There are four stories going on in this text: 1) the story of a humble leader, 2) the story of a sick woman, 3) the story of a dead little girl, and 4) your story and mine.
We want to be sure to get at the truth of the Bible stories, but we also need to look at the personal connection, the application of the text to our lives. That's your story and mine. In other words, preaching Bible stories must not only be true to the text; preaching also must make a difference. This text about Jesus' healing power is true; it also makes a difference in our lives.
The presenting problem, the "itch" for which Jesus provides the "scratch" is a request from a synagogue leader named Jairus. This point of departure is the plea of this community leader for Jesus to come to his home and heal his dying daughter.
Jairus urgently requested that Jesus help his child. He didn't just ask; he begged the Lord to do something that no one else had been able to do -- to bring the young girl from the brink of death back to life. We feel the tragedy in the plea.
The plea touches the soul. When a child is sick or hurting, we get worried. When he/she is very sick, we get very worried. And when a child is sick unto death, we get worried to death. As one father put it, "I'd rather die myself than have my little girl die." And he meant it. The presenting problem draws us into the story. We feel the pain of the father.
The father was an important man, a person of considerable influence, a synagogue ruler. In Jesus' time, a synagogue ruler was the president of a board of elders for a worship and education center for the Jewish community. He was a respected leader in the community, the one who decided who would preach and teach in the synagogue. He also made sure that the house of God was kept clean, repaired, and ready for worship of the almighty. The house of God had to have a sense of respect and great dignity. So did the man who was in charge of that synagogue.
This father had dignity, but whatever dignity he had was forgotten as he arrived where Jesus was teaching. Pride forgotten, Jairus fell to his knees like a beggar and humbly asked Jesus to come to his home and do something for his little girl. It isn't easy for a man of honor to bow his head, fall to his knees and beg, but nothing would interfere with this request. Nothing. He would do anything for his child. Do you feel that parental pulse beating as you hear and imagine the drama?
This father had responsibilities. The synagogue was the school for the community, the social center of town, and the place where devout Jews gathered for worship each Sabbath. Responsibilities aside, Jairus came to see the man about whom two things were being whispered and shouted among the Jews. Some said he was a dangerous agitator and revolutionary teacher who could not be trusted; others insisted Jesus was a healer sent from God and that he had restored many people of all ages to health. Jairus clung to the hope that Jesus would heal his child.
This father had hope. He set his fears aside. He had his mind focused on one thing: his little girl. If there was any chance that Jesus could restore her to health as he had done for others, Jairus wanted this for his child. If he was going to face criticism for associating with Jesus, so be it. If the Pharisees and Sadducees were going to put pressure on the community to scorn him, that was of no account. If the elders would ask for his resignation, that was secondary. Healing was priority one.
That's how our text begins. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, there is a major interruption. The quest of a desperate father for healing of his dying daughter is interrupted by the quest of a sick and desperate woman who has known one disappointment after another in her search for health.
The first story is pushed out of the way by a simple incident that from human standards should have been ignored. A simple, predictable incident is seemingly blown out of proportion when Jesus' asked: "Who touched me?"
One of the apostles, or another of Jesus' friends, gave the natural human reaction to that strange question: "What do you mean, 'Who touched me?' Can't you see the crowds all around you pushing and shoving to get close, bumping one another repeatedly and bumping you in the process? What's the problem? Someone touched you? So what?" Jesus never deals with this natural human response. He turned to the crowd with those deep, penetrating eyes that seemed to search the nooks and crannies of the human soul, and requested again with compassion in his eyes, "Who touched me?"
The crisis in the first story suddenly falls into second place as a strange, inferior-feeling, unnamed woman with a bleeding problem approached Jesus. Her problem had shamed her. Inconspicuously, slowly, hesitatingly, and meekly she appeared, then suddenly she was in a spotlight. Jesus searched her out. She looked back at the man looking right through the facade she erected. Feeling the healing of her body, forgetting the crowd, forgetting her embarrassment, forgetting herself, she fell at Jesus' feet. "I did it," she confessed like one who has sinned greatly. "I touched your robe."
Reaching down to touch the one who had touched his robe, Jesus said, "Daughter."
"Did he just call me daughter?" she must have thought. "What a tender way to speak. What will he say next?"
"Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering."
Here in this story of the befuddled, desperate, suffering woman we meet what might be called the courtesy of Christ. The woman's theology is totally unacceptable. She thinks that touching a piece of clothing will heal her. That's magic, not real faith. If she went to seminary, she would flunk out for practicing that kind of theology. But Jesus didn't see it that way. He leads us into a different way to see different people who are desperate for help. The compassion of Christ means that Jesus starts with people where they are. He doesn't say, as many seem to fear, "Get your theology in order, get your life fixed up before you come to me, and then I will talk with you." No, instead, surprisingly, he starts with us wherever we are and lifts us up higher if we just come to him, open and willing for him to do with us whatever he sees we need to have him do.
Like Jairus, who initiated the movement of this drama with the point of departure, the woman who was estranged from everyone by a massive, monstrous problem she didn't cause, and for which she could find no help, simply came as she was and did the best she could with what little she had. This nobody had tried everybody. No one had been able to help her. With stops and starts that would have discouraged almost anybody from trying again, she reached out once more. Maybe she didn't do it just right, but she did it -- she reached out to Jesus in her own way, trying to remain inconspicuous. That's all that is necessary.
Thus this nobody, this bleeding outcast among the Jews1, became a wise teacher of faith who announced to the world without words, "This man, this Jesus, is unlike anyone else who has ever lived. He will start with you wherever you are, just like he did with me. He changed my life. He can change yours." That is what is called a major reversal. Power had gone out from Jesus and into the broken woman. That is called a miraculous reversal.
The woman who wanted to get well, got more than she could ever have hoped for. More than her body was healed. Getting well meant that she was given a power of life she had never experienced before this encounter.
Suddenly, as we often see in the gospel of Mark, another interruption, a disrupting movement in the woman's story, comes bursting in. As Jesus was talking to the unnamed woman and healing her bleeding problem, some people came from Jairus' house with shocking news. "Your daughter is dead," they said. "Why bother the teacher anymore?" End of story. Hope canceled. Time to give up... wrong.
The story of the healing of Jairus' daughter is a story of dramatic contrasts. The story invites us to choose one side or the other. Despair or hope?
There is a dramatic contrast between the hopeless mourning of the people at Jairus' house and the quiet confident hope of Jesus. The mourning of the people who gathered around the little girl came from a feeling of despair. Despair goes beyond suffering. It is suffering without hope. The loud wailing of the people combined with the wailing of the flutes made for an atmosphere of unmanageable grief. What a shame... an unfulfilled life... a child who would never grow up... a mother and father with broken hearts... love lost and gone forever -- or so it seemed to everyone there; everyone but Jesus.
Jesus saw beyond what seemed to be happening all the way to what was actually happening. He had the perspective of eternity and the power of God over death. Others saw only the misery of a pitiful child suffering and dying. Others saw only the tragedy. Jesus saw what God wanted to accomplish in that tragedy. When Jesus said, "The child is asleep," the people scorned him with ridicule and laughter. Jesus saw that the little girl could be awakened like it was time to get up in the morning. The people saw only the seemingly permanent sleep of the dead. That is a staggering contrast -- opposite poles! Those are two different ways to think! The wailers and mourners saw misery, tragedy, and suffering. Jesus saw opportunity and hope. Choose -- which side will you attach yourself to?
The wailers and mourners were caught in a demonic, unrestrained distress that is often present at the time of death. Jesus approached the little girl with a calmness and peace that was in dramatic contrast to all those around him. When they laughed at what they considered the apparent illusion of Jesus' comment about death being like sleeping from which someone could wake up, Jesus just kept walking straight toward his destination. Taking Peter, James, and John with him, he moved like one accustomed to winning. Jesus went directly to the little girl's bedroom. With tenderness and confidence, Jesus took the hand of the child and said, "Talitha cum" which means "Little girl, get up."
Jesus spoke in a Hebrew dialect called Aramaic, a common language of the time. Peter, one of the three apostles who heard the words spoken, must have felt it was important to retain the calm serenity of the Aramaic words. When he retold the story to Mark, he retained the original Aramaic.
We are offered a choice in this dramatic story; a choice between the hysterical, out-of-control reaction of hopelessness in the face of death, or the serenity of Jesus who knows that for believers death is just a brief stopover on the way to freedom, a brief time before the fullness of the kingdom of God is ours.
These Bible stories are more than just interesting tales of old. They connect with your life and mine. They invite us to step into the middle of the drama and draw from them what God wants to say to us today. Do these ancient healing tales make a difference to you and me? Yes, I believe they do.
It may be helpful to keep the words of an old hymn before our mind's eyes as we think about how we are participants in these biblical dramas. The hymn "Just As I Am" is a reminder of how we come before God when we want to be healed. In addition to these two healing stories we have the assurance of the cross and resurrection of Jesus to add to our perspective, so we can sing, "Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me... O Lamb of God, I come" (public domain). I come to be made well "just as I am." That's how the unnamed woman with the bleeding problem came. That's how the little girl came.
Just as I am, I come to Christ humbly, not proudly like one who has it all together, but humbly. If I come as a proud man before my Lord, that pride will get in the way of my healing. But if I come like Jairus, the unnamed woman, and the little girl, I will be open to what God has to give me. Healing of the body, healing of memories, and healing of broken spirits all begin by acknowledging that I am broken. As Luther once said, "It is God's nature to create out of nothing. If I am not nothing, God can't make anything out of me."
Just as I am, I come to Christ with appreciation and gratitude for what he does for me. There is no wellness without gratitude to God. Granger Westberg was a Lutheran pastor who spent his ministry connecting faith and health. He worked in medical schools as well as churches and seminaries. Some years ago, Granger lectured to doctors, nurses, and pastors at the University of Arizona School of Medicine. He asked a question: "What is the one thing, more than any other factor, that brings wellness to our lives?" There were many answers -- all of them good answers, but wrong. After reviewing the importance of keeping in good physical shape, not eating wrong foods, not smoking, and a dozen other good answers, Westberg said, "According to a recent medical research project in which I was involved, it was discovered that the most important ingredient in health is gratitude. 'The attitude of gratitude,' " he said. To get well, it is essential that I come to God with an attitude of gratitude. Gratitude is the golden thread that runs through our story and the entire Bible.
O Lamb of God, I come with faith that you will care for my hurts. Whatever my hurts are, I need to lay them at the feet of Jesus. It may be that my hurts are physical, like the unnamed woman with blood issues. It may be that I come with hurts that are mental -- resentments that I feel I have a right to feel because I have been so badly treated by someone.
O Lamb of God, I come sincerely giving up my self-pity and resentments. From a human point of view, I may have a right to them, but self-pity and resentments keep me sick. I may have a human "right" to them, but they are "rights" which are wrong for my own health and wellness. Resentments, like arteries, harden and have the same deadly result. A cousin to self-pity and resentments, an unwillingness to forgive may be "right" from a human point of view, but that unwillingness to forgive does much more damage to me, "the owner" than to the person against whom they are held, so I place them in your hands. Revenge too, O Lord, I turn over to you.
Granger Westberg asked the audience at the University of Arizona School of Medicine, "What is the one thing, more than any other single factor, that makes us sick? After many wrong answers, he told us that the medical research he and others had done showed that the single worst thing we can do if we want to be healthy is to be motivated by revenge. "Revenge causes more heart attacks, strokes, and other serious medical problems than any other factor," he said. When we come to Christ with our hurts, we had better also be willing to give up revenge against people who have sinned against us. If those who have hurt us are not willing to repent or make no effort to acknowledge what they have done wrong, they won't be forgiven; that's their problem. We have no control over that. We do have control over our willingness to forgive. That's why Jesus taught us to pray, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."
O Lamb of God, I come to you, sincerely seeking your help. Whatever my human condition, whether a physical problem or a problem in a relationship or any one of a hundred difficulties in which I may find myself, I come to you, Lord, knowing that I need help.
If I come, like the Pharisee in one of Jesus' parables saying, "I'm glad I'm not like this tax collector... I avoid sin, I go to church regularly, and say my prayers every night...." I will go away unforgiven. If, like the tax collector in that same parable, I say sincerely, "God be merciful to me, a sinner," I have opened the door to new life, health, and wellness.
O Lamb of God, I come to you without one plea, but that your blood was shed for me, I come; I come. I cannot carry my burdens and problems any longer. They are too heavy for me.
If you pray like that and like the unnamed woman in Jesus' story, you may hear the wonderful words: "Child of mine, your faith has made you well," or like the little girl, "Arise, my child, wake up from death."
1. Since the Jews of Jesus' time believed that blood was life, they spurned women during their periods and treated the bleeding woman in Mark like an outcast, almost like a leper.