In the spring of 2003, I had only been a Christian for a few months when I had this overwhelming sense that God was calling me to serve him fulltime in ministry. If you had known me at the time, you would have known that this was a crazy idea. God wanted to use me, me of all people. I can remember that day in April when I attempted to email the pastor of my church to tell him that I thought I was being called into ministry.
I was teaching 6th grade and while my kids were working on an assignment, I quickly typed a short email telling him I wanted to meet with him because I thought I was being called into ministry. But I couldn’t hit the send button. I knew that once I hit that send button that it was a done deal that there was no going back. For the next three hours, I would teach some, get my kids working on an assignment then walk over to my computer put my hand on the mouse, look at the send button, then walk away.
As time passed and I went back and forth to my computer, God was patient with me – he’d been patient with me for the past 30 years – what was another couple of hours. Eventually, God began to whisper to me that he could “Use Somebody, Someone Like Me.”
Play Song – 1:25 minutes http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugpjfYA1hZ4
I struggled to hit that send button because I had done a so many bad things in my life. Like many of you, my parents were Christians and went to church all the time - more times than I wanted to go. I was involved in the youth group and all of their events, but when I was in middle school things started to change.
My older sister got pregnant when she was 18 and I was in the seventh grade, and my sister’s pregnancy crushed my parents. They had lived in this perfect little bubble where unexpected things, bad things didn’t happen to them. I can still remember the day my parents told my older brother and me about my sister’s pregnancy. I had never seen them so devastated or upset. It made me so angry that I rode my bike over to the guy’s house who got my sister pregnant and threw rocks at his windows.
After my sister gave birth to my nephew, they moved back in with us and lived with us for the next 5 years. Those next 5 years were tough. We moved from Washington D.C. to Atlanta where we didn’t know anyone. My family started to fall apart. We couldn’t sit down and eat a meal together or even be in the same room together without an argument or a screaming match breaking out. I hated being at home and I couldn’t wait to graduate from High School and go to college.
I had so much frustration and anger inside of me; I didn’t know what to do with it. I hated my sister for getting pregnant, I hated my parents for letting their marriage fall apart, and I hated the church for being a bunch of hypocrites. I was angry at the world, and I began to rebel against anyone and everything. By the time I graduated from high school, I was determined to never step into another church or move back to my parent’s house. In the fall of 1991, I headed off to college with gangsta rap playing on the radio and a determination in my heart to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, with whomever I wanted.
By the end of my freshman year of college I had gotten drunk more times than I could remember, smoked marijuana, and had sex for the first time. I was doing all of the things my parents and my church had tried to teach me not to do, but honestly I didn’t care. I didn’t care about my parents, or God, or Jesus, or if I lived or died.
I can remember one night in particular when all of my anger and frustration came pouring out of me. I had been drinking and I was driving on these windy mountain roads and I just snapped. I started cussing at God and I told him I was going to drive my truck as fast as I could and it was up to him if I lived or died. I was giving God the middle finger; I was tempting him; I was trying to use my truck to commit suicide. But what I didn’t know then was that God was trying to tell me that he “Could Use Somebody, Someone like me.”
The remainder of my time is college was filled with drinking, girls, and pretty much whatever I wanted to do. A year after I miraculously graduated from college my life was pretty much the same except I was out in Wyoming and Montana site-seeing with my girlfriend at the time. We were driving all over the place going to the Grand Tetons, to Yellow Stone, to Glacier National Park. This was before DVD players and iPods, so we filled our driving times by taking turns reading a loud a book named Animal Dreams. The more we read the book the more I got the sense that I was going to die that summer. I didn’t know exactly when or how, but I just knew that I was going to die. One day this feeling became so real, so tangible that I freaked out and I had to pull my truck over on the side of the road. I couldn’t breathe. I was having a panic attack. For the first time in my life I realized that I was going to die and that one day I would not exist. The realization of my mortality scared the H-E-Double-Chopsticks out off me.
About a month after I had freaked out about dying, I watched my dad die of a heart attack. I watched as paramedics tried to give him CPR, I watched as different people pushed on his chest. I watched as they squeezed air into his lungs. I, the one who had tried to do anything and everything to rebel against my parents and what they believed, watched the man who’d loved me regardless of what I did slip into eternity. I could have never imagined on that night in college when I dared God to let me die that my dad’s death would be the moment that I began to hear God softly whisper, “Allen, I could use somebody, someone like you.”
Today God wants each of you to know that he can “Use Somebody, Someone Like You.” You may be sitting there thinking, no he can’t use me because I’m only a kid, or he can’t use me because I’m over-weight, I’m not popular, or he can’t use me because people at school pick on me and make fun of me.
Maybe your sitting there thinking, God can’t use me because I’ve made some serious mistakes; I’ve already done some really messed up things. I’ve gotten drunk, smoked, tried drugs. I’ve had sex with my girlfriend or boyfriend. I’ve done things that no one knows about, that I’m ashamed of, that my parents could never imagine.
I am here to tell you this morning that God wants to forgive you that he wants to forgive you so badly that he sent his only Son to die on a cross. God’s looking at each of you and he is reaching out his arms longing to hold you, to embrace you. He wants you to know that no matter what you have done, and no matter what other people have done to you that “he can use somebody, someone like you.”
Friday, December 4, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Elephant in the Room - Sermon Nov. 8, 2009
Have ya’ll heard the expression the elephant in the room? The website “Phrase Finder” tries to get all technical when they define it as, “An important and obvious topic, which everyone present is aware of, but which isn't discussed, as such discussion is considered to be uncomfortable.” But in everyday terms, the elephant in the room is the thing that everybody knows but no one wants to talk about.
We can probably all think of examples where there was an elephant in the room. For families there are all kinds of elephants in the room – generational elephants like addiction or physical or sexual abuse. In business, the elephant in the room might be that women and minorities are passed over for high level promotions. In politics, the elephants and the donkeys are all over the room from health care; to the economy; to defense spending; to the fundraising practices of political candidates.
This morning there are a few elephants in the room. Now the first elephant in the room that I want to name and claim is the fact that this is the third week of our stewardship campaign. Guess what? A stewardship campaign is about money. We can try and be creative and divert your attention away from that fact, but the simple truth is that we need your money if we are going to continue to do ministry in Lawrenceville and around the world. Believe me; I know the economy stinks because the second elephant in the room is the fact that our giving has been down for months now.
There are some of ya’ll probably thinking to yourself, “I knew it. That’s all church’s talk about is money.” Well right now that is what we are talking about because we are in the middle of a stewardship campaign, and I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t want you to give to our church because I believe in our ministries. But before you check out or get up and leave please hear me when I say I am not worried about our stewardship campaign. I’m not worried about how much money we receive. I know we will continue serving God here in Lawrenceville and around the world even if that means making difficult financial decisions. We may have to cut our budget, we may have to let staff go, we may have to change the way we do ministry.
Honestly, what I am most worried about is the third elephant in the room. This third elephant also has to do with a stewardship campaign. But this campaign operates within an eternal economy with an investment structure and a currency that our world doesn’t understand, that our world disregards, that it laughs at and sometimes persecutes.
I want us to take a closer look at this other stewardship campaign, and I think we can begin to learn more about it when we read Mark 8:34-9:1. Mark is the second book in the New Testament after the book of Matthew and chapter 8 begins on page () in your pew Bible.
The third elephant in the room is the fact that God is in the midst of an eternal stewardship campaign and the currency he is seeking is not a 10% tithe, or our teaching a Sunday school class, or our serving on the finance committee. The currency God requires for his eternal stewardship campaign is our life our very soul. He wants everything.
In Mark chapter 8, we learn that involvement in God’s eternal stewardship campaign has three essential requirements. Let’s look at v. 34: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” The three requirements for participation in God’s eternal stewardship campaign are: 1) denying yourself; 2) taking up your cross; and 3) following Jesus. So what do those things mean? What does it mean to deny yourself, to take up your cross, and to follow Jesus?
Unfortunately the first requirement “deny yourself” gets misinterpreted and misapplied all the time. People hear “deny yourself” and they immediately assume Jesus is telling them to deny their self-worth, to deny their emotions, or to deny themselves happiness. They take their own damaged self-image or brokenness and they turn the command “to deny yourself” into a pair of boxing gloves to beat themselves up with.
But that’s not what Jesus is talking about; when he tells us to deny ourselves he’s telling us “to reject,” “to refuse,” “to say no” to our self-lordship. In the words of Darrell Johnson, “denying ourselves” means “saying no to the god who is me.” To deny ourselves is to place our self-will and our self-seeking into the hands of Jesus. It is to say quite simply, “Jesus you are in control and not me...It is thy will be done, thy will be done and not mine.”
The second requirement for participation in God’s stewardship campaign is “to take up your cross.” Again this command gets misapplied and misinterpreted, and people use it all the time to refer to an ongoing illness, or a hardship, or an unhealthy relationship. But these interpretations miss the significance of Jesus’ command.
In the first century, the cross was the most severe and repulsive form of capital punishment that existed. It was reserved for criminals, political radicals - the lowest of the low. Criminals were forced to “take up” the horizontal cross beam they were to be hung from and carry it to the place of their crucifixion. They were dead men walking.
When Jesus commands us “to take up our cross” he is commanding us to relinquish our lives to him and to consider ourselves already dead. “To take up our cross” is to crucify all of our earthly agendas, ambitions, hopes, and dreams. It is to die for Jesus.
The third and final requirement for participation in God’s stewardship campaign is “to follow Jesus.” When we deny ownership of our lives and die to all of our earthly passions for the sake of Jesus, then we begin to follow his lead and his example. To “follow Jesus” is not only about letting him lead; it is about living a life that reflects his love, his obedience, his suffering and his sacrifice. To “follow Jesus” is to hop like a child from footprint to footprint behind the one whose destination is the cross of Calvary.
God is in the midst of an eternal stewardship campaign and you are either in or you are out. There is no middle ground. There are no special circumstances, loopholes, or tax breaks. The choices are clear. You either “deny yourself and take up your cross and follow Jesus” or you don’t. There is no amount of money, being good, or serving at the church that God will accept. The only currency he will take is your life, your very soul.
So I have to ask you, “Have you denied yourself, taken up your cross, and followed Jesus?” You only have two choices either yes or no. One choice leads to eternity with God, the other to eternity without him.
The paradox of the Christian faith is that we have to lose our life to save it. But the good new, the amazing news this morning is that Jesus denied himself and took up his cross and followed the will of his Father in heaven so that we could do the same.
We can probably all think of examples where there was an elephant in the room. For families there are all kinds of elephants in the room – generational elephants like addiction or physical or sexual abuse. In business, the elephant in the room might be that women and minorities are passed over for high level promotions. In politics, the elephants and the donkeys are all over the room from health care; to the economy; to defense spending; to the fundraising practices of political candidates.
This morning there are a few elephants in the room. Now the first elephant in the room that I want to name and claim is the fact that this is the third week of our stewardship campaign. Guess what? A stewardship campaign is about money. We can try and be creative and divert your attention away from that fact, but the simple truth is that we need your money if we are going to continue to do ministry in Lawrenceville and around the world. Believe me; I know the economy stinks because the second elephant in the room is the fact that our giving has been down for months now.
There are some of ya’ll probably thinking to yourself, “I knew it. That’s all church’s talk about is money.” Well right now that is what we are talking about because we are in the middle of a stewardship campaign, and I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t want you to give to our church because I believe in our ministries. But before you check out or get up and leave please hear me when I say I am not worried about our stewardship campaign. I’m not worried about how much money we receive. I know we will continue serving God here in Lawrenceville and around the world even if that means making difficult financial decisions. We may have to cut our budget, we may have to let staff go, we may have to change the way we do ministry.
Honestly, what I am most worried about is the third elephant in the room. This third elephant also has to do with a stewardship campaign. But this campaign operates within an eternal economy with an investment structure and a currency that our world doesn’t understand, that our world disregards, that it laughs at and sometimes persecutes.
I want us to take a closer look at this other stewardship campaign, and I think we can begin to learn more about it when we read Mark 8:34-9:1. Mark is the second book in the New Testament after the book of Matthew and chapter 8 begins on page () in your pew Bible.
The third elephant in the room is the fact that God is in the midst of an eternal stewardship campaign and the currency he is seeking is not a 10% tithe, or our teaching a Sunday school class, or our serving on the finance committee. The currency God requires for his eternal stewardship campaign is our life our very soul. He wants everything.
In Mark chapter 8, we learn that involvement in God’s eternal stewardship campaign has three essential requirements. Let’s look at v. 34: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” The three requirements for participation in God’s eternal stewardship campaign are: 1) denying yourself; 2) taking up your cross; and 3) following Jesus. So what do those things mean? What does it mean to deny yourself, to take up your cross, and to follow Jesus?
Unfortunately the first requirement “deny yourself” gets misinterpreted and misapplied all the time. People hear “deny yourself” and they immediately assume Jesus is telling them to deny their self-worth, to deny their emotions, or to deny themselves happiness. They take their own damaged self-image or brokenness and they turn the command “to deny yourself” into a pair of boxing gloves to beat themselves up with.
But that’s not what Jesus is talking about; when he tells us to deny ourselves he’s telling us “to reject,” “to refuse,” “to say no” to our self-lordship. In the words of Darrell Johnson, “denying ourselves” means “saying no to the god who is me.” To deny ourselves is to place our self-will and our self-seeking into the hands of Jesus. It is to say quite simply, “Jesus you are in control and not me...It is thy will be done, thy will be done and not mine.”
The second requirement for participation in God’s stewardship campaign is “to take up your cross.” Again this command gets misapplied and misinterpreted, and people use it all the time to refer to an ongoing illness, or a hardship, or an unhealthy relationship. But these interpretations miss the significance of Jesus’ command.
In the first century, the cross was the most severe and repulsive form of capital punishment that existed. It was reserved for criminals, political radicals - the lowest of the low. Criminals were forced to “take up” the horizontal cross beam they were to be hung from and carry it to the place of their crucifixion. They were dead men walking.
When Jesus commands us “to take up our cross” he is commanding us to relinquish our lives to him and to consider ourselves already dead. “To take up our cross” is to crucify all of our earthly agendas, ambitions, hopes, and dreams. It is to die for Jesus.
The third and final requirement for participation in God’s stewardship campaign is “to follow Jesus.” When we deny ownership of our lives and die to all of our earthly passions for the sake of Jesus, then we begin to follow his lead and his example. To “follow Jesus” is not only about letting him lead; it is about living a life that reflects his love, his obedience, his suffering and his sacrifice. To “follow Jesus” is to hop like a child from footprint to footprint behind the one whose destination is the cross of Calvary.
God is in the midst of an eternal stewardship campaign and you are either in or you are out. There is no middle ground. There are no special circumstances, loopholes, or tax breaks. The choices are clear. You either “deny yourself and take up your cross and follow Jesus” or you don’t. There is no amount of money, being good, or serving at the church that God will accept. The only currency he will take is your life, your very soul.
So I have to ask you, “Have you denied yourself, taken up your cross, and followed Jesus?” You only have two choices either yes or no. One choice leads to eternity with God, the other to eternity without him.
The paradox of the Christian faith is that we have to lose our life to save it. But the good new, the amazing news this morning is that Jesus denied himself and took up his cross and followed the will of his Father in heaven so that we could do the same.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Her Day - A Sermon on Mark 5:21-43
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.”
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.”
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