No task is too big, no need too small

Sermon on Mark 5:21-43

Jairus comes running to Jesus. Breathlessly, he falls at Jesus’ feet. And then, he begs repeatedly “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, healed, saved, and live.” His pain and fear are written in his face and his body. The words just come pouring out, louder and louder, until everyone can hear him. He needs them to hear him. He is used to people listening to him. He needs them to care. He is used to everyone caring about what he has to say as a leader at the synagogue. He needs the world to stop and focus its lone attention on him and his dying child. Because without his daughter he knows that the world will come to an end for him. The world he knows and loves.

Jairus is well-known, well respected. He has a reputation to lose. Many of his colleagues have labeled Jesus a heretic, possessed by demons, turning people away from God. He used to agree with them. 

But now, he is so desperate, there is nothing he wouldn’t try, nothing he wouldn’t do to save his child. Who knows, maybe Jesus has the powers people claim he’s got? At this point in his life, Jairus doesn’t care about the source of that power. If it just keeps his child alive. That’s all he asks.

Jesus listens. As does the crowd that has gathered around Jesus, his friends, and Jairus. Jesus nods and tells Jairus to lead him to his house, to see the girl. Of course, the crowd follows them. This father has piqued everyone’s curiosity. People want to see the result of this plead, want to see a miracle or a failure. Either way, it will be a story worth telling. How a Jewish leader asked this Jesus for help. People are chatting, wondering what will happen, sharing stories of miracles they have witnessed before. And of times when any efforts were too late. The longer they walk the higher the levels of anxiety and expectations rise. “Faster!”, some start yelling. Others just walk ahead of the group, trying to get Jesus to speed up. 

But Jesus just keeps the pace. A painfully slow pace. As if there was no urgency at all. As if he had all the time of this world. As if he didn’t care?

A woman stands at the side of the street. Dressed in a simple dress. A beggar. People passing by hand her some food or a coin while avoiding any close contact with her whatsoever. Poor thing. 

So, it’s no surprise that no one notices her walking up behind Jesus, quickly touching his cloak. 

Immediately, she feels well. Immediately, Jesus feels that power has gone from him. Jesus turns around and asks: “Who touched my clothes?” A silly question since he is being pushed and surrounded by a crowd. 

The woman hears him. Falling down on her knees she tells Jesus. And Jesus just listens. 

People around them listen in. Aren’t there much more important works to do than listening to this beggar? A little girl is dying. That needs to be prioritized, right?

Then, the worst happens. People come shouting from the direction of Jairus’s house. “Your daughter is dead!” Jairus is shocked. The woman stops talking. And everyone will know forever that her selfishness killed another girl who could have lived if Jesus had arrived in time. But Jesus says to her: “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” People don’t hear that anymore, they have already run towards Jairus’s house. But she heard it.

Let me pause the story for a second. How I just told the part about the woman is how we usually skip over her. She doesn’t have a name. Her story is buried under a few words. She is a victim of society or the circumstances, it’s hard to distinguish. Sometimes, she does get recognized for her faith but often that reduces her pain and individuality even more.

So, I want to give it a second try. And tell the story with some of the missing pieces.

A woman stands at the side of the street. Her name is Hannah, but no one remembers that. Some days she isn’t even sure herself anymore. Dressed in a simple dress, as if trying to hide from this world. Trying to be one with the earth and the sky when she tries to find a safe space at night. Knowing that the only reason she is relatively safe from abuse out on the streets is her illness. And that everyone seems to know about it and fearfully avoids her. 

Hannah is sick. For 12 years she has been bleeding. Nobody knows why. Hannah has spent all her money on doctors and cures to get better. She used to be well-off. Nothing helped. Nobody knew why she had to suffer. But instead of admitting their limitations, they kept promising her new treatments as long as she paid for them. She did. Until the money ran out. And the medical bills kept piling up.

Then, they simply told her that there must be a reason and that God wouldn’t let her suffer without one. So, they told her to repent and to pray, and to wait. Meanwhile, she was basically forgotten. “Does anyone actually remember my name?”, she sometimes wonders.

Hannah has been sick for so long. She hardly remembers how it used to be well. To be part of her community. To be seen by people. To be hugged by her friends. To be kissed by her partner who has long left her. To have a beautiful home and a future with loved ones. To be alive. And then there is the temple. She used to love going there as a girl. Adored the atmosphere, the sounds and songs and prayers. But bleeding women aren’t allowed into temples, that she knows. At first, she truly believed it. Thought she was unclean, unworthy, un anything. But Hannah has had time to think. And to read her bible. Too much time for no one wants to be with her anymore or even talk to her. 

Hannah knows her bible. And she knows that it’s about a liberating God. One who freed God’s people from slavery. One who made humankind to be in God’s image. Any humankind. Including her. One whose life flows through human blood. Her blood. Even all the blood she desperately wants to stop flowing.

Hannah knows her bible and she knows herself. She knows that just because she is considered taboo in society doesn’t make her bad. In a way, it makes her sacredly untouchable. Sometimes she imagines being a temple herself, so holy that no one dares to come close. Those are the days when she can hold her head up high. Because people are afraid of her power. Just like the power of her blood. It reminds her daily that she is alive, that she is a woman. And people try to convince her that her blood makes her dirty and impure. For a long time, she actually believed those notions. But she had time to think. Looking at her blood, examining it. It’s not dirty. It’s probably the cleanest part of her body, when she thinks about it. Hannah hardly has enough water to drink, not to mention to wash herself.

There are those days when she wonders if anyone would notice if she died. If anyone would miss her? And if she is truly honest with herself, she will have to admit that the answer is “no”. That truth hurts so much that she tries not to think about it. But the thoughts come creeping up at night. 

During the day she cowers down in the shade, holding her hands out for a bite of food. She doesn’t look people in the eyes anymore. She doesn’t want to see their pity or their disgust or any other reaction that will just affirm her worthlessness. Or how they quickly look away when their eyes do meet as if she didn’t exist. 

To them, she is just a poor woman in need, an unclean sinner, whom one has to help per the law. And whom one has to avoid per the same law in order to stay clean. She knows that people aren’t just afraid of contracting her illness. They are also afraid to be drawn into poverty. So many are just a paycheck away from her fate. Or an illness away. Or both. So many are already deemed unclean by society and religion, desperately trying to hide it, to be accepted. And so, they keep her at a distance. Giving her some money to barely survive. Feeling good about themselves helping the poor. Without ever showing her a way out.

To them, Hannah is a nobody, and nobody cares about her. Who knows why she ended up like this? She must have made some bad choices. So, God punished her. Poor thing. Our hearts ache for her. But really none of our business. Plus, there are so many like her. Where should we even start? We can’t help them all! And then, many of them are a little bit strange. Some are mentally ill. They need help but who is to blame? Who has to pay? And why did they end up here anyway?

So, it’s no surprise that no one notices her walking up behind Jesus, quickly touching his cloak. The first cloth she has touched in 12 years other than her own dress. The closest she has been to someone in 6 years ever since doctors stopped seeing her for her lack of funds.

Immediately, she feels well. Immediately, Jesus feels that power has gone from him. Jesus turns around and asks: “Who touched my clothes?” A silly question since he is being pushed and surrounded by a crowd. 

Hannah hears him. She knows that he talks about her. Now, she will be revealed as the sinner she is. The unclean who stole a touch from Jesus. The one who made Jesus unclean through her hands. The one who exchanged her wellbeing for his. Falling down on her knees Hannah tells Jesus her whole truth. The words gush out of her. She hasn’t talked in years like that. She hasn’t told her story to anyone ever before. Because nobody ever asked. She lays her entire life, her deep pain and great hopes at Jesus’ feet. And Jesus just listens. Whenever she looks up to him his eyes encourage her to keep going. He has all the time of the universe and he chooses to give it to her.

People around them listen in. They aren’t sure what to make of this woman. Is she trustworthy? Is she truly healed? And not unclean anymore? Well, even if so, she still has to wait for 7 consecutive healthy days until she can be accepted back into the temple and society. Rules are rules.

Also, there is much more important work to do than listening to this beggar. A little girl is dying. That needs to be prioritized, right? Plus, she broke the law. Touched someone, made him unclean. Who knows who else she might have touched? The disease might already be spreading as we are speaking.

Then, the worst happens. People come shouting from the direction of the father’s house. “Your daughter is dead!” The father is shocked. Hannah stops talking. Noooo!, now she brought calamity over another house. Her selfishness killed a girl. She breaks down, begging for forgiveness. The crowd is ready to jump at her. But Jesus just keeps looking at her. Calling her daughter. The last time someone called her anything nice was an eternity ago. “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” 

Jesus says that loud and clear. In his teaching voice. The crowd listens. The father listens. The words hardly reaching his ears nor his heart. But they reach Hannah’s heart. Burning deep in her soul. Yes, she is a daughter. Finally at peace with herself. Healed, Jesus said it. Restored to life in community. 

Jesus finally continues to walk to the man’s home. He doesn’t care about the people telling him that he is too late. He walks into the room, grabs the girls’ hand. Potentially passing his uncleanliness from the bleeding women to the girl. While being immersed in the uncleanliness of death. And he says: “Talitha cum! Little girl, get up!” It’s that easy. 

There was no rush. No scarcity of time or resources. There were different needs and Jesus met them, one at a time.

When Jesus leaves, the man, the father, Jairus sinks onto his knees and praises God. He is overwhelmed by joy. The little girl, Anna, hugs him from behind.

And Jairus is confused. The strange woman who insisted on being healed without asking for permission, she is on his mind. And Jesus, calling her daughter and faithful. So faithful that she was healed by her faith alone. Without anyone fighting for her like he did for his kid. 

Where did she get the audacity to break the law and follow her guts? To touch Jesus? Jairus knows so many women like her. Who suffer from irregular bleedings. And then, well, it’s the law, so he and his colleagues have to deem them unclean. What can he do?

At night, he dreams of that woman again. Teaching him what it means to trust in God. Looking at him with her dark eyes that silently ask him: Why do you do this to me? Don’t you see me? Don’t you see that I am God’s child? Don’t you see that I used to be just as pretty and precious as your little girl? Don’t you see that my story and my strength are what our world needs? 

Jairus sees. He sees so clearly that he is deeply ashamed. Of the way he has treated women like Hannah in the past. Of the way he has ignored them, pitied them, turned away from them as to no be in contact with their disease.

But this contaminated Jesus has healed his child. Has taken the taboo of bloody illness and death onto himself. Jairus needs to let that sink in. Real deep. Because that woman’s truth will change his life. Amen.