“Divine Distraction”
Text: Mark 5: 21-34 Esv
21 And when Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered about him, and he was beside the sea. 22 Then came one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name, and seeing him, he fell at his feet 23 and implored him earnestly, saying, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well and live." 24 And he went with him. And a great crowd followed him and thronged about him. 25 And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, 26 and who had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was no better but rather grew worse. 27 She had heard the reports about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment. 28 For she said, "If I touch even his garments, I will be made well." 29 And immediately the flow of blood dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. 30 And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, "Who touched my garments?" 31 And his disciples said to him, "You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, 'Who touched me?'" 32 And he looked around to see who had done it. 33 But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him and told him the whole truth. 34 And he said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease."†
Jairus and the synagogue
Jesus and his Disciples cross the lake and land, very likely, at the village of Magdala. Magdala was a major fishing village—a place where Jews and Gentiles did healthy commerce in the small, sardine-like fish that are a middle-eastern staple. Magdala is positioned at a key point on the lake where warm water currents encourage the little fish to gather. It is also on the direct route between Gerasene and Nazareth, where Jesus and the Disciples are soon to visit.
No sooner are they out of the boat than their old friend, the “large Crowd,” is there to greet them and press in against them. We really have to picture Beatlemania or English soccer fans when we read this—they are really a kind of mob.
Jairus is the leader of the synagogue in Magdala, which makes him something of a combination of mayor, senator, philanthropist and mob boss. As he and his retinue approach Jesus, we have to imagine the crowd parting like waves for him. He was prominent and important.
Jairus falls down before Jesus (the word is the same as “worship”)—something no respectable synagogue president would ever do. He pleads with Jesus to save his daughter and Jesus agrees. The mob now has a media event, so the whole mob moves toward Jairus’ house with the Disciples surrounding Jesus like secret service agents.
THE UNWOMAN
Now there is a woman in the crowd. Unlike Jairus, she has been bleeding for 12 years, so her life is as unclean and low as a Jewish woman can be. As a bleeder, she’s not allowed into decent homes, nor would she be allowed into the holy places—synagogues or the Temple in Jerusalem-and she is likely an outcast, and un-woman. People of the day figured she was still sick because of her sins or perhaps her parents’ sins. She probably lived in a hovel and was scorned by all the decent folk. She was a pariah among pariahs and the text says she had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse—twelve years to no avail! She’d tried every doctor in town, seen specialists, accupuncturists, aromatherapists, reflexologists, homeopaths and osteopaths. She joined a support group to share the grief of long-term hemorrhaging, and finally The National Hemorrhagers Association, a lobbying group established to promote public awareness of the plight of bleeders, and after all this, she was still bleeding, still despised, and terribly unhappy.
She must have been terribly, terribly lonely.
Beyond this, she was unimportant. Jairus was important, prominent, a big shot—it only makes sense that Jesus would heal his daughter—but why on earth would he bother with her?
To feel unworthy, unbelonging and unacceptable was surely a potent combination. Kurt Cobain, despite his widespread fame, great wealth and adulation as a rock star he grew terribly lonely and depressed. In the days leading up to his suicide one of his diary entries read: "Somebody, anybody, God help, help me please. I want to be accepted...I’m so tired of crying and dreaming, I’m so, so, alone."
I think this woman felt like that: without hope, without recourse and without access. So she decided she would sneak up and just take a little of that power.
She believed. She thought if only, if only I can touch his robe—I could be healed. It could be that she believed he was the Messiah with “healing in his wings” (Malachi 4:2), but somehow, she gave herself this permission, this right to live and thrive.
Not that it matters, but this woman is the greatest pickpocket of all time, for she pickpocketed a dose of divine power.
JESUS’ laser zeroes in
Jesus “felt” the power go out of him. He stops in his tracks as the crowd swarms about. His disciples, making a human chain around him, stop too. “Who touched me?” says Jesus, “Somebody touched me.”
Now the Disciples, clueless as they tend to be in Mark, and relentlessly poked, pushed and jostled by the crowd they try to keep at bay, rebuke Jesus:
"You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, 'Who touched me?'"
“Oh come on, Rabbi—give us a break; we are doing the best we can!”
“Someone touched you? Excuse me, but I’m being poked so much I’m going to need serious therapy after this!”
Nonetheless Jesus looks through the crowd, his eyes scanning the eyes of the throng, and like a needle seeking true north he scrutinizes the crowd with laser beam vision.
The woman, now healed, comes forward. She falls down before him (as in worship) and confesses all. This is part of what our worship should look like as well; we throw ourselves down before Jesus and confess our schemes and brokenness.
Jesus doesn’t lecture her. He doesn’t say what my mother said to me when I “borrowed” quarters from her purse: “If only you’d asked, I would have gladly given it to you!” He doesn’t scold her, though he has every right and authority to do so; after all, she “stole” her healing from him. No. He wanted to find her because although she received her healing, she had not yet received the added blessing that he wanted to give her. And so he blesses her. He gives to the one who took from him. He blesses her with health and restores her human dignity.
EVERY ONE MATTERS
Apparently, this woman was every bit as important to Jesus as the president of the synagogue—every bit as worthy of his blessing as the most prominent man in the county.
We see something very interesting—even unique—here in Jesus; namely, we see a concern for the individual. Jesus isn’t there for humankind, or for the Jewish nation, or for the principles of peace, justice and the American way; he is there for her. Just her. We don’t see this elsewhere; this ethic, this laser-sharp focus on the one person, may be unique to Christianity. It has certainly given western civilization its unique, individual-valuing flavor. Jesus reveals God to be one who considers each one of his billions of children infinitely valuable, infinitely loved.
Preaching professor Fred Craddock was on vacation and out to dinner with his wife in Tennessee, when an odd old man came up to the table for a chat, asking them how they were doing and if they were enjoying their holiday. When the old man asked Fred what he did for a living Fred saw the chance to get rid of him – “I’m a preacher.”
“A preacher? That’s great. Let me tell you a story about a preacher.” The old man sat down at their table and started to speak. As he did Fred’s annoyance was changed to one of profound humility. The old man explained that he was a bastard – in the literal rather than the figurative sense. He was born without knowing who his father was, a source of great shame in a small town in the early twentieth century. One day a new preacher came to the local church. The old man explained that as a youngster he had never gone to church, but one Sunday decided to go along and hear the new pastor preach. He was good. The illegitimate boy went back again, and then again. In fact he started attending just about every week. But his shame went with him. This poor little boy would always arrive late and leave early in order to avoid talking to anyone. But one Sunday he got so caught up in the sermon that he forgot to leave. Before he knew it the service was over and the aisles were filling. He rushed to get past people and out the door, but as he did he felt a heavy hand land upon his shoulder. He turned around to see the preacher, a big tall man, looking down at him asking, “What’s your name, boy? Whose son are you?” The little boy died inside, the very thing he wanted to avoid was now here. But before he could say anything the preacher said “I know who you are. I know who your family is. There’s a distinct family resemblance. Why, you’re the son, you’re the son, you’re the son of God!”
The old man sitting at Fred Craddock’s table said “You know, mister, those words changed my life”. And with that he got up and left.
When the waitress came over she said to Fred Craddock and his wife, “Do you know who that was?”
“No” they replied.
“That was Ben Hooper, the two-term governor of Tennessee.”
The blessing that preacher gave to that boy was a life-changer, though it wasn’t something hard to say or difficult to imagine saying. We too ought to seek ways to bless others in whatever way we can.
BORN IN THE EYES OF CHRIST
Helen Montone tells the story of her adopted son: We wanted our son to know always that he was adopted. So from the time he was very young, we explained to him in a way that was simple for him to understand.
“We were told that I could not have a baby in my belly and Jesus knew this,” I said. “Jesus also knew that there was a lady who had a baby in her belly, but she could not be a mommy. From Heaven, Jesus saw this baby on the day he was born. Remembering that we wanted to be a mommy and daddy and that the lady could not be a mommy, Jesus decided that the baby belonged with us. That’s how we became a family.”
One day on our way home from preschool, our son asked me if he was born in Jesus’ belly. I told him that he was not and once again we talked about how we became a family. After driving a little bit further I asked him if he had any questions.
He said, “Oh no, I remember. I wasn’t born in Jesus’ belly—I was born in his eyes!”
No matter what your and my condition—no matter how desperate, lonely, disconnected, unworthy or miserable we may feel—we must remember that we too are infinitely valuable in Jesus’ eyes.
His Holy Spirit seeks you now. He is here and his eyes are scanning, scrutinizing whatever masks we wear in order that we would be revealed. The good news, brothers and sisters, is that he is not looking to judge, condemn, rebuke or scold us, though we deserve as much. He is looking to bless you. He loves you—and when I say that I do not mean that he loves you because he loves humankind and you are part of the race, nor do I mean that he loves you because you are part of the flock known as the Church—no, I mean that he loves you beyond what you can imagine. Thousands of angels attend you as though you are the only person who ever lived. His love is trying to reach you in order that you know his blessing.
You and I too can be born in his eyes. He’s looking, seeking you out—will you come forward?
†