Jesus has crossed to the other side of Lake Galilee. Clearly, his fame as a healer has preceded him, as a large crowd has gathered, some simply curious, but many seeking relief from suffering. As he’s making his way, the leader of the synagogue approaches him.
Synagogue leaders were not clergy. They were simply well-respected elders, empowered to facilitate the business of the town or village. We erroneously may think that all those in authority – the scribes, the doctors of the Law, the Pharisees – opposed Jesus but that was not true.
Some, like Jairus, recognized Jesus as someone with spiritual power. It’s not remarkable that Jairus comes, in his extreme distress, and kneels at Jesus’ feet. “My daughter is dying. Please come, and lay your hands on her and make her well.” Jairus knows that his little girl is beyond the help of earthly powers. Only supernatural power from God can help. Jairus is right to be terrified. His situation was all too commonplace. Sixty percent of all live births in the Province of Palestine died by their mid-teens.Touched by Jairus’ very public display of trust, Jesus agrees to go.
While making their way, followed and surrounded by the townspeople, a woman screws up her courage. She has suffered with what we’d diagnose today as irregular menstruation. This condition made her ritually unclean because in order to take the ritual bath, the mikveh, her flow of blood had to be ended for 8 days. For 12 years, prohibited from entering the Temple, she has sought the help of physicians. She obviously was a woman of means because physicians were expensive, such that she is now destitute. She thinks, “If only I could touch but the hem of his garment, he could make me whole.”
It’s a bold move. This woman is unclean, and impurity was contagious. She dared not approach the prophet directly, but surreptitiously. She, in her desperation, stretches out her hand and touches the hem of his garment. Mark tells us that Jesus felt power drained out of him and asks, “Who touched me?” The disciples laughed. “Man, look at all these folks crowding us. It’s more like who didn’t touch you dude.” But Jesus persists.
This is a tense moment. The woman, who could have melted away in the crowd, came forward. She fell before the prophet in great fear. Would he condemn her in front of the whole village, who already shun her for her affliction? Would the cure she has sensed in her body, be reversed? Made worse?
Jesus, with tenderness, tells her that “her faith” – that is to say, your conviction that I could make you well and restore you to this community – “your faith has made you whole.”
While this happened, Jairus’ friends come and tell him that his daughter has died. “Why bother the rabbi anymore.” Jesus overhears all this and he tells Jairus to not be afraid. Fear – not doubt – is the opposite of faith. Dismissing the crowd, only Jesus and his top lieutenants, Peter, James and John, accompany Jairus to his house.
The professional women mourners were keening but Jesus stops them, proclaiming “The child is but sleeping.” They laugh as him. Jesus takes Jairus and his wife and the 3 chosen disciples into the house, dismissing all the others. Jesus takes the little girl by the hand and tells her to get up. Mark, perhaps sensing that there’s some power in the Aramaic, retains the command. The little girl is raised – in Greek, it’s the same word used for the resurrection – and Jesus says “give her some food.” In the family meal, the little girl is restored to community, not unlike the woman with the flow of blood, now whole, is restored to family and clan.
The Lazarus story only appears in John’s gospel. This is Mark’s Lazarus tale – complete with the interval, the delay, that keeps Jesus from getting there before the girl has died. It’s a mystery why Jesus said, “She is only sleeping.” Did he somehow know that she was in a coma? The Jews believed that the soul lingered above the body for 3 days, hoping to be reunited with the body. It’s interesting that the word “cemetery” in the original Greek meant “sleeping place” as our ancestors in the faith believed that the dead sleep until the last day, when they will be raised up.
The point of these two stories – held together by the number 12 – is about overcoming impurity. Being touched by a bleeding woman made Jesus unclean. Touching a corpse as well, made one unclean. Jesus restores people to health; beings touched by and touching the unclean, notwithstanding the scandal to the pious and the resentment of those in authority.
The ministry of making well continued after Jesus’ death, in the work of the Apostles. It is and must be a part of the work of ministry – but too often the spectacle of it all has been used to manipulate and deceive.
As a child, I was utterly captivated by the faith healer Kathryn Kuhlman, who hosted a show called “I believe in miracles” in the 1960’s and 70’s. Such a magnetic presence, I believed that she, like Miss Nancy on Romper Room, was talking directly to me. All I had to do to heal my angst – and my teenaged acne – was to reach out and touch the 16” screen on our black & white TV.
Many decades later, I have come to a deeper insight. “Curing” is aimed at disease and cures are elusive and rare when dealing with life threatening illness.
Healing, on the other hand, is aimed at restoring wholeness and meaning and connection. We pray for a cure but must remain vigilant to not use the language Jesus used, “Your faith has made you – or failed to make you – well.” Those who are quite ill are not helped by suggestion, wittingly or unwittingly, that their lack of good health is a result of scant faith. But through faith, healing – in the sense of finding shalom – always comes to those seeking it, always.
I will close today with a letter collected by David Kessler for this 1997 book: The Rights of the Dying: a companion for life’s final moments.
Dear friends,
Six or seven months ago I lay in a hospital bed convinced that I was going to die. AIDS, cancer and pneumonia all seemed to be fighting to claim my life. At that time, I felt very terrified that I might die and go to hell, or just not go on at all. But my time had not come. The time since then has been a precious gift, in which great healing had occurred. After months of medical treatment, followed by months of holistic treatment and months of spiritual work on myself, I am free.
My partner’s remarkable support, a spiritual guide, a meditation partner, several meditation retreats, support from wonderful friends, and a lot of work within my own heart has left me in peace.
For many months, my idea of healing was that of curing my body. I gave it my best try and I am proud of that fact. I was even given several months of relative health and energy. At that time, I often expressed my certainly that I could heal my body with my own healing powers. I still believe these healing powers exist, but as my physical health reached a point where optimism about my health would have had to become self-denial, I realized the need to accept my own impending death and physical mortality. I also realized that self-compassion meant feeling in my heart that even death was not a sign of weakness or failure. This seems to be the ultimate act of self-acceptance. I thank God for it.
All this did not come easily. I have wept many times; I have gotten angry and confused. But I have learned that the only way out of the pain is through the pain. A hard lesson to learn…
In the past six months, I have started my own production company, which produced a calendar of my own photography. I have grown closer than ever to my family, my partner and my friends. I am very proud and thankful for these things. Most important, I have come to accept myself exactly as I am. This is the greatest gift of all.
And so, my healing has occurred. Soon my body will be dropping away from me, like a cocoon, and my spirit will fly like a butterfly – beautiful and perfect. I don’t claim to know where exactly it is that I am going, but my heart tells me it is filled with light and love.
An open heart is an infinitely greater blessing than death is a tragedy. Let us all take comfort in this knowledge.
Love, Bill
Fr: The Rights of the Dying: a companion for life’s final moments, by David Kessler, 1997