Epiphany 5B 2012
Mark 1:29-39

29As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. 30Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. 31He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

32That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. 33And the whole city was gathered around the door. 34And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him. 35In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. 36And Simon and his companions hunted for him. 37When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” 38He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” 39And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

It is hard to imagine that in less than three weeks, my wife will assume a new role in life. She shall become a mother-in-law. No, not the kind of mother-in-law Ernie K Doe sang about so many years ago:

Sin should be her name
To me there about the same
Mother in law (Mother in law!)

Well, there are people like that, but it warms my heart to see the relationship between Deb and our soon-to-be son-in-law Mike, not to mention DeAnne, grow as it has been growing. To be a mother-in-law can be a very good thing, as the relationship between Ruth and her mother-in-law Naomi was. Today we encounter the only other mother-in-law identified as such in the entire Bible, Simon’s mother-in-law… in bed with a fever.

Our bulletin says that today is the Fifth Sunday of Epiphany, but in light of today’s Gospel lesson, I hereby declare it “Blessings to Mothers-in-law Sunday!” Do we have any who are, or have ever been, mothers-in-law here? Could I see a show of hands? Bless you! Bless you! Bless your relationships! Now if your sons-in laws show up to your home today, they’re still probably going to watch the Super Bowl. If that’s not your thing, may you be blessed anyhow.

So Simon's mother-in-law is lifted up by Jesus; she gets her strength and vitality back. Yet, as feminist theologian Deborah Krause sardonically noted, she is healed “just in time for dinner.” Dr. Krause remarks that this phrase often produces a laugh among women’s Bible study groups with whom she meets.

In the essay* in which she first used that phrase, Dr. Krause noted that Simon’s mother-in-law “is the model of a Mediterranean housewife, whose existence is all but pleasant – at least according to contemporary western (feminist) standards.” But the title of her essay, “‘Simon Peter’s Mother-in-Law – Disciple or Domestic Servant?” recognizes that yes; the ancient world was patriarchal, but yes also, the word Mark uses for “serve,” διακονία, is loaded with meaning in his Gospel. It is the word that Mark uses to describe true discipleship. We get our English word “deacon” from the Greek word διακονία.

So there’s a kind of “yes, but yes” quality to Mark 1:31. “Just in time for dinner” speaks to a culture of domination, but διηκόνει, “began to serve,” speaks to a discipleship that transcends domination. I think I’ve experienced a flavor of this in my own life, and so with my wife’s permission, I’d like to share a story of how our relationship shifted for the better.

Now the one thing you need to understand is that both of us were the first-born children in our families. As those of you who grew up with older siblings can guess, this fact can create an interesting interpersonal dynamic. If someone were to ask, “Who wears the pants in that family?” the answer would be “Wears them? Aren’t they still having a tug of war with those pants?”

So exactly twelve years ago, Deb came down with a whopper of a cold. I remember on Friday how I brought her a bowl of chicken soup for lunch and told her she really ought to see the doctor.

She said “Aww I don’t need to see a doctor. I just need to rest.”

So I went back to work and a while later she called and said “I tried to walk upstairs but only could make a couple of steps before I had to sit down. So I called the doctor. They can see me at 4 or 7.”

I said “4. Better sooner than later.”

She said “But you’re picking up David at the AMTRAK station at 5 (he was coming in from Plattsburgh).”

I said “If you couldn’t walk up the stairs, you ought to go to the doctor as soon as you can. I’m on my way home. Your mother can come in from Schenectady to take you home.”

And so it was arranged. I dropped Deb off at the doctor’s – her appointment was with Jeff Stone, who used to be a member here – and I went to the AMTRAK station. Now, because the train was coming from Plattsburgh, it was late. That train always was late in those days. In fact, David’s train didn’t arrive until after 7. Driving back to our home, I got a call on my cell phone from my brother-in-law telling me Deb was in the Emergency Room at Memorial Hospital.

It turns out that while Deb sat in the waiting room for a very long time, she began to pass out and a man waiting near her went up to the front desk and insisted she be seen immediately. Nurses came and tested her blood oxygen and called Dr. Stone over stat. Dr. Stone immediately called for an ambulance.

Deb was not suffering from a cold. She was suffering from a streptococcal pneumonia, a particularly virulent strain of bacteria that was spreading rapidly. It was the same kind of pneumonia that killed Muppet creator Jim Henson so suddenly. When I arrived at the Emergency Room, Deb was hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV was pumping antibiotics into her. She was quite conscious, which surprised the nurses and doctors because her blood oxygen level was so low most people wouldn’t be conscious at all. Well, she is a tough cookie.

As soon as a bed was open, she was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit in critical condition. The antibiotics were effective, and her blood oxygen slowly began to rise. A day or so later, the doctor who treated her at the hospital told her that she had been very fortunate. Had she come into the Emergency Room even two hours later than she had, it would have been too late for antibiotics to reverse the growth of the bacteria and she would have died. Two hours.

Her condition did improve over the week to the point where she came home, but she was flat on her back recuperating for five more weeks. David was back in college. Deirdre and DeAnne were most helpful getting all the things done that needed doing, especially dusting and vacuuming. Barry Richman, Deb’s boss at Pearl Grant Richman’s in Stuyvesant Plaza, told Deb to take the time she needed until she could come back to work. God bless him.

And among housework in general I took to preparing all the meals and doing the laundry. A word about laundry – I didn’t do it very often, well, in fact never. You see, shortly after we were married, I did the laundry one day – just the way I did my laundry in college.

You got your shirts here (throw ‘em in), you got your underwear there (throw ‘em in), and – you got your blue jeans (blue jeans!). You throw ‘em all in, you add your detergent, and off you go. So I came back with all the laundry, all clean and dry, and Deb said:

“You, you – washed my lingerie with your blue jeans! How could you?”
“So?”
“So they’re all gray! You idiot!”
“Hey , they’re OK. And who sees ‘em anyway?”

I think we’d best stop the conversation right there. Suffice it to say, I was henceforth banned from doing laundry – until now.

So here I was, going to work, coming home, doing laundry, and cooking meals, and picking up, and doing dishes, and all the while thinking “Two hours. Oh my Lord. Two hours.” I kept thinking about how close I’d come to losing my wife of nearly 25 years. Yes, the one of the perennial tug of war over the pants somebody gets to wear in this family. But two hours! That 25 year tug of war began to become so meaningless and even distracting as the ways I appreciated her came into the forefront of my consciousness. They just kind of bubbled up. And I made a decision. I would spend my life showing my appreciation. I decided I would treat her like a queen. No more “why can’t you get that yourself?” As it turns out, she likes being treated like a queen. Except for the laundry. I still don’t do the laundry.

Actually, you know when I knew she had recovered? I was taking some laundry to the washing machine and Deb said “I’ll do that.”
I said, “No, that’s OK, I’ve got it.”
And she said “I-said-I’d-do- that!”
“Honey! You’re back!!” And so she was.

Here’s the cool thing. Nobody dominates. I like what I’m doing. I chose it. Sometimes we joke about it. But nobody’s keeping score. No queen points, no king points. It’s just more fun that way.

This story from our life, I hope, offers a flavor of διακονία. Dr. Krause is right that serving dinner can be an image of submissiveness in a patriarchal culture. I love that scene in the movie Pleasantville where the Mom character, Betty, is liberated from her 1950’s sitcom life and her husband George comes home to an empty house and keeps repeating, helplessly: “Where’s my dinner? Where’s my dinner?” How many thousands of years have there been of “Where’s my dinner?”

But with disciples it’s a different quality of life altogether. We’ve been claimed – or rather, reclaimed – by Christ; no one else has a claim on us. So the emperor issued a decree requiring public sacrifice, a testimonial of allegiance to the Roman Emperor and the Roman gods? “Sorry,” the Christians said, “we don’t care if you are the emperor, no can do.” So Emperor Diocletian says “I say do it or else!” The Christians say: “We don’t even care if you do throw us to the lions, it’s still no can do.” Fellow disciples, nobody is the boss of us.

And yet the essence of our lives in Christ’s reclamation of us is διακονία, service, “How can I help?”

As Martin Luther wrote in one of his early tracts, “On The Freedom of a Christian:” “A Christian is the most free lord of all, and subject to none; a Christian is the most dutiful servant of all, and subject to every one.”

I guess you’ve got to be a disciple to get that.

The thing is, Simon’s mother-in-law probably didn’t have to serve dinner. Even in a patriarchal society, there was Simon’s wife! This mother-in-law had just gotten over a fever, and there were no antibiotics in those days like the ones that saved my wife. Any fever in those days could be like streptococcal pneumonia a hundred years ago – as often fatal as not. If anyone were entitled to a day off, this mother-in-law was.

I’m just guessing hers was a gesture of gratitude. I’m just guessing she might have been saying “Jesus, just wait until you taste my latkes. No, it’s the least I can do. You like applesauce with them?”

I’m just guessing this because I think it’s an educated guess. I’ve learned how deep gratitude works inside. Once I felt gratitude, I διηκόνει, “began to serve;” that’s it.

That’s what it is to be a disciple. Disciples serve because disciples are grateful. Our lives are reclaimed; they’re eternal now. What else is there to do but begin to serve?

Amen.

*Deborah Krause, ‘Simon Peter’s Mother-in-Law – Disciple or Domestic Servant? Feminist Biblical Hermeneutics and the Interpretation of Mark 1.29-31,’ in: Amy-Jill Levine (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Mark (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), 37-53.