Peter’s Wife’s Mother healed

Peter’s Wife’s Mother healed

Peter’s Wife’s Mother. General healing.

(The Gospel History, Section 31)

And he rose up from the synagogue, and came into the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s wife’s mother lay sick, holden with a great fever, and straightway they tell him of her and beseech him for her. And when he saw her he came and stood over her and rebuked the fever; and he took her by the hand and raised her up: and the fever left her; and immediately she rose up and ministered unto them.

Peter’s Wife’s Mother healed

(The Saviour of the World, Vol II Book I Poem VI)

Wearied with that outgoing of Himself,
Attends all strenuous healing, teaching, work,
Jesus arose, and followed Him the four,
The fishers whom He loved, to Simon’s house,—
Honoured to shelter Him, the King of men.
Simon was married, shared his family life
With his wife’s mother: desperately sick
In burning fever lay she; and straight, they,
Simon and Andrew, James and John, the four,
Tell of the suffering woman, and beseech,
Remembering those signs they’d seen, that He
Would raise up their sick friend; whom when He saw,
He came (how gracious!) and stood over her,—
Compassionate of fevered tossing frame,
Of burning lips, of horrid misery,—
And He rebuked the fever. Forth it went,
Dismayed before the Lord, the Giver of life;
He took her by the hand and she uprose,
Not lifted by the strong men standing round,
Not spent with fever, weak as shaking lamb,
But, all her power of life restored in her,
Raised by His hand, she gat up, grateful, glad,
And served the simple meal—her offering.

In darkness lie we, in the shadow of death;
Fast bound in misery and iron, see
Or mother, wife or child, husband or son
Grow sick, bear anguish, die, and leave us here!
And that sick woman, raised from off her bed,
Able to minister in that same hour,—
What comfort here for us? Nay, sorer grief,—
Our dearest thus tormented—this one saved!
Not thus the tale moves Christian heart, grown meek:
No longer battered by wild sea of life
’Gainst horrid senseless crags that break us quite,
But, thrust with violence upon the breast of God,
Why, if He will, we suffer, die, or live;
Not this, the end: meanwhile, we pray alway:
What myriads live gladly on to-day
For that their friends have prayed, and He hath heard!
Alway, He hears,—if, loving us, He purge
With pain or sanctify through sorrow;
“Yea, though He slay me, will I trust in Him!”

St. Mark i. 29-31;
St. Luke iv. 38, 39;
St. Matthew viii. 14, 15