Help for the Withered Spirit

(Mark 3:1-6)

Sometimes matters of worry, responsibility, or challenge can leave our spirits feeling wilted, weathered, withered.

Sometimes a modern-day picture of a Biblical remedy presents itself.

And sometimes, like today, a withered spirit and a Biblical remedy meet in an unlikely setting . . . 

I’m the new owner of the wooded lot next door.

I used to enjoy the chaotic wilderness over there.

Through owner’s eyes, though, what I see is concerning.

Kudzu, with vines as big as tree trunks, is on an aggressive march.

Withering and choking the life out of every tree in its path.

My loppers and I need to get in there.

Two hours later I’m lying prostrate on my sidewalk.

Totally overwhelmed.

By this time VINE feels like a 4-letter word.

My neighbor arrives with a chainsaw. 

We make a dent . . . but only a dent.

I call the cavalry.

Two mornings later my yard guys have most of the kudzu cut at its roots and yanked out of the treetops.

If trees can look appreciative, mine do.

I can almost hear them sighing with the relief of breathing freely.

Trees know withered-ness is a bad feeling.

So do I.

My spirit feels wilted, weathered, withered . . . worrying over a situation I cannot control.

Worry is like kudzu.

Sneaky, invasive, difficult to eradicate.

Right about here a Bible story not about kudzu intersects my life . . .

The word withered nearly jumps off the page.

Jesus entered the synagogue, and a man was there with a withered hand. 

Scholars believe this man was not born with his condition.

Rather, his hand likely withered as the result of injury or disease, leaving him unable to work.

Thus, I suspect, also withering his spirit.

In the synagogue this man doesn’t assert himself, draw attention, or ask for healing.

Perhaps because he’s used to living with withered-ness.

Resigned to living life on the periphery.

A delicate dance of avoiding pitying stares.

Meanwhile, the synagogue around him pulses with tension.

The disciples are nervous, Pharisees are pushing their agenda, and the crowd is caught up in the drama.

Imagine the man’s astonishment, then alarm, when Jesus’ gaze scans over the crowd and settles on him.

Drawing attention to him and his condition.

“Step up here where everyone can see you.”

Um, me? In the spotlight? Er . . .

“Now stretch out your hand.” 

An irresistible invitation to relief.

The man steps up and stretches out his hand.

Until he is fingertip-to-fingertip with Jesus.

Withered-to-healed on the spot.

How does his story apply to me?

To you?

Consider this:

Jesus takes the initiative.

Steps into the man’s world.

Meets him where he is.

Loves him how he is.

Understands what he needs.

And extends an invitation to freedom from what entangles him.

“Stretch out your hand.” 

Compassion and mercy in just four words.

Which feels like an invitation to stretch out the “hand” of my withered spirit to experience relief . . . and freedom from the choking vines of worry.

So I do.

Fingertip-to-fingertip.

Until my spirit is breathing freely.

The kudzu next door will certainly resurface.

It’s the nature of nature.

I’ll need to be proactive. 

Get in there early with my loppers next time.

Before the withering . . .

Same with my spirit.

And yours.

“Now stretch out your hand.”

See you in a couple weeks.

Love,