Why this crying and commotion? The child is not dead; she is asleep. Mark 5:39
Today’s Gospel episode about the cure of Simon Peter’s mother-in-law (Jesus took her by the hand, and helped her to her feet. The fever left her . . .) reminds me of the old days at St. Leo’s under the pastoral leadership of Monsignor Jack O’Hare. Specifically it takes me back to the 1980’s and the 25th anniversary of Vatican II – the unexpected Church Council, which promised to be so liberating theologically, liturgically; to open windows, to bring the Church up-to-date (aggiornamento as expressed in Pope John XXIII’s language).
Our parish back then decided to celebrate that anniversary at our Sunday Eucharists – and the theme chosen was that of the 17th century story Sleeping Beauty. You all know of it from childhood days. A king and queen have a daughter whose baptism convenes her several fairy godmothers bearing gifts. One uninvited godmother showed up anyway and left a curse: one day the daughter would cut her finger at the spindle and fall into a deep sleep that would last 100 years. It says one of the other godmothers (so that the child would not be alone when she awoke) imposed 100 years of sleep on everyone in the palace right on down to the mice – all to awaken when she did, so that it would seem that time had simply stood still.
Then one day a handsome prince came along. By then, the palace was so surrounded by impenetrable thorn hedges as to be completely hidden. Nevertheless the prince cut his way through, entered the palace, found the princess and kissed her awake – thereby awakening the whole place, even the mice. Naturally a wedding followed and all lived happily ever after.
Well the reason we chose that tale as a theme for the anniversary of Vatican II is obvious. Pope John XXIII was our prince – not handsome, really possessed of a large nose and thick peasant hands – but beautiful in his own way – who in calling for the Council kissed the Church as if it were a Sleeping Beauty – to bring back to life the richness of its deepest traditions, its biblical images, the transformative meaning of its rituals (with the help of the vernacular, the speech we speak), the centrality of the Eucharist, the drama of the liturgical year; to promote its engagement with the modern world (as currently promoted by Pope Francis I).
Which ties into today’s Gospel about Jesus taking a fever-stricken old woman by the hand and restoring her to health and service and also into the later story in Mark in which Jesus raises a girl to life (Jairus’ daughter), chasing out the professional mourners both within and outside the Church, – and saying, “Talitha cum . . . Get up my child.” And immediately the girl got up and walked about . . .
It has been a long time since that 25th anniversary of Vatican II. Indeed by this time we’ve gone past its 50th anniversary. And there has arisen some concern among us older folk (who remember the enthusiasm of those days) that a drowsiness has crept over us that may leave the Church again withdrawn, dormant within its palace of transformational riches again, high hedges of social animosity blocking out the light. But not to worry! The original Prince, Christ, who raised Simon Peter’s mother-in-law and Jairus’ daughter out of their inertia still arrives among us at every Eucharist with his invincible power to keep us not just awake but alive.