God’s Extravagance

"The eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water." This is a wonderful passage from Isaiah we heard this morning. It is part of an entire chapter that one commentator has called a full choral symphony of joy. It reminds me of other passages in Isaiah and other parts of the Hebrew Scriptures where the exuberance and joy of God’s presence bubbles up so that even the coastlands sing, and the mountains skip, and the trees clap their hands. God’s extravagance is everywhere.

Looking more closely at today’s reading, in addition to what it says, I am struck by what the Scriptures do not say. For example, Isaiah does not write that through God’s intercession the lame shall be able to walk and therefore live a more independent and productive existence. Nor does Isaiah write that the tongues of the speechless, the mute, shall gain the facility of speech and basic communication. Nor does the burning sand become just bearably warm, nor the parched earth gradually come out of draught conditions.

The lame leap. The speechless sing for joy. Waters break forth in the desert. The once thirsty ground becomes a bubbling, abundant spring. God’s extravagant generosity is everywhere. God’s gifts are extravagant. God gives more than is needed. God gives more than we would think possible. More than we might ever expect.

We expect so little of God.

I used to think that one of the greatest challenges facing us, the church, the Body of Christ, was that we expected too little of ourselves as Christians, that our standards for our own Christian activity were too low. And that is a concern. But maybe the bigger challenge, the bigger impediment to living faithful lives is that we expect too little of God.

God enables us, not just to walk, but to leap, to dance.

God offers us not just a voice to speak, but a voice to sing joyously.

God doesn’t just quench our thirst. God pours such living water into our lives that we become bubbling springs for others.

God gives us not just patience, but hope.

Not just strength, but imagination.

Not just satisfaction, but joy.

Not just survival, but salvation.

Again and again Scripture sings of God’s extravagance, God’s extravagant gifts to us so far beyond our needs or expectations. After all, what do we expect from God in our daily lives? Very little, it seems.

This reading from Isaiah was presumably chosen to dovetail with this morning’s gospel. The gospel story is brief. It is hard to appreciate its full impact without hearing it within the broader story Mark is telling. It is a miracle story. The story of a man who was deaf and had some sort of speech impediment. There are many stories like it in the gospels. Through Jesus’ action, the man gains his hearing and speech. And with just the brief snippet that we heard this morning, we are left to react to Jesus’ miracle the same way we would react to any of the well-known miracle stories, whether that be awe or uncertainty or skepticism. And that might well be the end of our interaction with Scripture this morning. Nothing new.

I have undoubtedly mentioned before that in the earliest centuries of the church, much longer passages from Scripture were typically read when the community gathered, often an entire book. I don’t know what those early Christians’ powers of retention were, or how much literary analysis they did on what they heard, but this brief story we heard this morning gains new significance when it is heard or read within the context of Mark’s entire gospel.

It conveys a powerful irony. In this morning’s story, a foreigner, someone who presumably knows little about Jesus, is brought to Jesus by others. And immediately and easily, he is given his speech and hearing. But, at this very same stage in Mark’s gospel, Jesus’ own disciples—men who have chosen to follow Jesus, who have heard Jesus’ words, seen his actions—these disciples are deaf and blind to what Jesus really offers. The healing of the foreigners’ speech and hearing impediment only serves to highlight Jesus’ disciples’ profound faith impediment.

In this broader context, the gospel story is our story. We may not have physical impediments of speech or sight or hearing. But we all have faith impediments. Our eyes do not see the extravagant gifts that God offers us every day. Our ears do not hear God’s voice in the midst of a family budget discussion on Friday evening. Our tongues are stopped when there is so much we could be saying with God, to God, about God. Our faith impediments of hearing, sight and voice are many.

And, of course, these impediments that mar our life of faith are not physical impediments, unfortunate genetic accidents, that literally impair our vision or hearing. Our faith impediments are those impairments of human nature that we all share… pride, selfishness, greed. The disciples did not want to see Jesus’ power, because it would only highlight their own human powerlessness. They did not want to hear Jesus’ words, because they found other voices more seductive. Faith impediments grow out of the sin that dwells in the human heart.

But if this broader gospel story is our story, we might well ask: how does it come out? In this morning’s incident, Jesus seemingly heals physical impediments of hearing and speech with ease, but his disciples’ faith impediments are not so easily cured. It is easier, it seems, to heal physical impediments, than it is to heal those impediments of faith that come from deep within the human heart and soul.

Yet, never forget that it can be done! Healing of our souls is the very gift that God offers us, the extravagant gift beyond our expectation or imagining. God cures faith impediments. We wouldn’t be here today if Jesus had not, in the end, overcome the faith impediments of the disciples. The church would not be here if God had not broken through to the disciples. Once again, if we read all of Mark’s gospel, we learn that, bit by bit, in fits and starts, the disciples come to hear what Jesus is saying, to see who he is and what he offers, and to speak the joy of his presence in their lives. As the disciples’ faith impediments grew less, they became apostles—people empowered to proclaim and share God’s extravagant love with others. God’s healing power so overcame their faith impediments of speech, that they not only spoke, they spoke so vibrantly, so truly that we still hear their voices today.

We need to look at the big picture. The big picture is even more wondrous and miraculous than the small one. For the man who could not hear or speak, his healing was not a small story. But his story is, in fact, just one small piece of a much larger story. And one way for us to open ourselves up to God’s healing of our faith impediments is for us to keep in mind the big story. Remember the sweeping history of God’s wondrous acts and presence from the dawn of creation up to today. Remember the gospel story from start to finish—the story about how God, for the love of human kind, took on human life, so that God might truly be a part of our human experiences. It is also the story of how God, for the love of human kind, gave up human life on the cross, so that we might come share in the divine life. Remember the miraculous transformation of a dull and confused and very human batch of disciples into the apostles upon whose words and actions the church grew and flourished. Look upon a world where God’s gifts enable the lame not just to walk, but to dance; the mute not just to speak, but to sing with joy; and the desert to burst forth with springs of living water.

Enlarge your expectations. God’s extravagant gifts await us all.

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