A Touch of Faith
By Caroline Dean
July 1, 2012
Mark 5: 21-43
[ Audio
(mp3, 7.0Mb) ]
en Jesus had crossed again in the board to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus, came and, when he saw Jesus, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, ‘My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she made be made well and live.' So he went with him. And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him.
“Now
there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve
years. She had endured much under many
physicians, and had spend
all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind
him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, ‘If I but touch his
clothes, I will be made well.' Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she
was healed of her disease. Immediately
aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and
said, ‘Who touched my clothes?' And his
disciples said to him, ‘You see the crowd pressing in
on you; how can you say “Who touched me?”' He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to
her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole
truth. He said to her, ‘Daughter, your
faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.'
“While
he was still speaking, some people came from the leader's house to say, ‘Jairus, your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?' But overhearing what they said, ‘Jesus said
to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only
believe.”'”
Let
us pray: Healer God, grant us wholeness,
and the courage to tell the whole truth. Embrace us with your healing touch this day – by the power of your
spirit and in the name of your Son we pray. Amen.
I
am generally a person who enjoys my own “personal space.” And I was reminded of this quirk recently when
Brantley and I took some family, visiting from out of town on the C train from
Penn Station to 42nd St. during rush hour this weekend. Anyway – we cram on this train and it is
generally pretty awful – I am leaning against 5 or 6 sweaty, random strangers
and we are avoiding eye contact. Half of
the people have earphones in an attempt to cope with the tight quarters. The other half stare
out the windows and I am trying to go to a happy place in my head…
Generally
I like a lot of breathing room. Don't
get me wrong, I am an extrovert and love being around people but I don't enjoy
cramming into a crowd of smelly, perfect strangers or any crowd of any sort as
a matter of fact! I spent a semester
abroad studying in New Zealand and I can remember the shock of LA airport upon
my arrival home. In New Zealand's recent
history – they had more sheep than people in their green spacious country and
so after spending 6 months in this lovely land – I was shocked by the sheer
amount of human life packed together in the LA airport.
In
our text today we find a smelly crowd and a woman who has been bleeding for 12
years who nobody wants to be in close quarters with (And sadly I am in no place
to judge them). Here's the thing since
she has been hemorrhaging for 12 years she is ceremonially unclean – meaning
that others can become ritually or symbolically “dirty” by being in contact
with her – which only heightens the anxiety of the personal space issue in this
story.
Let's
imagine this scene from her perspective. She has been ill for 12 years, seeking doctor's support only to keep
getting worse and worse. She is at the
end of her rope financially and emotionally – she is desperate. Her family and friends have abandoned her
because she is destitute and ceremonially & socially ‘unclean.' She cannot bear children, which is a shame
that weighs on her every day. And this
sacred life force – her blood - that is taboo in their culture just like it can
be in our culture is flowing out of her – she is literally losing more and more
of the blood that sustains her – each and every day. In many ways this woman has been slowly dying
for 12 years.
And
she has heard about this guy Jesus and some of the miraculous things that he
has done and she hopes that maybe – just maybe – she could get a pinch of that
miraculous healing power. But as they
wait in the crowd – she is just about to speak up and risk announcing to the
world that the “unclean” woman is in your midst by getting Jesus' attention and
this guy Jairus – who is the synagogue leader – whisks
Jesus away to heal his sick daughter. Now perhaps the woman has sympathy – perhaps she even knows the daughter
and from afar she has watched her getting ill and she is empathetic. But this is her only chance – it is now or
never and so she thinks to herself – “If I could only
touch the hem of his robe – maybe I would get a touch of a miracle…maybe … just
maybe…
And
nothing about this situation is easy for the hemorrhaging woman – she could
easily create a huge scene when someone recognizes her as ‘unclean' and she is
certainly not allowed to reach out and touch random men of authority in the
street and transfer her unclean status to them. She is risking it all – but for her – it is worth it – she has no
inhibition – no fears that could possibly be worse than what she has already
been through. And so she squeezes
through the crowd, positioning herself to intercept
Jesus' path and trying to remain as anonymous as possible. Perhaps she makes eye contact and shudders as
some people begin to recognize her – but she does it anyway – she reaches,
falls on her face, perhaps she climbs through the legs of Jesus' disciples who
act as his bouncers in this scenario and she stretches and her hand barely
glazes the edge of Jesus' robe – just the hem – nothing too invasive or
disruptive. And perhaps she falls to the
ground as others stare at her inquisitively.
And
Jesus stops, turns and calls out – who touched me!? In this moment she is stunned for two reasons
– First, she has stopped bleeding – could this be it – the miraculous moment?
And secondly, her cover has been blown – she is in big trouble because Jesus
knows. And so any joy of her recovery is
immediately tainted by the fear of being stoned for doing something so
inappropriate, for interrupting one who is in power and stealing her blessing,
her miracle from him. For being
untouchable and reaching out and touching the miracle maker..
And
the disciples, per usual, have no idea what is going on and they say – “Duh
Jesus have you seen us pushing and pulling through this crowd to get you
through safely? Everyone is touching
everyone!” And Jesus completely ignores
them and scans the crowd for the culprit.
And
then another miracle happens – the woman actually steps forward, in fear and
trembling and she falls down at his feet one more time. Now – I wonder what made her do this? She is risking
the very life that has just been restored to her. No one would know if she just took off
running that she is the one he was talking about – in fact no one but the two
of them know what he is talking about anyway…
Then
after a stunning moment of silence -the text says that she told Jesus and everyone
listening the “whole truth” – And who knows what that means – maybe she
recounts her struggles with her illness and lack of medical solutions and her
financial burdens – maybe she even explains that she has been kicked out and
socially ostracized because of her ongoing status of impurity – maybe she even
confesses that she has just received a miracle – that she is now healed by a
simple touch. Maybe her story is
horrifies those in the crowd who were surrounding her as they realize that they
have been in such proximity to this awful condition. Maybe others are moved with empathy. Jairus, the father
of the sick little girl, is certainly tapping his watch.
She
stops and thinks – this is it – what is my punishment – just get it over with –
I am an untouchable have reached out and touched the holy one – Maybe she even
tells the truth – I don't regret what I did – but I know that there may be
consequences and I am ready to receive them…
And
in the last miracle moment – Jesus does tell her the consequences of her
offense. The crowd is holding their
breath. Perhaps some think she deserves
to be stones for offending Jesus and all of them in this way. Perhaps others gather to her side to support
her and Jesus says “Daughter, Go in peace, and be healed of your disease” and
he takes off to follow up and heal Jairus' daughter
who is in great need…
The
crowd is stunned – she is stunned – she falls to the ground again in
disbelief. Perhaps the empathetic ones
run to aid her and bring her to her feet. She is touched and shown sympathy, for the first time in 12 years. She has been granted peace, wholeness,
wellness for the first moment in what seems like an eternity. She is overwhelmed and though her body and
soul have been ravaged by this disease and she is exhausted from it all she
lets out tears of pure joy …
So
here's the thing – what if we are a society obsessed with “personal
space.” And what if a key factor in the
healing of this woman is being squished in this crowd, the very crowd that has
ostracized her now witnesses her healing. Think about it for a second the leader of the Jewish synagogue, Jairus, one of the most powerful people in town and the
bleeding outcast woman are in the crowd together. This crowd is mix of folks that creates
something holy.
What
if a part of our sensitivity about personal space is that others get all up in
our business? I confess that I read over
people's shoulders on the Subway – books, emails, and the like! When we are in close quarters others smell
our sweat, see our scars, smell our bad breath. And our culture loves perfection or at least
the appearance of perfection. It reminds
me of the whole HDTV phenomena - when people have to get more plastic surgery
because you can see all of our lines and wrinkles.
We
are a society who does not like to broadcast our lines and wrinkles – our gross
wounds oozing blood, our uncleanness, our shame, where we have screwed up,
where we have had great and unfathomable loss, our wounds, we don't want to
broadcast that stuff.
But
in the crowd you get glimpses of these wounds – perhaps that
is why we work so hard to avoid them.
And
here's the danger that we all become invisible to each other, because we are
hiding our wounds and thereby hiding ourselves. And eventually this fear creeps into our families and our close
friendships – we cannot let on that we are caring a deep darkness.
And
here's the danger that our church would be a crowd where people are encouraged
to remain invisible. Like the bleeding
woman, creeping in to get a glimpse of Jesus and hiding her face, her shame,
her blood from the passersby. She has
courage to come out and sit in the service but have we created a safe space for
her to tell us the story of her woundedness of her
pain? Are we the kind of people who
would rush to her side or be embarrassed to be associated with her?
How
can our church be a healing crowd? How
can our gatherings be spaces of growth, wholeness, and healing?
*First
how can we be a place where it is safe to tell the whole truth? It takes unimaginable courage for this woman to
announce to the very ones that have ostracized her, the details and depths of
her pain. To confess before Jesus what
drove her to this radical moment of humility. What is so healing about that confession? After she confesses, Jesus is gone (I wish he
stayed and gave her a hug or invited her to become a disciple) but he rushed
off to heal Jairus' little girl.
But
the beautiful thing is that perhaps that day there were ones in the crowd who could
now care for her because she has confessed this difficult truth – there are
ones in the crowd who might have gone through a similar illness – ones in the
crowd who might feel convicted to reconcile with her because they have
estranged loved ones in their family. And you see this is the miracle – as this bleeding woman is healed SO
ARE THE ONES AROUND HER! The release of
her pain allows them to have a moment of healing from their grief and their
brokenness. Which means that when we
hold back our truths no matter how grotesque and embarrassing and dark from the
dear ones around us, we deny ourselves healing moments and we are also denying those
around us the opportunity to find moments of healing connection in our story! Which brings me to the
second point.
HOW
CAN OUR CHURCH BE A HEALING PLACE?
*Pema Chodron wrote – a Buddhist
monk:
"Compassion
is knowing our darkness well enough that we can sit in
the dark with others" and "It is not a relationship between the
wounded and the healed but a relationship between equals.”
The
church can be a multitude of healers as we gather together as
wounded healers – which is image in Henri Nouwen's
writings. You see the crowd that day was
not a group of digitally touched up, boob jobbed, hair done, perfect muscle men
and women! They are REAL. And a part of their realness is their
brokenness. And so when we gather in a
healing crowd – we realize that as Henri Nouwen
writes, “Making one's wounds a source of healing does not call for a sharing of
superficial personal pains but rather for a constant willingness to see one's
own pain and suffering as rising from the depth of the human condition which
all men and women share. (page 88 “Wounded
Healer”). So when we tell the whole
truth and let on that we are indeed wounded, we can engage one another and let
our wounds connect us instead of isolating us from each other. And this engagement is wounded healing…
*And
lastly the healing crowd is a place where sometimes our broken wounds become beautiful
– not always! But sometimes…
Think
about blood as a symbol of suffering and tragedy, as a symbol of our nightmare
moments. But Jesus says take and drink
this cup. Remember me. And it is beautiful! Why is blood beautiful – If we are honest it
is a pretty a gross image? But in Jesus
case and in the case of the hemorrhaging woman their blood has been transformed
into something beautiful, into something miraculous and inspiring, the thing
that gives life and rebirth. Their pain
and suffering is not undermined for it is just as horrifying and gut wrenching
as ever (we must not jump over the suffering too quickly because so many people
are in the thick of that unimaginable suffering and some of sores will always
be tender)
But
this image of blood is a sign of pain, grotesque suffering, sacrifice, fear
inducing, loss of life, and social marginalization – it has now come to also
mean life, resurrection hope, connection, reconciliation and it also give us sustenance
at the communion table (which is weirdly cannibalistic if you think about
it). Now the blood of the hemorrhaging
woman and Jesus of Nazareth stands for the miracle of healing, the miracle of
new life after death, the surprise of joy in the midst of suffering. The blood is now full of so much meaning it
is life and suffering and death and new life.
And
here is the challenge, to tell the whole truth, to become a wounded healer to
gives and receives healing from wonderful spiritual friends and to imagine and
hope for ways that our suffering can be made beautiful. And this space, this church, is an excellent spot
to experiment with this. In fact the
staff is brainstorming ways to incorporate intentional small groups of adult
community that just might take on some of these spiritual practices healing and
living life honestly. So keep an eye out
– and if you are interested in hearing more – please feel free to let Julie or
me know!
And
now as we approach the communion table, Jesus invites us as a Wounded Healer
himself – as one who has been through the pain and suffering the loss of blood,
the loss of life oozing out of his wounds, the one who yes, has suffered
greatly. And yet the suffering servant
is also a wounded healer, he calls us to this table – to bring our messy,
wounded, “bad breath” selves together in a crowd as we gather around the table. And this is the moment in our week when we
are not called to pretend to be perfect, we are called embrace our brokenness
and the brokenness of those gathered with us. We are called to reconcile, to pour out grace and to celebrate this
symbol of Jesus broken body and Jesus' blood – this is a symbol of suffering
yes – in the deepest most real most grotesque and gut wrenching suffering and yet
– it is also a symbol of the life that creeps up slowly and surely, the life
that we hope in, the life that heals us, that draws us to wholeness even as we
grapple with the ongoing pain of our wounds. The blood of Christ is our sustenance and a reminder that sometimes, and
perhaps even more times than not, God can miraculously take our most insecure,
depressing, awful wounds and make something beautiful alongside of it. Today as we gather at the table of our Lord
and share a meal together in our woundedness, I hope
that you hear the echoes of God's love saying,
“Go
in peace son and daughter, your faith has made you well.”
Amen.
