Touching the Fringe of His Cloak, the Rev'd Jackie Cherry, July 19, 2015 – Proper 11, Yr B

They begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak;
and all who touched it were healed.

Imagine, the sick on their mats at the marketplace need only touch the fringe of his cloak to be healed. Where is Jesus? Has anybody seen Jesus? The whole world needs his cloak.

Most of you know that I had a miraculous healing 4 months ago. I rejected my transplanted kidney that I had had for 20 years, and for seven months I struggled to stay alive. During that period, I asked for prayers, but I didn’t pray for healing. My prayer was that I remember God is with me. Always.

My friends asked me what they should pray for. When I told our congregational Dean of Prayer, Liz Specht to pray for God’s will, she said, No, that’s not going to help me; I need to know what specifically to pray for so I can tell other people what they need to pray for. Liz was insistent, so I gave her some details: I need prayers for breath; I need prayers for the water in my body to shift away form my heart and lungs and move back into my vascular system; and I need prayers for an O+ kidney that I don’t have antibodies against. This information satisfied Liz, and learned how to text so she could transmit her prayers via social media.

I want you to know that the last prayer for an O+ kidney that I didn’t have antibodies against was theoretically impossible; immunological studies had revealed that I have antibodies against 100% of the population.

This crisis began last August with the doctors at UCSF trying aggressively to stop the rejection. I was given round the clock infusions for 3 days and then discharged. Once home, Sarah Lawton called several times. I didn’t answer the calls; I was in no condition to talk and I did not want visitors. But you know the way Sarah works relentlessly for social justice in the national church, and in the world - she’s a powerhouse, and in that vein she was resolute in changing my no visitor policy.  I buckled and allowed her to come over. Sarah found me in bed in my dim disheveled room. She sat beside me and said I want to give you my kidney. And then, as if she were standing on the podium on the floor of the House of Deputies, Sarah recited an eloquent outline of the reasons why I should accept her gift.

• I have been thinking about this for 10 years;
• My kids are independent now;
• I am very healthy;
• You are my son’s Godmother;
• You are my sister in Christ;
• In Christ we are one body and I have what you need.

Sarah punctuated her compelling list with this question:
Can you think of anybody more qualified to give you a kidney?  I couldn’t think of anybody more qualified.
Will you accept my kidney? Yes I will. And we both cried.

Do you remember when I said, I asked for prayers, but I didn’t pray for healing?
Well, I was healed the moment Sarah offered me her kidney. Don’t get me wrong,
I was still sick as a dog - every system in my body was failing. But Sarah’s offer broke open my heart to the immense love that surrounded me that I didn’t even know was there. I was overwhelmed. The only words I could muster were, I didn’t know you loved me so much.

It didn’t stop there. From every direction, in ways I never expected, again and again, an outpouring of love knocked me over until it seeped fully into my bones. Kevin and Kathy, Michael Clark and even a stranger offered their kidneys. I asked for prayers,
but I didn’t pray for healing because I had already been healed.
We found out in November that I wasn’t compatible with any of my living donors.
To stay alive, dialysis was my only option. During dialysis blood is pumped out of the body and filtered through an artificial kidney, known as a hemodialyzer, to remove waste, chemicals and excess fluid. The bodies total blood volume is circulated through the machine several times during each treatment. Dialysis clinics, at least the two that I’ve seen, are isolation pits with no natural light, occupied mostly by old people who will never be candidates for transplants. Each station consists of a hard, blue vinyl reclining chair, the huge dialysis machine, and a TV. While the blood is cycling through the artificial kidney the waste is shunted into an elaborate plumbing system that’s built into the wall. All of us hooked up the machines have no chance of life without the grueling treatment. Most all of the patients arrived alone, sat alone for the 3 or 4 hour treatment and left alone.

My dialysis schedule was T, TH, F and S. If there were no complications, each session lasted 4 hours. During the 5 months I was on dialysis, I only had 2 or 3 sessions without complications. The truth is, despite all the pain that I suffered, and all the suffering I watched those around me endure, I began to look forward to my dialysis days. You see, I had a group of people, all of whom are from this congregation, who volunteered to drive me week after week, month after month. And they didn’t just drive. Every Saturday Birgit and DD stayed with me through the whole thing. Jan had Tuesdays, Liz drove to San Francisco from Mill Valley on Thursdays. Jack, Judy and Rebecca were all over the calendar whenever I needed them. Sarah got off work early to take the Bart back to the city so she could pick me up. Heather and Kathy spent their Christmas in the clinic with me. I could go on and on. With their love, my friends lit up that dark dialysis room, by their presence I was comforted. And everybody, the doctors, nurses, technicians and patients witnessed it. They told me how lucky I was to have such a huge support network; they had never seen anything like it.

But I wonder if they really knew what they were seeing. During that time, I was just trying to survive. It’s only when I looked back that I recognized not just the fringe, but the entire cloak.

They begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak;
and all who touched it were healed.

+++
I want to change my tack here and give you a few statistics.

• As of April 22 of this year there are 101,662 people awaiting kidney transplants.
• On average, over 3,000 new patients are added to the kidney waiting list each month.
• 12 people die each day while waiting for a kidney
• Every 14 minutes someone is added to the kidney transplant list.
• In 2014, 4,270 patients died while waiting for a kidney transplant.
• And another 3,617 people became too sick to receive a kidney transplant.

With so many serious medical complications, I wasn’t cleared for surgery until mid-March. It was only a week after I was listed on the National Kidney Registry when I got the call from UCSF with the news they had found a compatible kidney. The transplant surgery was on March 21st.

At the end of June I received this letter:

Dear recipient,
Writing a letter like this is difficult to say the least. I’m not sure what to say or how to address you. I’ll just begin.
Several months ago you received the most honorable gift a person can give; life. You received life from my husband Russ. With his death, the past few months have been trying. One thing that has helped me through this transition without him is knowing he gave renewed hopes and dreams to you and your family.
My husband worked in Alaska managing projects like the building of power plants and large commercial retailers. He spent his free time outdoors and with his family. We had a fulfilling life together fishing, traveling, snowmobiling, hiking and raising our daughter. We were always planning our next adventure. As an all-Alaska kind of guy he loved the mountains. Russ made good choices and challenged others to do the same. He had an eternal optimism, contagious smile, and infectious spirit unmatched by anyone. He made his friends and family better people, and he made us smile even when we thought we couldn’t; Russ continues to make me smile. He loved his little girl Ridgely without question. She was seven months old when he was killed in an avalanche while snowmobiling in the mountains he so loved. He was 33.
With his death I grieve the loss of the one I loved most deeply, the one I was closest to, and the man who protected me and made me whole. I shared the ultimate partnership and friendship with Russ. I built my life, my home and my future with him. He was my soul.

While our daughter may never remember her daddy, she will surely know him through the stories and memories of friends and family. Through the eyes of our daughter he lives on. He lives on through you.
My wish for you is to honor my husband and “climb your mountain.”
Sincerely, 
Kolbey

Here is what I know - by the love of my friends, all living cloaks, I was healed. I don’t think this to be the miracle. It was compassion, and generous love put into action in the manner of Jesus and his disciples. This was not divine intervention - it was good people practicing the gospel of Jesus.

The death of a 33-year old man wasn’t the lack of a miracle.  It was a tragic accident
that left a 7-month old baby girl without her father and a grieving wife without her husband.

The miracle as I see it is that Russ may have had the only kidney in the world that would save my life, and he had chosen to be an organ donor. He didn’t die because I needed a kidney. He just died. And here I stand, wrapped in the cloak of Jesus with prayers of gratitude for our remarkable medical technology and the ordinary people who choose to be donors.

Drops in the bucket, July 5, 2015, the Rev'd Robert Cromey

What is a prophet? Not profit.

A prophet is a person is regarded as an inspired teacher or proclaimer of the will of God.

Today, prophetic voices are those who follow the radical teachings of Jesus. They do not predict the end of the world. They are teachers who teach humanity. Much of the political and business world teaches and worships money. That is the word profit not prophet.

Jesus comes into his hometown. He is a famous teacher and healer.
His neighbor immediately questions him. How come he talks like this? How did he get so smart? Is he a wise guy? His dad is only a carpenter! They also say, “He is only the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon.”

Jesus says, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their home town, and among their own kin and in their own house.” He is discouraged.

The writer gives us throwaway line. “Yet he leaves after healing a few sick people and cured them. He went on with his work anyway.” He heals the sick while getting out of town.

This weekend celebrates the Declaration of Independence. Brave English citizens living in the American colonies chose to become independent of their mother country England. The signers of the Declaration of Independence could have been hanged as traitors to their country. The signed the declaration. They were prophets of a new country and a new world. And they were without honor in their own country – England.

Bishop Pike in the 60s was a strong voice for civil rights for African Americans and free speech opposing censorship of book and movies. He was brought up on charges of heresy in the House of Bishops of our church. He was without honor in his own country.

Paul Moore, great Bishop of New York, chose to hide his gayness so he could preach love and acceptance for gays and Lesbians. LGBT had not been defined in his day. He was a prophet without honor in his own country.

Brea Newsome made a wonderful direct action in pulling down the Confederate flag at the South Carolina capital.

What’s also interesting about this to me is the outsized role single activists can sometimes have in moving conversations forward, setting off new movements, and exposing the power structure that oppresses people. Most of us are simply not going to climb that flagpole. But we probably should. ...

Lonely acts can sometimes prompt vast movements. But lonely acts will often -- usually -- sink without a ripple. What's hard is to predict which actions will make enduring waves. What Newsome did certainly amplified a cresting tide already in motion. She's won an honored place in the long river of resistance -- but she is certainly not alone.” She is a prophet without honor in her hometown.

In the Nuba Mountains of Sudan Dr. Tom Catena, a Catholic missionary from Amsterdam, N.Y., is the only doctor at the 435 bed Mother of Mercy hospital in the far south of Sudan. He is the only doctor for a population of more than a half million people. The area is under constant bombardment and shells from the Sudanese government. It is up to Dr. Tom to pry out shrapnel from women’s flesh and amputate limbs of children as he delivers babies and removes appendixes.

There is no telephone, electricity, or running water. Obviously no X-Ray machine. Dr. Tom has worked in the Nuba Mountains 24/7 for eight years. Muslims and Christians praise Dr. Tom’s work “People are praying he never dies.”

He is paid $350 a month, no retirement and no health insurance. He is driven by his Catholic faith. “I have been given benefits from the day I was born, a loving family, a great education. I see my work as an obligation, as a Christian and a human being, to help.

A Muslim Chief says Dr. Tom is Jesus Christ. Jesus healed the sick, made the blind see and helped the lame walk – and that is what Dr. Tom does every day.

When we try to do good things we often feel like they are a just a drop in the bucket and don’t do much good. When we write to the President, our senators and representatives it seems like just a drop in a bucket.
However, empty bucket gets filled to overflowing.

Each of us is a drop in the bucket of helping the hungry – Julian Pantry

Drop in the bucket – Fr. Richard leads a Mission Walk against police brutality.

Drop in the bucket – Some hold a sign calling on a Vigil for Justice and peace.

Drop in the bucket - The Julian Pantry is our program for feeding the hungry.

They are all drops in the bucket but after a while the bucket gets full. Look at all the drops in a bucket too bring about the right for LGBT people to have the right to marry.