Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery? I have been assigned months of misery . . . the night drags on; I am filled with restlessness until the dawn . . . My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope . . . I shall not see happiness again.
—Job 7:1-7
This morning we listen to one of the darkest and most challenging readings of the liturgical year. That passage from the Book of Job describes a man immersed in human suffering. His woes and hardships take up over forty chapters and end up leaving us stunned.
The Book of Job is one of the most widely read books in all of literature; not simply for the Jewish people or Christians, but for all people. All of us can sympathize with this man of affliction because we all carry the difficult burden of human suffering.
What is remarkable for us to reflect on this morning is that Job bears all that suffering as a man who has not sinned! He is completely innocent and yet he undergoes a tremendous trial. How much more difficult is our affliction when we also become entangled in the faults and weaknesses that cause us so much distress?
The Council of Trent indicates that we were first created in a state of “Original Justice.” They describe the life of our first parents in terms of harmony. There was harmony deep within the human person; think about how different that is from our own experience, when our passions and desires can often become so conflicted. There was also harmony between the human person and God, and harmony within the human family itself. Finally, there was harmony between humanity and all created things.
That great harmony, of course, was broken by original sin. Suddenly a world of human suffering comes flooding into our lives; perhaps that has never been more acute as it is today. As we continue to struggle with the global pandemic, addictive behaviors and abuses are exacerbated and the human family is suffering deeply on every continent.
Thanks be to God that we encounter in the Gospel this morning the One who St. Augustine names Christus Medicus, Christ the Physician or Christ the Healer. Jesus comes into our world and takes on our human nature and our human suffering, and He brings it to the cross. He pours out His body and blood on Calvary to bring us salvation. The Latin word for salvation is salus, and it is the same word used for health and healing. Christus Medicus comes to bring us the healing and the salvation that we yearn for in a world often adrift in brokenness and suffering.
We discover that healing in a particular way in St. Mark’s Gospel. He tells us of Simon’s mother-in-law, who lay sick with a fever. The disciples alerted Jesus to her illness and “He approached, grasped her hand, and helped her up. Then the fever left her and she waited on them” (Mark 1:31).
Many times in the gospels Jesus heals simply by speaking; sometimes even at a distance, like when he tells the centurion that his servant has been healed, and so it is. But here Mark is explicit: Jesus grasped her hand. He touched her physically and she was healed. He went on to heal people from all over the town, physically and spiritually.
The Catechism of the Catholic Church has a beautiful way of describing what Christ is doing in the Gospel and what He continues to do today. It says:
“In the sacraments Christ continues to ‘touch’ us in order to heal us”
—CCC, #1504
It is in the Sacrament of the Eucharist that find healing in the body and blood of Christ. When we go to Confession frequently we experience the salve of reconciliation and are made new; the Sacrament of Reconciliation is one of the two “sacraments of healing.” When we renew our baptismal covenant through holiness of life we are washed anew in those sacred waters and recommit to a life of integrity and faith.
How, then, are we called this week to encounter Christus Medicus, the Divine Physician? Firstly, I would suggest that we encounter the healing touch of Christ when we make ourselves vulnerable before Christ and acknowledge our wounds. St. Augustine, who gives us this remarkable title of Christus Medicus, in The Confessions, writes:
“Woe is me, Lord have mercy upon me! Woe is me! See, I do not hide my wounds: you are the doctor, I am the patient, you are merciful, I am miserable.”
There is a powerful story that Cardinal Dolan, the Archbishop of New York, tells about a group of soldiers who went to visit St. Pio (Padre Pio) after the Second World War. Unlike many of the people who went to Pietrelcina to see this holy man, these men were not interested in participating in the Mass or asking him to hear their confessions. They were simply curious, and one of them was a bit obnoxious.
He saw the saint and immediately called out loud across the church, “Hey, Padre Pio, show me your wounds!” (Padre Pio received the stigmata during his lifetime, the wound marks of Christ in his hands, feet and side). Padre Pio did not pay any attention to the man, so the soldier continued to shout, “Show me your wounds!” After a few moments of this, Padre Pio fixed his gaze upon the man, and then began to respond, “You! Show me your wounds!” The man was surprised. Padre Pio continued to demand, “Show me your wounds!”, and he approached the man up close. As he continued to shout this phrase, the young soldier suddenly broke down and began to sob uncontrollably.
Later on the man related that during the war be had been in a fierce battle, and had fallen during the fight. He was not hurt, but he was so scared that he remained on the ground as if he were wounded instead of rising to defend his fellow soldiers. This incident came back to him now, a wound and moral failure that he had carried with him and no one else knew about. Seeing his entire countenance change, St. Pio firmly grasped his jacket and said, “You are going to confession now.” The man was able to confront his wounds and received healing and a new beginning.
We begin by acknowledging our wounds and the need for Christus Medicus. Where are the places that we have been wounded by sin and by the battles of life, where Christ can now bring healing and a new start?
Secondly, we encounter Christus Medicus when we drink deeply of the healing waters of the sacraments. We come frequently for confession, seek Christ regularly in the Sacrament of the Eucharist, and are attentive to the ways that God has changed us by the healing touch of Christ in the sacraments we have received.
Finally, we follow the example of the disciples in the Gospel, by bringing Jesus Christ to all who are suffering and in need. Simon’s mother-in-law was sick with a fever; she could not go to Christ. They sought Him out and brought Him to her. The apostolic ministry of the Church has this image at its core, to go out to the needy and the suffering, and make Jesus Christ known to them.
This week may we truly experience the fullness of that encounter with Christus Medicus, allowing Him to bring that healing into our lives and into our world that we so desperately long for. He grasped Simon’s mother-in-law by the hand and healed her, and he wants nothing more than to reach out to you and me. We do well to remember always that “In the sacraments Christ continues to ‘touch’ us in order to heal us”
—CCC, #1504
