June 30, 2024
Lamentations 3:2233
Mark 5:21-43
I wonder how long they’d been waiting.
Jesus had been teaching along the shores of Galilee. It probably provided about as convenient an open area as they were likely to find near Capernaum. At the end of the day, you might recall, he had directed his disciples to sail across the sea (or lake, however you want to think of it). Personally, I think Jesus was looking for a day off.
It didn’t go all that well. They ran into a storm which forced his disciples to wake him up, and he was cranky about that. They pulled to shore in a place where people shouldn’t have known him. It wasn’t thickly settled with Jews. A perfect place to relax.
That’s when a possessed man found him and called him by name. Apparently the demons – they described themselves as “Legion” – recognized Jesus for who he was. Jesus, of course, could not leave these demons in possession of the man, so they asked to be sent into a nearby herd of pigs. He sent them there, at which the pigs promptly rushed into the sea and drowned.
That didn’t sit well with the locals, especially the owner of the pigs, I’m sure, so they told Jesus to go away.
So much for a vacation.
When Jesus and his friends returned to the Galilee side, they found a crowd, including Jairus, leader of a local synagogue and desperate to obtain Jesus’ aid for his ailing daughter. Had they been waiting all day and all night? I wonder. They headed for the house, with the crowd still milling about and probably getting in the way more than they cleared the way. As they went, a woman reached out and touched Jesus’ cloak, and suddenly twelve years of bleeding ceased.
As Cheryl Lindsay writes at UCC.org, “Their journey is interrupted by the hemorrhaging woman. It’s interesting to note that she did not intend to disrupt their movement. Unlike Jairus, she does not need an audience with Jesus to present her petition. She believes his touch will be enough.”
As it was. But it also interrupted the journey. Jesus did not want the recipients of his healing to be anonymous, at least not to him. He wanted to praise her daring to reach out to him in faith.
That’s when the messengers arrived with the tragic news that Jairus’ daughter had died.
It’s funny. I’ve read this story for decades and I have always blamed the woman for slowing everything down, for delaying Jesus before he could reach the girl. When the real delay was caused first by Jesus leaving the area in the boat, and second by the streets filled with people.
That’s when somebody uttered these crucial words: “Why trouble the teacher any further?”
I suppose it’s nice that somebody had some regard for Jesus’ time and welfare. Up to this point in the story, that’s been hard to find. Jesus’ reputation, thus far in the Gospel of Mark, had summoned crowds that make it difficult to eat, had prompted his family to wonder if he was crazy, had brought examiners out from the Jerusalem to see what he was up to, had forced him to cross the lake to get a break (and we know how that went), and had now got him stuck in a crowd so dense that his friends can’t imagine how he distinguished one touch from all the others.
Jesus had not been having easy days.
D. Mark Davis writes at LeftBehindAndLovingIt, “I do want to note that when Jesus turns and addresses the crowd, he takes back the agency of his actions. He was met immediately by Jairus and regardless of whatever his intentions were it seems that the urgency of Jairus’ daughter suddenly scripted Jesus’ actions. Then, the woman grabs his garment and his healing power goes out of him, with no reference to Jesus’ will or intent at all. Others are determining his actions and even his location. Until now. Now, he stops – as urgent as Jairus may be – he stops and turns and inquires.”
Up to this point in our text, Jesus had been pretty passive. He’d been swept along by Jairus’ plea, and then by the movement of the crowd, and had even healed the woman without making the choice to do so. We don’t often think of Jesus as swept along by the crowd, but in this story, that’s what happened to him.
Until he stopped it all. He took a breath. He asked who touched him. He learned who touched him. He praised the courage of her faith that made her well.
Then: “Why trouble the teacher any further?”
Now the teacher troubled himself. Having praised the woman for reaching out despite her fears, he continued the journey to Jairus’ daughter despite her parents’ fears. Reaching the house, he took charge. He cleared it of everyone except the parents and three of his disciples. Maybe they hadn’t said, “How can you say, ‘Who touched me?’ which Jesus clearly hadn’t appreciated. As D. Mark Davis writes, “Regarding the disciples’ effrontery, it is a wise guiding principle, when speaking to someone who is not stupid, to act as though what s/he has said is not stupid.” So yes. Jesus didn’t need those guys in the house.
And then: a woman who had suffered twelve years had reached out to him and been healed. Jesus reached out to a twelve-year-old girl and said, “Talitha cum. Little girl, get up.” And she did.
This time, Jesus didn’t say, “Your faith has made you well.” Nobody in the room said it, but perhaps one or two thought what I’ve been thinking: “Jesus, your faith has made her well.”
We value faith in the Christian Church. A declaration of faith is a basic part of membership in the Church. We ask it of people who are baptized as adults, and when people are baptized as infants, we ask it of them later at confirmation. When people join a new church, we ask them to affirm their faith again.
It’s almost like the price of admission. You want to see the Jesus movie? Let’s see your faith.
That gets more complicated when we look at our lives in relation to illness and healing. We hear Jesus’ words in the back of our minds, don’t we? “…if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.” “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” And: “Have you still no faith?”
But what if Jesus – what if God – has faith in us?
What if faith isn’t the price of admission, but an ohi’a seed that struggles in rocky crevices to somehow, beyond expectation, produce a shoot and branches and flowers? What if Jesus extends his faith in us to us, so that we can receive it and rejoice in it, so that we can nurture it and bear fruit in it? What if God cared so much about the world to make no distinction between those with wholehearted belief and those who wonder if they could have faith? What if God loved the world and its people whether they’re faith-filled or fearful? What if God so loves the world?
It’s clear that faith makes things possible that won’t happen otherwise. On the most basic, human level, a person who believes they can’t do a thing won’t do the thing, and the thing won’t happen. A person who has lost faith in the justice system won’t contest a lawsuit, and that probably means that justice won’t happen. A person who has lost faith in their body’s capacity to recover from an illness won’t seek medical attention, putting their healing at risk.
What faith doesn’t do is open up the compassion of God. God’s love and care flows to everyone, whether they are aware of it or not, whether they believe in it or not, whether they want it or not. Faith makes it easier – not easy, but easier – to accept that love and care and to flourish in it.
So why trouble the teacher? Because that is a way to seek what is already there, and in seeking to accept what is given. Troubling the teacher opens up our hearts, minds, souls, and bodies to the grace of God. Troubling the teacher opens the door so that power may come in and raise us up.
Troubling the teacher might even leave those words echoing in our souls: “Your faith has made you well.”
Amen.
by Eric Anderson
Watch the Recorded Sermon
Pastor Eric does make changes from his prepared text as he preaches. Just watch. He’ll do it.
The image is Christ Healing a Bleeding Woman, artwork found in the catacombs of Rome. Art by anonymous (2nd cent.) – http://campus.belmont.edu/honors/CatPix/womanblood.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14728851.
