Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
June 28, 2009
Mark 5:21-43
The story is told of a business executive who, in these difficult economic times, was struggling with personal depression. Things were not going well at work and he was bringing his problems home with him every night. Each evening he would eat his dinner in silence, shutting out his wife and his five-year-old daughter. Then he would retire to the den where he would read his newspaper, using it as a wall between him and his family. After this pattern of silence and isolation had gone on for a number of nights, one evening, after dinner, his daughter followed him into the den. When he sat down she reached up, snatched the newspaper out of her surprised father's hands. Then she jumped into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and hugged him just as tightly as she could. The father protested, saying, "Honey, you're hugging me to death." To which she replied, "No, Daddy, I'm hugging you to life!" I don't know, a little too sweet and sentimental? Maybe not really a Gene Nelson kind of story? Perhaps. But it does gently move us into our text and to what Jesus is up to in our text.
A number of years ago, the Menninger Foundation in Topeka, Kansas, participated in a fascinating experiment. You may have read about it. They identified a group of crib babies who did not cry. The infants all came from abusive situations and again, not a one of them cried. Why? It has been suggested that babies cry because they instinctively know that is the way to get attention, to get their needs met. Crying is their way of calling out: "Hey, I need something here, and don't give me that nonsense about it being two in the morning!"
Except these babies didn't cry. They each came from homes where their parents let them cry for hours on end and never responded. And so they eventually quit crying. It was almost as if they had learned it was no use trying. Enter the folks of the Menninger Institute. They recruited people from local retirement and even local nursing homes. Every day these senior citizens would simply hold the babies and rock them. The object of the experiment was to see if the babies would ever start crying again and sure enough, they did. They learned to trust again. Daily, physical touch - hugging them back into life - made all the difference.
And how do these stories relate to what’s happening in our text? Well, in one sentence, we see that Jesus, in something as simple as a hug or a touch, is all about bringing people back into life, indeed raising them from death to life. But you know, what is also fascinating for me and, I think, deserves some comment as well, is how vigorously his offer of healing and new life is resisted, doubted, and just not believed. It would seem that we are so accustomed and adjusted to the ways of death, that we cannot recognize or believe new life, even when it stares us right in the face.
Now, I'm sure you noticed that in out text today, we really get two stories for the price of one. Actually, Mark kind of reminds me of me sometimes. He begins one story, then drifts off into this other story, and then says oops, got to get back, and goes back to the first story. You don't suppose the fact that I have entered my sixth decade makes me just a bit more sensitive to this kind of thing! But, unlike me, Mark clearly does this on purpose. You see it several times in this Gospel. Theologians call it the "Markan sandwich” - one story sandwiched inside another story. Mark wants us to see the connection between Jairus' daughter and the woman with the seemingly incurable flow of blood. He wants us to see these stories as knocking sparks off each other.
Now first, some context: Between Mark 4 and Mark 8, Jesus goes back and forth across the Sea of Galilee, more than once. He is shuttling between Jewish territory on one side, and Gentile territory on the other. In today's text he has just arrived back on the western shore, the Jewish side. Which is to say, he's back home among his own people, the faithful followers of scripture, believers, you might say, people like us. Let's not forget that. He's back with his own people. So when he gets out of the boat we read, "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’ - you just feel the affection in his voice. ‘My little daughter is ill at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her that she may be made well and live.’ " One of the leaders of the synagogue we're told, which means he was also one of the leaders in town. A man of wealth and influence, who was accustomed to power and knew how to use it. But he puts aside all of this, puts aside pride and position, and falls at Jesus' feet begging for help. And Jesus responds.
But they've barely gotten started on the mission of mercy when a woman in the crowd, a bleeding woman, a woman who had been hemorrhaging for twelve years, a woman who had used up all of her money on health care that had failed to restore her health, in fact it only made her worse – (wouldn't it be interesting if she was testifying before Congress this week?) - reaches out and touches Jesus. "If I can just touch him, just touch his cloak, I will be healed. I will be made well." So she does and she is. The bleeding stops.
I mentioned that Jairus was a member of the social and religious elite. The woman lived at the other end of the social and religious spectrum. Because of her ongoing discharge of blood, she was considered unclean according to Levitical law which meant she could not enter the synagogue and worship. She was also not to be touched, especially by a man because for him to do so would make him unclean. Such a huge risk to reach out and touch Jesus. She could have been beaten within an inch of her life. Both a social, religious outcast - poor, isolated, alone, sick, kind of a living death. Then Jesus walks by and everything changes. She is restored to life. Says one pastor, "Notice how Jesus addressed the bleeding woman. 'Daughter, your faith has made you well.' When was the last time someone spoke to her like that? Here is someone who had no connection with anyone, shunned, and Jesus says to her, 'You are my beloved child,' using the same language Jairus used for his own daughter. In that healing moment, the one who was estranged has been welcomed home and addressed with dignity and compassion." New life, new hope, she's restored to health, to community, to life. My goodness, it is Easter in June. New life, new hope, they seem to follow Jesus wherever he goes.
But, so does the blindness, the hard-heartedness, the denseness of those around him. "Who touched me?" he asks. What is their response? "You've got to be kidding! You can't be serious. Do you see how many people there are around here? Anyone could have touched you. You'll never find the person who touched you. Anyway, we've got to get going, we've got something else to do. It will never happen!" So hard for them to believe that in Jesus there is light and life, and that it is all meant for all. "Get real," they tell him. "Face the facts." It is so hard to believe that anything can change, that the powers of destruction and death can ever be overcome. Except, there is this woman, this unlikely, sick, broken woman, in the crowd. She believed. And look what happened.
Well, meanwhile, back at Jairus. Recall that his daughter is dying. Considering that he has been put on hold while Jesus ministers to this woman of the streets, he really shows amazing patience. I would have been pulling my hair out! "We've got to go. What are you doing?"
But just as they get ready to move, they receive the news; his beloved daughter has died. They are too late. The weeping and wailing tell the sad news. She is beyond help, beyond hope - rather like the woman with the flow of blood. It's clear to everyone that there is nothing anyone can do. Well, almost everyone. But when Jesus suggests that perhaps not all is lost, how do they respond? They laugh at him. Now remember these are his people. They are on the believing side of the lake. And still they laugh. "Jesus you must learn what we have learned. One must adjust to the power of defeat and death. There are wounds that cannot be healed; pain that cannot be overcome. Again, get real, face reality, face the hard facts of life. Death is death and death always wins. One pastor said, "We seem to have so much trouble adjusting and understanding the oddness of Jesus.” We still keep being surprised by his refusal to buy into our acceptance of death. We still keep being surprised by the truth that, whenever he shows up, the dead don't seem to stay that way.
So how does he respond to the hard facts, to reality, to death? He takes the girl by the hand and tells her it's time to get up. And that's precisely what she does. What are we going to do with this story? Let's see...twelve year flow of blood, twelve-year-old girl, twelve tribes of Israel, twelve disciples. Coincidence? I don't think so. As I have already said, this is a text directed to the people of God, to the faith community, to us. And he's telling us, he's challenging us, not to give in to the world of death, for in fact it is not reality. What is real, what are the true hard facts, are two broken lives - a woman and a girl - healed and restored to life. What is real is the promise of restoration and healing of individual lives and indeed of a world. What is real is the power of life in the midst of a world bent on death, a power that finally will not be overridden, or resisted or defeated, a power that finally will even overwhelm our own fear and despair. We can hold on to the old fearful rules, to the facts, or we can open up and turn loose in praise, thanksgiving, and hope. He's talking to the church. He's talking to us. There he is, in the crowd. And there's some woman reaching out to touch him. Everyone knows she's absolutely crazy. Care to join her?