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Creekside Church
Sermon of May 13, 2001
"You Are Now
Licensed to Practice Medicine"
Luke
4:16-22
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Rev. David
Bibbee
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When
we were children, we made believe we were doctors. We checked
our playmate patient's pulse and temperature and recommended
bed rest or surgery. As adults we dispense medical counsel
for simple ailments, like when to apply hot or cold to a
sore joint, or whether aspirin or Tylenol would be best
for pain relief. We aren't qualified to do anything else.
In my
tackle box I have a hook removal kit-it contains everything
necessary to extract sharp hooks intended for a fish's mouth
which instead, end up embedded in the hand or some other
part of the anatomy. When asked by a guest angler what I
would do in such a case, I explain the procedure, but have
not yet detected any anxieties put to rest. During last
year's fishing camp at Camp Mack, a 14 year-old boy sank
a hook into his finger. Fortunately, Tim McFadden's dad
Wilbur was there. Wilbur is a general practitioner and a
surgeon. He numbed the lad's finger with lytacane and began
probing. He tried to remove it without making an incision,
but the hook would not budge.
Then
I said, "Wilbur, Dan and I know a good method."
"Have you done it?" he asked. "No, but we've
read about it and seen pictures." "Okay
let's
try it." Wilbur said. The patient said, "Try what?"
An M.D. had just turned the case over to M.Div's. A physician's
referral to two preachers. "Are you sure this is a
good idea?" he asked. Actually, we weren't sure, but
we didn't want to alarm him further. We still had a doctor
to fall back on if necessary. Out of hearing range, we decided
who would push and who would pull. We said a silent little
prayer, gritted our teeth, and while another camper held
our patient still, there was a sharp pull, and the next
sound heard was the "ping" of a hook on the McFadden's
kitchen floor. The surgery was successful. Our patient lived.
He's even returning to our camp next month.
You
who have studied Luke's gospel know that according to tradition,
Luke was a physician. Before Jesus healed one person, Luke
had a hand in the healing of many. He knew the satisfaction
of correctly diagnosing people's ailments and prescribing
treatments which restored them to health. Doctor Luke also
knew failure. Sometimes all his knowledge and skill made
no difference. He did his best, but it wasn't good enough.
I heard
a neurosurgeon say he was jealous of obstetricians. When
obstetricians walk from the delivery room, it is usually
with good news of a new life that has entered the world.
When neurosurgeons leave the operating room to meet family
members, often the news they bear is not good. "It
was a significant injury. We did everything we could. We
just didn't have much of a chance." Imagining such
scenarios is enough to keep most people from going into
medicine.
Luke
the physician had to deal with both these realities. But
in Jesus, he saw something which would change how he dealt
with people. It changed his view about life all together
so
much so that he would be remembered not as Luke the physician,
but Luke the evangelist. We know nothing about his medical
practice-how many deliveries he performed or how many house
calls he made. We do know the stories he recorded about
shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night, and
the Good Samaritan, and the prodigal son.
Under
the influence of Jesus, the doctor became a disciple. He
traded the black bag for the note pad and recorded what
he heard, saw, and experienced with the greatest clarity
he could, not because people love good stories, but because
these stories had the power to change, to heal, and to save
lives.
Angi
read to you from Jesus' first sermon. It was short, but
it was loaded. Jesus revealed the tools of his trade
the
keys with which he would open prison doors, the medicine
which would give the blind their sight. Jesus' ministry
was one of doing, but first, it was a ministry of speaking.
"God has anointed me to preach good news
he sent
me to proclaim
" Preach. Proclaim. Talk. That's
how Jesus changed the world
with words.
I make
my living with words. Often they don't seem to accomplish
much. I think them, pray and say them. I preach and teach
with them. Once they leave my lips, I have no control over
what becomes of them. They may fall to earth like wounded
birds. They may go in one ear and out the other. They are
heard, but not always understood. Some take root and grow,
though I know nothing of it. That's how it is with words.
Last week Pope John Paul retraced the steps of St. Paul.
It was also another week of blood letting between Israeli's
and Palestinians. While in Syria the Pope said to these
warring factions, "Stop fighting. Forgive one another.
Live in peace." I don't think it did much good. How
many rock throwing, teenaged Palestinians emptied rocks
from their pockets, approached heavily armed Israeli soldiers,
extended their hands and say, "Why can't we be friends?"
because of the Pope's words."
We don't
expect much from words. We swim in a sea of them. We don't
know which to believe. There are too many words, yet it's
words we are starving for
the word which God spoke
and light and land formed; the word God spoke which became
flesh and lived among us; the word which Jesus spoke and
lives were never the same. "Your sins are forgiven.
Pick up your bed and walk. Fear not. Your faith has made
you well. Don't worry about tomorrow."
Here
is an irony worth pondering. Luke healed more lives as an
evangelist than as a doctor. In his black bag there were
compresses, poultices, pills and Ace bandages. After he
became a disciple, he was given a different medicine
words-not
his own words which would accomplish little. He was given
Someone Else's. As the stories were passed along more lives
were healed and new stories were created.
Think
for a moment about how many of us came to faith in Christ
because of a little something someone said. In the course
of a simple conversation someone may have said, "I
know things are tough for you right now. If it's okay, I
would like to include you in my prayers." Maybe someone
said, "I'd enjoy having you as my guest in church next
Sunday." Maybe you overheard someone say, "There's
no way I could ever keep my crazy life together without
my Christian friends." I know people who ended up in
pastoral ministry because they read a Bible lesson one Sunday
and after worship a little old lady said, "You read
so well. You should become a minister." I heard a writer
talk of walking down a crowded New York City sidewalk. He
made momentary eye contact with a black woman who said to
him, "Jesus loves you," and then disappeared into
the crowd as quickly as she had appeared. This ever so brief
encounter changed his perspective on everything he was struggling
with at the time. It was a catalyst for a new beginning.
Think
of all the involved theories and theologies and strategies
which have been conceived to win coverts, change lives,
and heal the world. When you think about how Jesus did it,
it is so simple it is almost embarrassing. He changed the
lives of the poor, the prisoners, the blind and oppressed
with words. When Luke discovered what Jesus' words and stories
could do, he wrote them down so other people in other generations
would know their power. He passed them on. Then it was St.
Paul's turn. Then St. Augustine and St. Francis. Then came
Martin Luther and Alexander Mack, and John Wesley
C.S.
Lewis, Billy Graham, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa,
John and Mary Q Sunday school teacher, your mother, your
friend, you.
"Words,"
someone observed, "are so powerful they should only
be used to heal, to bless, and to prosper." We don't
give much thought to medicine when we are healthy. It's
not until we have a bad headache that we appreciate what
aspirin can do. It's not until we feel impoverished, blind
or bound that we yearn to hear Jesus' words spoken by others
who take the stewardship of the word seriously.
I titled
this sermon, "You Now Have A License To Practice Medicine"
for a reason. If I called it, "You Now Have A License
To Practice Evangelism" some of you would not have
listened. That's sad. Lord knows that much of what is done
in the name of Christian evangelism has turned off more
people to the Lord than it has ever turned on. But an evangelist
is simply someone with a good word; a word about something
that makes a difference; something that helps and heals.
Being an evangelist is living on the basis of that good
news, letting others get little glimpses of the life of
Christ in our own. It's greatest work comes in little doses
and deeds
sitting by the bed of a sick friend, offering
a single mom child care so she can do something for herself
for a change, telling someone who hurts that you'll pray
for them. Show and tell.
Chuck
Baldwin recently reminded us that an individual can have
a greater impact on greater numbers of people by sharing
Christ on an individual basis than a mass evangelist can
who draws thousands of converts each night. There are plenty
of mass evangelists. We need people like you to open your
mouth and heart and give witness to what's inside of you.
You do have that good word in your mouth, don't you? You
can put your finger on the difference Christ makes for you,
can't you?
You
don't need to look far to find people full of fears and
tears. What good are words to them? Nothing if they are
just our words. But they are everything if they are gospel
words which carry the promise and the presence of the One
who heals, forgives, and restores.
The
writer Robert Fulghum has a hard time answering people who
want to know what he does for a living. When he has tried,
the person asking usually ends up with more confusion than
clarity. If he is on a long flight and someone asks the
question, he avoids trouble by making up a profession he
thinks no one is interested in. Most of the time it works.
But
on a flight to Thailand he got bumped into first class and
ended up sitting next to a distinguished looking Sikh gentleman.
He wore fine clothes, lots of expensive jewelry, and had
gold teeth. He thought he was a high-caste bazaar merchant.
When the man asked Fulghum the what-do-you-do? question
he said the first thing that popped into his head. "I'm
a neurosurgeon." "How wonderful!" The man
said with delight. "So am I!" He was. A real one.
It took Fulghum a while to explain things, but he said that
for 10 seconds, the temptation to be deaf and dumb had been
great.
The
next time you're asked what you do for a living, don't make
something up but get into the habit of telling yourself,
"I am licensed to practiced medicine," because
you are
gospel medicine. Luke the doctor changed his
profession to an evangelist, and as a result played a part
in curing more ills than he could ever have imagined. So
can we. So must we.
As the
good news has been passed to us, it's up to us to pass it
to others in the myriad of simple, yet totally sufficient
ways we can. It's in our Hippocratic oath. It's part of
the promise we made to Christ when we were baptized and
turned from teachers and preachers, and firemen and foremen,
and nurses and doctors into His disciples.
This
message was inspired by Barbara Brown Talyor's sermon, "Gospel
Medicine: which appears in her book bearing the same title.
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