All they could remember when the story of her healing was told and retold was that the woman was the mother of Simon Peter’s wife. Nobody remembered her name. We can identify her only through her relationship to Peter, a man whose name the church never forgot. He was among the first ones Jesus called to follow him. We know his name, along with the names of his brother Andrew, and the brothers James and John. The church even remembers Zebedee, the old man James and John left behind in the boat — and that’s all we know about him, that moment and his name. “It was a man’s world, what do you expect,” many have said, and some have added, “It’s not like things have changed that dramatically since then.”
In the verses before today’s passage, Mark tells us about a man with an unclean spirit, a man in the grip of the demonic, whom Jesus liberates, and the scene takes place at a synagogue, a very public place. Following that he tells us about a woman with a fever, whom Jesus heals, and the scene takes place in the privacy of a friend’s house. Mark, some readers have noted, has carefully arranged the scenes so that those who hear the story would know right from the beginning that Jesus brings liberation and healing to both men and women, in public and in private. I can see that, and it all takes place on the sabbath day; it’s like two thumbnails that together offer a preview of the whole big picture. The two brief scenes are an opening announcement of the day of life’s fulfillment, that longed-for, long-awaited sabbath day when God’s people, liberated from oppression and healed from every fever, fear, and sickness, rejoice in God’s gift of life and share it. I like that thought, I like that perspective on the opening scenes of Jesus’ ministry, but I still wish we could remember the mother of Simon Peter’s wife by name, because in contrast to her famous son-in-law, she was the first person to participate in Jesus’ mission. She was the first who got it.
Here’s the scene: Jesus and the disciples left the synagogue, walked across the street and entered Simon’s house where she was in bed with a fever. The next sentence is composed of plain, unadorned words, nothing that immediately stands out as quotable, just simple, descriptive terms for simple actions: He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up.
It’s the kind of sentence that easily disappears on a page, slips by amid the many words that tell the reader what happened next, what happened that evening, at sundown, and the next morning, the next day. But when the reader’s eyes or the storyteller’s voice just keep going, line to line, down the column, we’re likely to miss the lovely weight and significance of these three actions: this scene by the woman’s bed reflects the whole work of Christ. Jesus came to take us by the hand and lift us up. Jesus came to give power to the faint and strength to the powerless. Jesus came not just to make people feel better, but to take us by the hand and lift us up to new life, fullness of life in his name. Listen again to Mark’s words:
He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.
What does this have to do with new life? Sarah Henrich says,
It was her calling and her honor to show hospitality to guests in her home. Cut off from that role by an illness cut her off from doing that which integrated her into her world. Who was she when no longer able to engage in her calling? Jesus restored her to her social world and brought her back to a life of value by freeing her from that fever. It is very important to see that healing is about restoration to community and restoration of a calling, a role as well as restoration to life. For life without community and calling is bleak indeed.[1]
Jesus restored her to her place in the household and in the village, a place of dignity and purpose—but isn’t that the life she had before she got sick? What is new about a life where she goes back to the kitchen to fix supper for Simon and his guests, and wait on them? What is new about a life where a woman’s place is in the kitchen while the men eat and have deep conversations about the kingdom of God? Is it real healing when all Jesus does is restore and affirm the status quo? Is it real healing when Jesus helps us “return to normal” without lifting up and renewing what we called normal before the pandemic? These are important questions the text helps us raise, but it doesn’t mention the kitchen, nor does it say anything about her returning to her household chores. It says, she began to serve them.
In Mark, the word to serve first appears a few verses earlier: Jesus was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan, and the angels served him. Then the word is used in this scene at Simon’s house and again a few chapters later, where Jesus says, “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant” and “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.” In Mark, serving is something angels do, and something Jesus came to do. The last time the word is used in Mark is immediately after the account of Jesus’ death.
There were also women looking from a distance; among them were Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome. These used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee; and there were many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem.[2]
Evidently a good number of women had left the kitchen and followed Jesus to Jerusalem. They provided for him sounds a little like they made sure he had enough to eat, but the word is again to serve: they did what the angels did for him in the wilderness, and what he himself had come to do. Serving is something followers of Jesus learn to do from him, and Simon’s mother-in-law was the first who got it; that’s why I wish the church had remembered her name.
He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.
These simple words describe the whole work of Christ, as well as the work of those who follow him: he serves, and we serve him in love and gratitude, and we serve with him in proclaiming the good news of God’s reign.
Lawrence Wood tells a story about some remarkable women he’s been blessed to know, “women,” he writes, “whose names may never be written large in church history, even though their influence has been widely felt.” Every summer, Sharon, Muggs, Wanda, and Joretta would help to put on a church dinner. One year, one of them couldn’t be there to help, having just had a hip replacement. Lawrence went to check on her a day before the dinner.
“They’re not using boxed potatoes, are they?” she said, clearly more worried about a starchy side dish than her hip. “The people who come expect potatoes made from scratch.”
“They’re planning to peel potatoes all morning,” he assured her.
“And the ham? Did they get a good dry ham, or the watery kind?”
Lawrence didn’t know, told her it was probably the same ham as always. And before she could inquire about the quality of the green beans, he asked if she had always enjoyed cooking. To his surprise, she adamantly said no, that cooking was a big chore.
“Really? I thought you enjoyed doing this.”
“I don’t love the potatoes,” she said—and then there was a brief pause, just long enough for him to know that he was about to hear words of considerable weight and significance.
“Really, young man, you should know I love Christ, and there are only so many ways a body can do that.”[3]
And so she did it, she began to serve as she could. And she peeled the potatoes, even though it was a big chore. Soon others joined her; they came together as one body to prepare for the feast. And together they discovered a new way to think and talk about their service: We love Christ, and there are so many ways a body can do that. They dropped just one little word from her initial statement, the word only, because as a body, gathered into one by Christ’s love for them and their love for Christ, they could do all that was needed to proclaim the good news of God’s reign.
The mother of Simon Peter’s wife got it before anyone else did. Jesus took her by the hand and lifted her up, and she began to serve. That evening, Mark tells us, at sundown, they brought to Jesus all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And Jesus proclaimed the good news of God’s reign. He took them by the hand and lifted them up, and we don’t know how many of them, filled with joy and gratitude, simply returned to their former lives; and we don’t know how many there were who, in grateful response to the healing and liberating love of Christ, began to serve.
In the morning, Mark tells us, while it was still very dark, Jesus got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and hiscompanions hunted for him. The need for healing and liberation was still great in Capernaum, but they didn’t know what to do about it. “Everyone is searching for you,” they said, evidently utterly unaware that they too had a part in Christ’s proclamation of God’s reign.
And Jesus said to them, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also.” You know he didn’t move on because the work in Capernaum was done. He knew he could move on because in that town, in a house across the street from the synagogue, there was one woman who got it—don’t you wish we knew her name?
[1] http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1200
[2] Mark 15:40-41
[3] https://www.christiancentury.org/article/2009-01/first-deacon