Days are funny things. When we’re kids or teenagers they seem to either drag on forever or disappear in a flash. Just think about those painful, excruciating last days of school before summer break. Surely the principal did something to make the clocks in the school move slower. Or what about those long cross country road trips with your family to see your Aunt Bertha and your Uncle George. Who among us hasn’t cried out in despair from the back seat of a stuffy station wagon or mini van - “Are we there yet?” Those days seem to last an eternity. But our trip to the amusement park or our summer vacation or our very first date seems to end just as quickly as it began.
As adults, days quickly turn into weeks; weeks into months, and months into years. And before we know it we are shuffling around saying to anyone who will listen, “I can’t believe its 2009 already. It seems like it was 1989 just yesterday?”
Whether we are kids, teenagers, or adults we all know that days can be funny things. They can be boring, exciting, painful, and full of the unexpected. Mark 5:21-43 is the story of an unusual day when desperation, suffering, and death met with the unexpected.
The woman woke early on this day. A glint of sun-light tinged the purple horizon. For twelve years she had fought the sickness that plagued her body. She had nothing left to give. No more money, no more time, no more energy, no more self-respect. The end was coming soon. She could feel it in the shortness of her breathe. She could see it in the face of passing strangers – their stares lasting longer than they should. Today was it; either the end or the beginning. It all depended on him. Could he help? Would he help? She had heard stories about him; amazing and miraculous stories. Some folks said he had cured a man with a deformed, mangled hand. Others said his voice alone could free the soul of evil, cleanse the skin of lepers, and heal the legs of the lame. She wondered if he could heal the shame and the isolation her disease had caused her.
She attempted to eat a few chunks of stale bread. Her sunken cheeks and rust colored teeth strained against the breads rocky surface. She dipped the bread into a small clay mug filled with wine. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as she took a bite, closed her eyes, and swallowed. She would need her energy if she were going to reach him. The crowds that had begun to gather around him were becoming as large as the rumors they were producing. She would rest, build up her strength until he arrived. The din of the crowd would let her know.
Sometime in the afternoon, she began to hear her neighbors rustling about, calling out to one another. Their voices punctuated with anticipation and excitement, “He’s down by the lake. Come quickly. He’s down by the lake.”
She slowly rose to her feet. She took a few steps towards the door and leaned against the side of the opening. With a dry rasp, she simply said, “Please God. Please. Just one touch. Just one touch.”
The walk to the lake was slow and plodding, but otherwise uneventful with the whole village at the lakeshore. From a distance, she saw a throng of people ebbing and flowing with the movement of the man named Jesus. Without realizing it, her pace had quickened and her heart was thumping in her ears. She approached the outer edge of the crowd and reached out with both arms trying to pry open the wall of human flesh. The layers began to part more easily as more people recognized her. No One, No One wanted to be touched by a woman like her. Not with her disease. With a final reach and side-ways squeeze, she lurched beyond the crowd into the small empty space that had formed around him.
As she gathered herself, a man crying out fell at the feet of Jesus. The pain and desperation in his voice pierced the air, silencing the crowd in a single breath. “My daughter is dying. At any moment she will be lost forever. Please, Please, come and place your hands on her. I have seen how you’ve healed people in the synagogue. I know you can do it. I know you can do it. Please we can’t wait another second.”
She watched as Jesus took the man by the arm drew him to his feet and set out towards his house. The space around Jesus quickly closed. No one was going to miss the synagogue leader’s daughter being healed. That he of all people had fallen at the feet of Jesus. The crowd was in a frenzy. She stumbled forward crashing into jostling bodies. This was her only chance. With all of the people crushed against him, Jesus would never know that a person of her status and condition had touched him. With one final surge, all of the despair, disappointment, and isolation of the past twelve years drove her within reach of Jesus.
Her right hand found the tassels of his cloak, and she squeezed her hand until she could feel the woolen threads burning her palm. The tide of the crowd suddenly shifted and her grip was broken. As she rode the wave away from Jesus, her hand throbbed and her palm tingled with the memory of his tassels. Twelve years of suffering and torment healed in a single moment.
Lost in her shock, the woman hadn’t noticed that the crowd had stopped pressing forward. Silence began to sweep over the crowd as the voice of Jesus repeatedly asked, “Who touched me? Who touched me?” A space around Jesus began to form as he turned looking long into the faces of those nearest him. Concerned for the synagogue leader, the close followers of Jesus grew impatient. One of them barked out with thick sarcasm, “Who touched you? The crowd touched you.” Ignoring the comment, Jesus watched as the woman stepped into the space before him. She trembled unable to meet his gaze. Before a word was spoken, she dropped to her knees and began to sob. Her body heaved up and down. Her tears cascaded drop by drop onto the feet of Jesus. A worn hand marked with old scars and split nails tenderly, lightly took her below her chin and raised her face until her eyes met his. The touch of his hand and the look in his eyes seized her. In a rush of words, she told Jesus about her twelve-year struggle and how she the filthy outcast had believed that his touch alone could heal her. At this, Jesus bent down placed his hands on her cheeks and said with a catch in his voice, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”
At the same instant a commotion erupted among the crowd immediately behind Jesus. Jairus’ daughter had died. Messengers had come to break the news to Jairus and to tell Jesus don’t bother. But Jesus ignored them. Still cupping the woman’s face in his hands, he looked at Jairus back down at the woman. And again raising his head towards Jairus, Jesus said with gentle confidence, “Don’t be afraid, just believe. Don’t be afraid, just believe.”
The same faith kneeling at Jesus’ feet was the same faith that would raise Jairus’ twelve year old daughter from the dead. Days can be funny things.
Maybe today is the day that your life will change forever. Maybe today Jesus wants you to grab onto the tassels of his cloak and be healed. Maybe today Jesus wants to bring life out of death. “Don’t be afraid, just believe.”
