I've Got a Fever and the Only Prescription...

By Rev. Tommy Allen

Rev. Tommy Allen is the Senior Pastor of New Hope Presbyterian Church.

Mark chapter one, beginning at verse 29 and going through verse 39.

If you don’t have a Bible, you can follow along on the back of your order of worship.

So I say to you: hear the Word of God.

And immediately he left the synagogue and entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother in law lay ill with a fever, and immediately they told him about her. And he came and took her by the hand and lifted her up, and the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

That evening at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or oppressed by demons, and the whole city was gathered together at the door. And he healed many who were sick with various diseases and cast out many demons. And he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.

And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed. And Simon and those who were with him searched for him, and they found him and said to him, “Everyone is looking for you.” And he said to them, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also, for that is why I came out.” And he went throughout all Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and casting out demons.

Starting in January—if you’ve been around—you know I’ve been going through the book of Mark. I’m following the church calendar loosely, and as we’ve moved through the book you’ve probably noticed a few things distinctive to Mark. Namely, Mark is likely recording the story Peter told: Peter’s own accounts with Jesus. And you hear that word “immediately” over and over again. Mark uses immediately more than the rest of the New Testament combined.

I’ve told you before: Mark is the gospel for the ADHD. It bounces from one scene to the next with almost no breathing room. And yet, if you’ve been paying attention, what we’ve been talking about for the past three or four weeks really hasn’t bounced around that much. In fact, what we’re looking at today is the culmination of one single day in the life of Jesus.

Just imagine what his life must have been like. It feels like they’re everywhere at once—immediately here, immediately there, immediately a demon, immediately someone sick—and yet not even twenty four hours have passed.

As I was thinking through this, I thought: those of you who are working mothers, single dads, homeschool moms—basically, if you’ve got kids—think about Jesus’ day. The first thing he does is call Simon, Andrew, James, and John. So he’s got four “kids” in tow, let’s say. Then he goes to teach in the synagogue for most of the day. And those of you who teach or preach know that after two or three services, you’re pretty beat.

He finishes teaching, and right as he’s wrapping up—typical pastor’s day—someone in the congregation decides to reveal that they have a demon. So after a long day of preaching, Jesus now has to deal with a demon manifesting in his congregation. That’s not fun. But he casts it out.

Then he heads to Simon Peter’s house. You’d think, “Well, now he can at least sit back and maybe watch the news.” But the first thing he finds is Peter’s mother in law deathly ill. Not a big deal for Jesus—he can heal her and get back to the news. But as soon as he metaphorically turns on the television, there’s a knock at the door. Peter opens it, and the whole city is in the yard wanting healing and deliverance. And Jesus does it—seemingly through the night.

And then the very next thing you see is Jesus waking up early, while it’s still dark, to go pray.

That’s a long day.

So today we’re looking at the end of that long day, and tonight we’ll look at what the next morning reveals. But really, we’re going to look at just two things in today’s text:

1. Where grace goes

2. Where grace flows

Where Grace Goes

Look at the first verse we read:

“And immediately he left the synagogue and entered the house of Simon and Andrew with James and John. Now Simon’s mother in law lay ill with a fever, and immediately they told him about her. And he came and took her by the hand and lifted her up, and the fever left her, and she began to serve them.”

Remember my speculation—if Peter is normal, which we know he is—then when Jesus first called him and said, “I’m going to make you fishers of men,” that had to be exciting. All of us get excited when we say, “Who wants to go on a missions trip?” You go, you preach the gospel, and then you go home. You don’t have to live with those people.

So Peter, if he’s normal, probably felt a little uncomfortable when Jesus said, “I’m going to make you fishers of men—now let’s go back to your hometown.” And even more uncomfortable after the day in the synagogue when Jesus said, “Peter, let’s go to your house.”

I don’t think Peter would have invited Jesus to his house. The text indicates his mother in law was grievously ill, and she would have been responsible for serving and hosting. In the ancient Near East, failing to properly host a rabbi meant losing face. It would have been embarrassing. So I imagine Jesus said, “Let’s go to your house,” and Peter looked at Andrew and rolled his eyes: Oh boy, what are we going to do now?

And yet they went.

And that’s the first point: where grace goes.

Grace always seeks the unworthy and the unprepared. Grace goes to the people who don’t think they have what it takes. Everything Jesus does has purpose, so there must be purpose in going to a house where he knows the host is sick and unable to serve. Unless he does the work, nothing is going to happen.

Grace always goes to the weakest and most helpless.

So ask yourself: Why don’t I experience grace?

Is it because you spend so much time trying to be strong—or at least trying to appear strong? Trying to show you have no weakness, that your house is always clean, that you can gut it out? And yet you wonder, Why do I have no joy?

I think it’s because most Christians—especially in our congregation—are afraid to admit weakness. Afraid to admit trouble in the house. And because we’re afraid to admit it, everything looks good, but it never really feels good.

But the hope of the gospel is that Jesus won’t let that stand. Jesus invades. Jesus decides, “I am coming to your house today.”

He goes to Peter’s house. And Peter—what choice does he have?

Did you notice what Peter does when Jesus arrives? It’s easy to miss: he prays.

“Immediately they told him about her.”

If you’re talking to God, that’s prayer. And it’s instructive. You think, “I’ve got all these issues in my house; I don’t even know how to pray for them.” Or, “I’ve got all these troubles; I don’t even know what to say.”

Some of you send cards every week asking us to pray for children who don’t yet believe, or parents who don’t yet believe, or for jobs lost. We struggle with prayer. But at the end of the day: just tell him.

Tell Jesus you don’t know what to do with your children.

Tell Jesus your marriage is on the rocks.

Tell Jesus you don’t know what to do.

Because inherent in the telling is the request.

The question is: Are you willing to fess up?

“Rabbi, you came to my house. Every expectation is that we would serve you and honor you. But the fact is—I’ve got nothing. We didn’t expect you. And the one person who does all the work is sick. Sorry.”

Implicit in the statement is the request. Jesus knows what needs to be done. The question is: Will you trust him enough to tell him?

They tell him.

Immediately, they tell him.

What does Jesus do?

Does he complain?

Does he say, “Well, let’s go to someone else’s house where the mother in law isn’t sick”?

No.

No—what does Jesus do?

Verse 31 says, “And he came and took her by the hand and lifted her up, and the fever left her, and she began to serve them.”

You know, it doesn’t always happen that way. You tell Jesus you have a problem, and He immediately comes and solves it—fixes it, ends it. But you know what? It won’t happen if you never tell Him. It just won’t.

Another interesting thing here: as a pastor, one of the benefits—if you like this sort of thing—is that when I’m studying for a sermon, I’ll do all my own work and then read as many different kinds of commentators as I can. Liberal, conservative, everything in between. And most people don’t quite know what to do with this portion of the Bible. It’s so brief. Jesus heals her, she gets up, she serves them. The language there has to do with serving a meal—she immediately begins to serve Jesus.

Some people spiritualize the text and say, “Well, she’s the model of the Christian life: Jesus heals you, and you immediately get up and begin to serve Him.” I don’t think that’s the point. I think it’s part of a bigger picture, and the bigger picture Mark is pointing out is the folly—the foolishness—of the gospel and the way God does things.

Follow me here.

Peter’s mother in law is the first person Jesus heals. She’s a woman. And if you look at the book of Mark as a whole, every interaction Jesus has with a woman—every one—the woman responds appropriately. She either serves Jesus, worships Jesus, or recognizes Him for who He is.

On the other hand, every interaction He has with a man—particularly the disciples—they respond inappropriately. They misunderstand. They don’t get it. They don’t act in faith. They don’t worship.

So what’s the point?

I think the point is the folly of the gospel. If women are the ones who respond appropriately—who tend to be faithful, hopeful, spiritually perceptive—why didn’t Jesus choose women to do the work of ministry He chose the disciples to do?

The answer is simple: God chooses foolish men to display the folly of the gospel.

And this is probably a good moment to tell the story of the stole. Some of you have asked about it before. If you’re listening on iTunes, I’m wearing a robe and a stole—flamboyant, certainly colorful. It was handmade and given to me by an assistant pastor’s mother about ten years ago. In the church I was serving at the time, we never wore robes, so I never knew what happened to it. Frankly—sorry, Mrs. Sellers.

Then I was crushed. Events happened, and I left the ministry. In my mind, I thought I would never be back. Thought I wasn’t worthy. Thought maybe I just wasn’t fit for it.

Five or six years later, when I came on staff at this church and was installed again into gospel ministry, I went home and Judy had a package for me. I said, “What is this?” I opened it, and it was this stole.

I said, “Where did you get that?”

She said, “I always kept it.”

I said, “Why?”

She said, “Because I knew you would preach again.”

Woman: gracious, faithful, hopeful.

Tommy: idiot.

I see that dynamic all the time.

So if women, generally speaking, are more faithful, more hopeful, more spiritual—why does God choose people like me?

The answer is simple: If anything good happens in this church, it’s not my fault. God gets every bit of the glory.

And what is the good that happens?

When grace goes somewhere, it can’t stay there. Grace goes—and grace flows.

That’s what happens next.

Where Grace Flows

Jesus heals the mother in law. She gets up and serves them. And then the very next verse says:

“That evening at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or oppressed by demons, and the whole city was gathered together at the door. And he healed many who were sick with various diseases and cast out many demons. And he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.”

So Jesus heals her. She serves them. They eat. And finally—finally—He can catch the news. But as soon as the clock strikes six o’clock—sundown—the knock comes at the door. The whole city is outside.

Why did they come at sundown?

Remember, we’re still in a 24 hour period, and the day began on the Sabbath. The people coming from the city in Galilee—Galilee of the Gentiles—were a mix of Jews, Gentiles, pagans, the religious and the irreligious. So if the whole city came out, it wasn’t just Jews.

Either they were hyper religious and didn’t want to break the Sabbath by walking or carrying sick people—or they were afraid of hyper religious people judging them for breaking the Sabbath. Either way, they waited until sundown.

In other words, they might not have broken the Sabbath to get there, but as soon as the sun went down—like my last day of high school in Japan—they were standing there ready to go.

And what you see is this: grace always flows.

Grace never comes to a home and just stays there. Grace extends itself.

Charles Spurgeon wrote a sermon on this passage and said he thinks the whole thing is about reaching our neighborhoods. Because if Jesus comes and dwells in a house, how could the neighborhood not know? How could they not be excited?

The whole neighborhood would say, “Those people down the street—the Allens—they’re about as messed up as anyone I’ve ever seen. But Jesus is there. He keeps getting them out of jams. He’s saved them. When bad stuff happens, somehow they’re still joyful. When good stuff happens, they’re even more joyful.”

Grace expands.

So the question is:

If Jesus has really come to your house—if He’s really the head of your household—is your home a place where people are banging down the door to find out about Him?

Or is it not?

And if it’s not, maybe you need to think through the extent to which Jesus really rules there.

It says they all came out to see Jesus, and He healed many and cast out demons. The grace they’re seeing here—this isn’t necessarily saving grace. Remember, in Matthew Jesus says rain falls on the just and the unjust. Jesus is showing them common grace. We’ll see tonight that many of them probably don’t even believe His claims about being the Messiah. But He still heals them.

Jesus’ call is unqualified—and so is His grace. So is His mercy.

As a church, is that who we are?

That no matter who comes through the door, they’re welcome—no matter what they believe when they walk in? Because how will they ever believe anything else unless they first come?

That’s what Jesus will talk about tonight.

But there’s another aspect to this text—the last part—which often confuses people. When Jesus casts out demons, it says:

“He would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.”

Biblical scholars call this the messianic secret. Why would Jesus tell people to keep things quiet? And why would He silence demons who seem eager to reveal who He is?

It almost feels like the demons are doing evangelism—and Jesus tells them to shut up.

Why?

The answer is simple: Jesus didn’t come to be crowned as an earthly king at that moment. He didn’t come to overthrow Rome with a crowd excited about what He could do for them.

We’re no different today. Everyone votes based on what they think a candidate will do for them.

But Jesus says, “That isn’t why I came.”

And why would the demons try to call Him out by name?

Because Jesus’ plan was not to be crowned with a golden crown and set Himself over the Roman Empire.

But Jesus’ plan was to wear a crown of thorns.

It wasn’t to wear kingly robes, but to wear a garment stained with His own blood.

And every time the demons cry out, “We know who you are—the Holy One of God! You are the Messiah!” they’re actually trying to thwart Him. Because when the people hear that, it stirs them to crown Him. It pushes Him toward earthly glory.

So Jesus has to tell the demons, “Be quiet.”

Because the plan is not earthly glory.

The plan is the cross.

Jesus is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure His mission is accomplished—and His mission is not accomplished by gaining applause, admiration, or political momentum. His mission is accomplished by overcoming every obstacle that stands between Him and Golgotha. Because at the cross is where His work would be done.

And when I say done, I mean done.

Finished.

When He died on the cross, He took away our sins. And if you would trust Him, He would take them away for good. It happened at the cross.

Think through that.

This article is based upon a verbatim text of a sermon by Rev. Tom Allen. It has been lightly edited in Copilot, as well as by the theological staff of Third Millennium Ministries.