Opened to God

To be deaf and mute—unable to hear and unable to speak—is a terrible affliction. So much of what makes us living beings depends on our capacity to hear from others and to speak to others. To hear our name said, to speak of one’s emotions and desires, to communicate beyond gestures—these are all deeply human things. To be lacking these abilities brings a kind of isolation from our humanity. Think of it this way: communicating with God and one another is what creates communion with God and one another. Not to hear and not to speak—living in complete and permanent silence—is a terrible affliction to live with.

It is important to see in the manner in which Jesus healed the deaf and mute man how this transpired. First the man is brought to Jesus, with the request that he lay his hands on him. Gesture, touch, physical contact—these were the things by which the man might find acceptance from others. (We should also acknowledge that these same means, done with violence, would have been the ways in which the man would have learnt rejection.) The man’s helpers—perhaps his family?—know that a touch from Jesus would be a moment of communion for him.

Strikingly, for a man who knew isolation only too well, Jesus takes him away from the other people, to be with him alone. Jesus wishes to do more for the man, but in a particular way. He first places his fingers in the man’s ears, and then touches his mouth. Jesus first attends to the man’s hearing, and then to his speaking. Jesus wanted for the man to hear, and then speak. How else might one speak clearly, if one cannot first hear clearly? Therefore, ephphatha, be open.

Might I suggest that we, who do have the physical capacity to hear and to speak, also listen out today for that same word—ephphatha, be open, not closed. But open to what? We need moments of silence, otherwise our hearing is inundated with noise, and nothing makes sense, and our speaking becomes muddied and meaningless. Jesus took the deaf and mute man away from the noise, so that the voice he would first hear would be the voice of God. This is a common story in our salvation history. It was in the stillness of a gentle breeze that Elijah would experience the presence of God. Mary, God’s Mother, would hear the angel in the quiet of her home. Mary Magdalene heard her name spoken by the risen Jesus in the silence of dawn. Each of these who then speak with clarity of God’s presence and communion.

Similarly, with us. Finding silence allows for us to hear, and then to speak clearly. When immersed in noise, we cannot achieve this—a life constantly immersed in noise is like becoming deaf and mute. To hear well from God and to speak clearly of God calls for the quiet space to be open. This is worth noting, given the extent to which we are all plugged in these days. When there is a moment of space, how quickly do we turn to fill it with our devices, checking our socials, filling our eyes and ears with whatever, thinking this will be to our good. But is it? I don’t think so. The more we are plugged in, the more diminished is our capacity to hear and then to speak. Our saturated world of visual and aural noise is not, generally, to our good.

So, might we be touched by Christ in our ears and on our tongues, and hear the word ephphatha, be opened.