Mark 5:21-43 - January 28, 2024
We find ourselves in yet another healing story. Three out of the past four Sundays have featured stories where Jesus brings healing in some way, shape, or form. This story, however, is a bit more intricate than the others, weaving together two interactions with various people across several scenes.
There are several noteworthy aspects in these interwoven stories:
The diverse clientele with whom Jesus interacts: the young daughter of a synagogue leader and a nameless woman with a chronic ailment.
There are the interruptions during Jesus’ mission and the stirring up of emotions of both the woman and Jairus.
The vulnerability of each desperate person, stepping out of their comfort zone.
The tug-of-war between faith and fear in both the woman and Jairus.
And, of course, there is the miraculous aspect - Jesus heals. More than that, he enters into the reality of death, revealing all that God can do, regardless of the circumstances happening to us or around us.
Any of those ideas could be a sermon in itself, yet, none of these really stuck with me this week. (Sorry if you were really into something I just said.) Yet as I wrestled with the various approaches to writing a sermon, something struck me: I love the Jesus we get in today’s story.
I love this Jesus, the way he acts, what he does, what he represents. It epitomizes who I believe Jesus is. I love that he leaves a big crowd of admirers just so he can go take care of one little girl. I love that when the woman touches him with the intent to be healed, he stops everything to acknowledge her, to interact with her - treating her as if she is the only important thing in the world. I love the way the disciples are like, “Jesus, buddy, we’re in a big crowd. Who didn’t touch you?” And I love that when the news of the girl’s death reaches them, Jesus’ response is, “Don’t fear. Just believe.” It’s like Jesus puts his hand on Jairus’ shoulder, looks him intently in the eyes, and says, “Just trust me.”
And as I reflected on what sets these stories apart from the others, and why there are things I “love” in this story that I don’t get from the previous weeks, it started to be clear to me that Jesus truly cares, really cares. He cares enough to come close, to touch and be touched.
“If I but touch his clothes…”
“He took her by the hand…”
While in the other healing stories, Jesus simply speaks the word and the people are healed (which is quite powerful in and of itself), here Jesus touches to heal. Here, it’s more intimate, more personal. Touch is what heals.
Touch is important. Touch shows care in a way that words alone can’t. Hugging your kids or wrestling with them (you all still wrestle with your kids, right?) or even an affectionate head rub are all ways of expressing care that words alone can’t. Would your significant other believe you loved them if you never embraced or held hands, no matter how many times you say it with words? Even with friends, there’s a handshake, high five, fist bump, some form of physical contact.
Touch communicates to another that they are valued, needed, and loved. And that’s precisely what Jesus does for the woman and the little girl with his healing touch.
But translating Jesus’ touch into our lives isn’t easy, is it?
We look around and still suffer from legitimate pains, chronic and acute. There’s bloodshed and death. Maybe we feel like Jairus, wondering why Jesus takes so long to provide a healing touch for us and for our world.
And that’s hard. It is hard to wait. There is no way to explain it away, no way to alleviate the pain with words - though I wish there were. (It’d come in pretty helpful as a pastor, and not just for sermons.) All I can do is point to Jesus who offers example and promise - Jesus who came to people and healed them, over and over and over. Jesus who cares enough to come close, to become human, to see and experience and be with us.
Jesus shows us what God’s Reign is like. The Good News is that this promise, this vision, this inbreaking of God’s Kingdom didn’t end when Jesus died. Instead, this promise is opened up even more, made even more true through resurrection.
The promise is not just that one day we will be healed, but we will be more alive than we ever have been before. Because Jesus is raised, alive, whole, we have the promise that we will be raised, alive, and whole, too. Because Jesus chose to come close, to touch our world with his presence, we will live resurrection life.
And as we wait on this promised resurrection, waiting for Christ to come to us, grab us by the hand, and raise us up, we are given comfort. We have comfort in the words of hymns, scripture, and liturgy that speak to us. But we have more than spoken promises and mere words of consolation; we have tangible promises of God.
God promises to come to us in a more physical, tangible way, even now. In the sacraments, we touch, taste, feel, see, and smell the promises and love of God. Christ reaches out to us in the meal, in baptism, through bread and wine and water, to let us know love in a way that words alone cannot convey.
Now, don’t hear what I’m not saying: words are important. Words are crucial; the meal is given and shed for you. You are marked with the cross of Christ forever. These are words we need to hear weekly, daily, continually.
But in the bread and wine of communion and in the waters of baptism, God gives us something to touch. God promises a closeness in these holy elements - something tangible, where you can know, where you can feel God’s love for you. It’s a hug, an embrace, a way in which God reaches out, takes our hand, and raises us to life anew.
Jesus cares enough to come close.
Jesus invites you to the table. Bread in your hand. Wine you can taste.
Jesus proclaims you are God’s child - a splash of water.
Jesus claims you, and you marked, touched with the cross of Christ on your forehead.
Through it all, we can hear, we can see, we can feel the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.