June28b: 2Samuel 1:17-27; Ps 130; 2 Cor 8: 7-15; Mk5: 21-43
Blood and death, love and mourning, men and women of action; our scripture today is full of the deep stuff of life. But for now, let’s enter into the gospel story. It is such a vivid window into the working of the Spirit in those deep decisive moments of our lives – transforming, freeing, and bringing us and creation into the full flourishing of life. So let’s follow Mark through the door that he opens for us into the kingdom ways of the Word of Life.
There at the heart of this morning’s gospel is:
…a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse.
Surrounding her almost like parentheses, or better, like the loving arms of God, is the account of Jairus and his 12 year old daughter who was very sick, indeed “at the point of death.” For every year of Jairus’ daughter’s life, the woman at the heart of the story had bled. In Jesus’ day, to bleed made one unclean. To touch or be touched by someone who was bleeding made them and you unclean. Once unclean, you had to be purified before you could enter into the religious rites of the community. To bleed without stop was to be excluded from community, to be an outcast. And not only that:
She had endured much under many physicians,
Most of us here know what that word “endured much” could mean, even from well meaning physicians. And this, remember, was medicine 2000 years ago. And we’re told:
[she] had spent all that she had;
She was broke, poor and outcast, alone and sick. The very stuff of her life, her very life force, continued to drain away from her.
And she was no better, but rather grew worse.
A hopeless, awful situation; I can imagine her saying over and over the words of our Psalm today:
Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD.
Lord, hear my voice!
Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my [cries]
…I wait for the LORD, my soul waits
… in his word I hope;
My soul waits for the Lord -
More than those who watch for the morning,
More than those [sitting in the dark waiting for the morning star to appear].
In that dreadful, dark, alone, and desperate place, she reaches out to God. She acts.
She entered “the great crowd gathered around Jesus there by the sea” and “came up behind him in the crowd.” She was an outcast. She was a woman, unclean; probably the closest thing to invisible you could be. Unlike Jairus, who was a leader of the synagogue, she could not approach Jesus head on, directly, no. Instead, “behind him,”
[she reaches out] and touches Jesus cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.”
And it was so. We’re told:
Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.
But that is the not the end of it. Jesus is all about relationship. Miracle cures are not the point of it. There is more, deeper healing to happen for wholeness, freedom and faith to flourish. So right on the heels of the “immediately” of her hemorrhage stopping, we hear another “immediately.” Immediately, Jesus turns about in the crowd and says, “Who touched my clothes?” Now, if you have ever been in “great crowd”, you know everyone touches everyone else’s clothes, but Jesus is asking “who reached out to me? Who touched me with intent, with prayer, out of a deep cry to God?” Then there’s that phrase, “he looked all around to see who had done it…” That looking, that “who had done it” could make anyone’s heart turn cold with fear. Imagine how the woman would have felt when she heard his words. A couple of weeks ago I heard the presiding bishop of the United States say “courage is fear that has said its prayers.” Courage is not fearlessness, it is fear that has said its prayers. Remember Reverend Phyllis Keeper’s deep sharing last week. She spoke of that real, daily kind of courage, of fear that says its prayers. So, this nameless woman who had suffered so much in her body, at the hands of physicians, and in her community:
came in fear and trembling [and] fell down before Jesus,
But it was a different falling down at Jesus’ feet than Jairus had done; humbled and begging for the life of his daughter. This was the outcast, invisible, nameless one. She
came in fear and trembling, fell down before Jesus, and told him the whole truth.
Imagine telling the whole truth; telling the truth of what you have done, on your knees before our Lord, and in presence of whole community. Can you imagine the fear of the telling, of being visible, of the shame and judgment? Have any of you ever struggled to bring “whole truth” into the light of day? It is a terrifying process of profound vulnerability. It requires deep courage and the right listener, but as our psalmist says:
If you, O LORD, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you…
In fact there is infinite, unconditional love and a wideness and restorative power to the mercy that flows always from the Heart and Wisdom of our Universe. Even death itself does not interrupt the flow of God’s love and mercy. And so, Jesus reaches out to her. He heals not only her body, but all of her, and restores her to community.
“Daughter”
he says; claiming the outcast, the invisible, the nameless one as his own, his kin, with all the same passionate love as Jairus displayed for his daughter.
“Daughter,” Jesus says, “your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”
This is the ground of our hope. This is the freedom of the gospel, of life lived in the circle of Christ’s gaze, Christ’s love and mercy; life, full, whole, in relationship, lived openly, in the bright light of “whole truth telling,” in community. Life lived as sons & daughters of the one Lord. Not weeping and wailing at the power of death in our world, but living into the freedom and healing power of God’s love stirring us to action.
“Little one, get up!”
and we feel Jesus taking us by the hand and “immediately we get up” and set about it; this fullness of life that Christ invites us into with him; young, old, invisible and prominent, all of us.
This is the whole truth that we claim as Christians.
This is the truth of the process of our lives; over and over, coming in fear and trembling before our Lord to tell the whole truth.
This is the truth we witness to in our lives; open, free, shameless.
So many, too many, are in despair today, living in the darkness and immobility of depression, longing for the morning star, longing to hear the word of hope. This woman lived it. We can too.
“Get up, little ones,” let’s get going…!
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