Playing God, Please

Much of our reverence for the distant and omnipotent God has been transformed through the person of Jesus Christ.

Jesus shows us what God looks like. He shows us how God would act. He invites us to "play God" in our lives, as well.

Jesus reduced the distance between the all-powerful God and our humble human dwellings. He successfully brought the Creator and the creature together. John's gospel is full of swirling pronouns connecting the divine dots to our lives. Jesus keeps saying that I am Him, He's in me, I is we, the they is no more. (Try reading John's gospel out loud and you'll see what I mean.)

The blame for the world's fate was replaced two thousand years by the life of Christ. The religious conversation is no longer the big Daddy in the sky as much as it is about you and me playing God as best we can. Even with limited acting ability and no make-up, we are challenged to play God.

You would think that the Church would have realized that the word "healing" just doesn't make it any more in our culture. It's flat sounding, has trite connotations and lacks the zest that we draws us to words and meaning. "Healing," just doesn't cut it any longer.

Lipitor. Now there's a word. A made up word that means nothing but we will invest and spend lots of money bringing ourselves to the meaning of that word. Vicodin. Wow, do you have my attention now. Percocet. (Is there a group of people who meet in a windowless room and brainstorm dumb words just to get our attention?) We think to ourselves, "I have no idea what that word means so it must be important!" What if the Church stop using the word "healing" and chose something like "viagra?" Would we pay more attention? Would our ears then be open?

Unlike viagra, the Church's side effect would be that if healing lasts longer than 36 hours, then you are truly healed. Now there's a sales pitch for salvation.

Jesus touched people. People touched Jesus. Sometimes he knew he was healing someone and other times the healing went out from him without him ever knowing it. Healing.

He laid hands on some and he heals without ever meeting the centurion's daughter. He lowers her through the roof of the house after he chases out the wailers and the grumblers. He argues with a pagan woman who wins the argument between them and her child is healed. He puts his spit on the tongue of a mute person and he begins to speak for the first time. (Imagine doing that today! Purell anyone?). He fills pigs with the our personal demons and sends them to their death.

He heals the guy to the right of him on the cross, right before the guy dies. He smiles to the guy at his left and his sarcastic comments and probably heals him as well. ("What the Hell, I'm God!")

And those are the ones that he knew he healed. What about those he didn't know?

A woman touches his cloak and he's slightly aware that something's happened but is not sure. A simple, kind word that you share with someone is remembered years later during a time of distress or doubt. She asks you if you remember the conversation and you say, "I don't know what I ate for supper last night!". Then, there's that forgotten email that you sent to a friend that she's saved for three years because it meant so much to her after her father died. And, what about that simple, "how are you doing?" question said to a widower months after the funeral that everyone else has forgotten about.

Healing comes to us in many ways. Healing goes out from us in many ways. "Playing God" is not as difficult as it sounds because it sounds like the simple word that it is, "healing."