A couple of weeks ago, I got a text from a teen in our church family who has a friend who’s in a tough place emotionally, asking if I’d be up for talking with her. I was honored she wanted to talk with me, and I got the chance to listen to her struggle. She had recently been diagnosed with anxiety and depression, and she had no idea how she would move forward. She told me how before her friend had shared Jesus with her, life seemed so bleak, but she was excited to keep growing closer to him. But now with this diagnosis, she said there was one question that kept entering her mind over and over, “Why this, Jesus?” Have you been there? Maybe you have a mental health condition, a disability, a weakness, a struggle, that you just can’t see a silver lining in. Such a challenge leads us to the question Jesus is going to answer today as he continues racing to the cross for you and for me: What do you do when it feels like God made a mistake?
Our modern context has answered this in a pithy way, but we’re going to see today that our society doesn’t understand what they’re saying when they shout from the social media rooftops: “God made me this way!” Have you ever heard someone say that? What’s the underlying belief being communicated? “It’s God’s fault that I have this struggle, this personality, this flaw, this weakness, or this mentality.” Not only that, but often the “God made me this way” life theme is used to justify a lifestyle or life actions that are classified as sinful in the Bible. Our culture reflects one of the decaying pillars of our sinful nature: Doubting God’s goodness. Looking at him much like Adam and Eve did all those thousands of years ago as they stared down the “Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil”: “If God truly loved me, he wouldn’t have given me this struggle.”
I can’t help but wonder how many times that thought crossed the mind of the deaf man we run into in Mark 7. But before we get there, let’s get our contextual bearings. The verses we’re looking at today mark the highest hilltop of Jesus’ popularity. Crowds are following him, now not just among Jews, but Gentiles too. Where we catch up with Jesus today is on the serene beach of the Sea of Galilee but this time in the region of the Decapolis, which was an incredibly multi-cultural community much like the diversity we have in Palm Beach County. But as the crowds swarm him, Jesus wants a one-on-one moment.
As he slowly walks the beach, pressed in by shoulders and hands, a group of friends barges in. Mark writes, “Then Jesus left the vicinity of Tyre and went through Sidon, down to the Sea of Galilee and into the region of the Decapolis. There some people brought to him a man who was deaf and could hardly talk, and they begged Jesus to place his hand on him.” These friends were desperate for Jesus’ help, decade after decade had gone by, and this man had yet to hear the sound of a human voice, of music, or the waves crash on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. Could Jesus finally fix this?
Can you try to get into the mind of that deaf man? Here you are being dragged to a person you’ve likely never met, in the middle of a crowd of people, not having any idea what was going on? I’d be terrified! You can’t communicate verbally, and you feel boxed in by chaos and confusion. You see the looks people are giving you, the same ones you have seen your entire life. The ones you can’t stop thinking about: They think I’m weird. I’m “less-than.” I’m an inconvenience.
When I think of such a viewpoint of life and identity, my mind instantly goes to Austin. Austin was a friend of mine in fourth grade, whose defining love (besides Jesus) was cheetahs! He loved pretending to be a cheetah! But Austin had some struggles as we all do. His happened to be in the form of severe learning disabilities and a left arm that never grew and formed like most everyone else’s. I’ll never forget the one recess when he gave me a glimpse into what he faced. I don’t remember what happened to cause this, but I still picture him sitting on the woodchips of the playground, his head buried in his arms, saying to me, “Why did Jesus do this to me?” Have you been in that place? “God, why have you done this to me?” My disability, my weakness, my vulnerability, my insecurities!” “Imagine what I could do if I didn’t have this! If you took this away!” And while you may not say it out loud, what’s the implied thought? “Jesus, you messed up, you’ve made a mistake, and it’s affected everything in my life!” Now how does Jesus respond?
Look what he does with this deaf and mute man. “After he took him aside, away from the crowd, Jesus put his fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spit and touched the man’s tongue. He looked up to heaven and with a deep sigh said to him, “Ephphatha!” (which means “Be opened!”).” The empathy and compassion of this moment can’t help but melt you, right? Jesus deeply identifies with the man. He gives him what he needs, knowing even more about what he needed than the man himself did. Notice all the touching that happens here. How detailed and perfect Jesus is as he cares for him. He touches his ears, touches his mouth, he’s doing sign language! Jesus is saying, “Let’s go over here just the two of us; don’t be scared, I’m going to help you; now let’s look to God.” He comes into the man’s cognitive world and uses terms - nonverbal speech - that he can understand. He purposefully takes him away from the crowd to heal him. And maybe you’re wondering: Why does he do that? Wouldn’t he want everyone to see?
Again, think about this man’s life. He’s always been a spectacle. He’s deaf, and can’t speak like everyone else. Think of how often he must have been laughed at and made fun of. Jesus knows all of this and refuses to make a spectacle of him now. He is identifying with him emotionally. He has a “deep sign,” a moan of pain. Why would Jesus be in pain? He’s about to heal him after all! Why isn’t Jesus grinning at the man saying, “I’m going to do something amazing for you!” There is a cost for Jesus healing him. Mark uses a rare Greek word for “deaf,” not found anywhere else in the Bible except the Septuagint translation of Isaiah 35, which says, “Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, he will come with vengeance; with divine retribution he will come to save you.” Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Then will the lame leap like a deer, and the mute tongue shout for joy.” Mark is saying, “Do you see the blind opening their eyes? Do you see the deaf hearing? Do you hear the mute tongue singing? God has come as Isaiah promised.” God had come not only to give this man hearing, but to save him, and you, and me. His name is Jesus. He moans because he knows what saving us will take. Jesus became mute to go as the silent lamb of sacrifice to the cross. He chose to be weak, broken down, to restore you. He came down to endure the divine retribution you and I deserved and give you the healing that could only come from his hurt, his wounds, his suffering.
His love calls to you too, “Don’t isolate yourself to think you are beyond healing. Don’t be too despondent to accept what the gospel says about how loved you are.” Never forget how the crowd rightly says, “He has done everything well.” Yes, this includes how he put you together, including the things you wish you didn’t have. Jesus has a purpose for it, and he’s made one thing undeniable: He loves you more than anyone else. He says, “Look at my cross. See that I do care about everything you’re facing because I’m been through it already. I carried it for you then and I carry it for you now. You’re not a walking mistake. You belong to me.”
His grace gives us the answer to the question that kicked off this whole conversation: “What do you do when it feels like God made a mistake?” Race to the cross of Jesus, where through faith a love finds you that causes you to sing in struggle. By God’s grace, you’ve been given a life of boldness knowing Jesus does everything well, including by giving you the shortcomings, disabilities, and struggles you have. Jesus doesn’t make mistakes. Now we can say, “God made me this way,” not to justify sin nor blame him for pain, but rejoice that he has given us such weaknesses to lead us back to his overcoming, healing, and transforming love. He’s given you the struggles he has for a reason, and next week we’re going to especially unpack what it means to bear our crosses for him. But in this vein, I can’t help but think of a friend of mine named Robert. He’s been deaf since he was born, and it’s become his mission to connect more and more deaf people with Jesus. He said to me once, “Without my deafness, I wouldn’t have the mission Jesus has given to me.” This is the beauty of our inadequacies! Through them, we have a grace-given empathy, to reach souls with similar struggles and point them to the cross. Even more, these weaknesses pull us back to the cross for ourselves and keep our Savior’s love always before us.
Imagine this with me: What would your life be like if you lived a life of thanksgiving for what God has given or taken away from you? That’s what Satan fears most. When you live purely and only for Jesus, trusting him even in loss and shortcomings, you get to touch people with the personal, healing message only Jesus can give. It’s here that when we are weak, then we are strong, because when we see how reliant we are on Jesus, how the LORD we trust does everything well, nothing can snatch your joy and we can shout in triumph until the curtain closes on this world, “Take the world but give me Jesus!” And guess what? He has gladly given himself to you, and he’ll never let you go. Amen.