As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon's mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them [Mark 1:29-31].
My reading of Mark’s Gospel reveals—at least to me—that the author often carefully uses contrasting scenes to make his points. For example, in last week’s Gospel reading, Mark 1:21-28—that last week I chose the OT selection from Deuteronomy for my meditation—Jesus publicly entered Capernaum, along with Simon (Peter) and his brother, Andrew, as well as James and his brother, John. When the Sabbath came, Jesus openly entered the synagogue and began to teach [Mark 1:21].
In this Sunday’s reading, Mark 1:29-39 (Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, RCL, Year B), Jesus turns his attention to hearth and home. The five men leave the synagogue and walk a short distance to a private home owned by Simon and Andrew. There, Simon’s mother-in-law—she’s not named in the passage or elsewhere—is quite ill with a fever. Keeping with the quick, often “jerky” movement found within Mark’s Gospel—eight times in Chapter 1, and indeed, twice in this week’s short passage, Mark uses an adverb that can be translated as “immediately” — Jesus “came and took her by the hand and lifted her up [1:31].
By taking the woman by the hand, Jesus, of course, risked being rendered ritually unclean. And, in “lifting her up,” folks like me, who don’t do Greek, easily miss the fact that Mark (and others) will later employ those same words to describe the action of the Roman authorities when the Messiah is “lifted up” on the Golgotha cross. Those in Mark’s first century church no doubt would have smiled approvingly at the parallel nature of the language.
Barrels of ink have been spilt over the centuries in analyzing the unnamed mother-in-law’s reaction to the Messiah’s touch. Those who see signs of the evil patriarchy at every turn are likely displeased with the fact that immediately upon receiving the tender touch of Jesus, “she began to serve them” [1:31]. In other words, now that the fever is gone, she can return to her place of subjugation. Or, as a friend has remarked, “Well, someone had to, since Martha lived in Bethany.”
Others, who are familiar with the Greek, may note, however, that the verb (“to serve”) used here is the same as that used to describe the actions of the angels who ministered to Jesus during his 40-day temptation in the wilderness. Still others will point out that if one changes the Greek verb to its noun form, one hears a pronouncement regarding the church’s first deacon [1:31].
By now, of course, the people nearby have heard of Jesus’ actions of teaching and healing in the synagogue. While they would know nothing of this hearthside healing, they are nevertheless anxious to take advantage of their good fortune. A teacher with authority—a successful exorcist and healer—is in their midst. Others require healing as well. And so, many go to Simon’s house, but they wait until sunset:
That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door [1:32-33].
With the arrival of sunset, the Sabbath has ended. They are free to move about, to begin the first day in the new week. And they are free to approach this unusual stranger, who at once is open and notorious, while at other times is altogether secretive. Either way, they come, and not just a few.
And 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 [1:34].
Jesus heals multitudes in the public. Yet he instructs the demons to remain silent. Jesus is both open and hidden. We call that Epiphany.
I’ve wondered about Simon Peter’s mother-in-law from time to time. The church is full of those sorts of folks—both women and men—who work behind the scenes. They don’t seek praise. They do enjoy a touch or a smile. I’m reminded of my Grandmother Lib who, along with many other women at Olney Presbyterian Church, labored over many church suppers during the 50s, 60s, and 70s. During my childhood, “Miss Lib,” as so many called her, wasn’t a housewife like so many others, including her daughter, our mother. Instead, Lib was manager of the piece goods department at Matthews-Belk Co., faithfully employed there for more than 40 years. And so, when Miss Lib prepared her offerings for the church bazars and other gatherings, she did so after a full-day’s work, including Saturdays.
After one such Olney church supper, someone came up to Grandmother Lib, put an arm around Grandmother’s shoulder, and said, “Miss Lib, you sure love to cook for a crowd.”
Miss Lib said, “No, not really.”
Her friend chortled a bit and said, “Then why do you do it?”
Her retort, “Because our Lord has told us to love and serve those around us.”
As I mentioned earlier, Mark has a wonderful way of making a point through contrasting images. And so, quite early in his Gospel, Mark offers up a vision of an unnamed woman, known only through her relationship with a son-in-law. Though the touch of Christ, she becomes—in a true sense—the church’s first deacon. In Luke’s Gospel, the author/physician will record the later words of our Lord (this is one of Christ’s shortest parables):
For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as the one who serves [Luke 22:27].
Having introduced us early on in his Gospel to the mother of Simon’s wife, Mark allows that at the end of Jesus’ days of ministry, indeed, on the night that He was betrayed, our Lord switched places—so to speak—with the woman cured of the severe fever. Emptying Himself, knowing what awaited later that evening, Jesus tenderly gathered His disciples around Him. He supplied their Last Supper. He was, and is, the Host. And even before He gave Himself up for them, before He took their/our place on the cross, He stooped and washed their feet.
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