though moments ago,
Impossible.
I shout and proclaim
Of hearing and healing
Immediately.
.
VII. The Blind Man (8:22-26)
“Touch me, someone!
So I might know you are there!”
Greet me, anyone!
So I am not alone,
Isolated in my own darkness.
I’m begging,
Begging for more than food
Or loose coins you can spare.
It is light that I am starving for-
A light to show me out,
Out of this eternal, internal,
Personal night.
My heart yearns
Morning and evening,
Though both are to me
The same.
Oh, I shudder.
The chill of winter
And aches of hunger
Are nothing
To this ceaseless imprisonment
Within myself.
I cry out again…
Perhaps someone will reply.
“Oh, stranger friend,
Whoever among you, passersby,
Has any pity,
I entreat you
To touch me,
Hear me,
See me.
But what’s this?
I start suddenly
As a hand descends
And makes to guide me.
My pleading fades.
I follow in silence,
Trusting,
Though I know not
Who leads me.
Then a pressure
Against my eyes,
Those shutter windows
To my lonely soul.
Next a voice asks,
“Do you see?”
Immediately,
I am blinded
No longer by darkness,
But by light,
Dazzling and radiant.
Immediately,
I answer,
“I see, people?
Or are those trees?”
I blink and try again.
Immediately,
The man’s hands
Descend once more,
Unfogging the glass,
This time completely.
Immediately,
I see and am seen.
I am freed,
Released from my prison
Where I grieved
In midnight black.
The Son is shining and I see,
Immediately.
.
VIII. The Demon-Possessed Boy (9:14-29)
Horrors.
There is no other name
For the things I have seen,
And sat helplessly by…
Useless.
My son, ripped from my arms
By a force I could not fight.
I am his father!
Guilt stabs like a knife.
But how can I defend when
The enemy, invader
Makes war from within?
My own flesh and blood,
My beloved,
My son,
Cast into the flames
I was too slow to quench,
Then plunged into the water
Kept for the fire.
I am but man
And as such but dust.
How could I conquer a spirit
When my own is worn and weary
And losing hope?
Alas! Why do you come,
you crowd, seeking spectacle?
You do not want to see
What daily seeks-
Through my son-
To destroy me:
Demon Doubt
Grapples for my soul
As the other strangles my son’s life
With his own fingers.
His demon casts him down,
Frothing, convulsing.
Mine pulls on me too,
But before it succeeds,
I cast myself down
In desperation
At Your feet.
Before the growing crowd,
Before You, my Lord.
“I believe, but oh!
Help my unbelief!”
Immediately,
Stillness falls.
Has death come?
Merciful relief?
Dare I hope for better?
It seems beyond belief and yet…
