07/19/2023
Though my temporary lodging was on the outskirts of the village, the news quickly spread within and without that, the ruler of the synagogue, Jairus’ daughter had fallen gravely ill. In the smallness of my trivial existence, I typically would not have given a second thought to the demise of this young girl but her age, that of twelve, beckoned my innermost thoughts with remembrance. The small lone olive tree, it too out of place, offered a bit of shade from the now stifling heat and in my self-imposed seclusion, coupled with that of the law of Moses requiring separation as I remained in a state of being “unclean”, I tearfully began to recollect “twelve years” and the intensity of its pain thrust upon a once young, energetic, happy girl. The initial small trickle of blood, the first signs of my menstrual cycle, brought an intense excitement of becoming a young woman, yet the trickle soon gave way to an uncontrollable, unending flow of blood that simply ceased to waiver in its continual outpouring; hour upon hour, day after day, until the months gave way to years. Each year a replay of the last until I was physically broken and emotionally scarred; emaciated from pangs of unfulfilled hunger, homeless as my own family disowned me, an abyss of uncertainty, depression, anxiety and an all-consuming heartache as I had long since relinquished thoughts of marriage, children, and any normalcy of life.
The tears and their warmth now flowing freely, mimicked, in a much smaller way, the blood that poured forth from within and its intensity once again needed my full attention as it ushered me back into the “now” of my reality. I could not help but notice the contrast of the deep crimson red upon the backdrop of my pale, white skin. The heat of the day exasperated my blood issue and the odor, one which I had become painfully accustomed to, seemed exceedingly pungent as I sat, intentionally still and with restrained movement, hoping to minimize the stream and its relentless inundation.
To my surprise and completely out of the normal routines of the day, I witnessed a couple people, then a few more, until it seemed as if the entire village had passed me by, distantly of course, working their way down to the sea as his name, that of Jesus, the miracle worker, created a frenzy of excitement anticipating his arrival. I had longed, so deeply, for a possible encounter with him and now to imagine he might be so very close was beyond my comprehension. An eerie quiet hung in the air without interruption until I sensed a stir in the atmosphere itself; the quiet soon gave way to minimal sound in the distance and within a few moments I witnessed the entirety of the village, and then some, clinging to a man I presumed to be Jesus…it had to be him?! I was taken aback when they neared the proximity of the lone olive tree and further still myself as he obviously was unaware of the realm of “unclean” that he soon would be encroaching upon.
Then, to our astonishment, Jairus came out of the village, almost running with a sense of purpose and simply fell down with a humility that was rare to behold of any man much less him. Though I knew with a certainty that he was pleading with Jesus to heal his daughter, my thoughts were inward, self-centered, and horribly selfish as I desperately felt an inexplicable urge to approach him; but how? I knew that as soon as I dared stand, the cascade of crimson would flow with great volume and I would have but a brief moment before those that were repulsed at my very existence would rail against me with great contempt. Without any additional consideration I arose and began to push my way through the throng of people, no longer caring about how they might feel regarding my issue. I thought, “if I may touch his clothes, I shall be made whole.” At last, I was within arm’s length, and I reached forth my hand and barely grazed his cloak with a simple touch as he passed by.
Immediately I sensed a power run through the very confines of my flesh and instantaneously felt the flow of blood cease for the first time in 12 years…
Father, this story, one of inexplicable pain and suffering, almost hidden uncannily within another passage, and in the eyes of some of lessor importance than the raising of Jairus daughter from death, has caused me much inward examination these last few weeks. I fear, greatly, that I am missing what you desire to be spoken but nevertheless, I tap away knowing you will reveal the truths you want to be gleaned from the life of another “unnamed” woman. There are countless stories of your son, Jesus, “touching” the many He would encounter, healing with great compassion, withholding nothing from those that longed for His touch.
Yet here, we see very clearly, a woman so very ashamed, so desperate, so embarrassed, so humbled that a face-to-face encounter seemed an impossibility, but her faith, though limited surely at times over her years, non-existent during others, would propel her “to reach out and touch you.” Your son was astonished, stopped in his very path, for he knew that there was one that had acted upon a faith He encountered so rarely. And yet, I sense there is more, much more, obscured from a casual reading and meditation; I must admit most humbly, that I am afraid that this next thought might be taken out of context and mistakenly tinged with that of ego. However, I trust completely that You, the word of God, can and will transform it in the mind of man with the level of sincere humility and meekness with which it is offered.
Father, are we, each one of us, not Jesus?
…The questions emerge; are our lives, each one individually, indicative of Jesus dwelling richly within and emitting without, from us, the light of your son? Can a man, a woman, that is surrounded by the evils of this world, especially that of “self” attain, in such a short life span, levels of attractiveness to that of Jesus? Oh, to walk on this earth, with such unconditional love, unlimited peace, enduring patience, boundless mercy, endless compassion, and limitless kindness. There are those perishing, withering away slowly without the knowledge of your Son, even at this very moment, in dark places, in fear, barely holding on, depressed, without a friend, without a family, dejected and cowering in isolation; they are absent from the desires of your heart for their lives. I know that must absolutely break your heart, and I wonder…does it break ours? Surely, we must hold some responsibility in this Lord? Why are those in need of your touch, or equally important, those willing “to reach out to touch”, not doing so? Are we perceived as elevated and aloof, just too busy, sadly indifferent, woefully unaware, thronged as well by the masses, and simply incapable of sensing the smallest of touch from someone in need? Forgive us.
Father, we have “boldly entered into the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need” with but a few questions this morning. We end, Father, with this final thought…in the quiet of the day, when we choose to be alone with you, tarrying still longer in times of contemplation, as we reach out in pursuit of intimacy with you, that you would in turn, with the greatest of caress, reach back to us, revealing areas in our lives that need your touch. Time, as with each breath, passes, never to be reclaimed and we implore you Father, with the same level of desperation considered today, to speak to us clearly, for we realize our lives are but a vapor.
We love you Lord!
Daniel
Mark 5:21-34 “ And when Jesus was passed over again by ship unto the other side, much people gathered unto him: and he was nigh unto the sea. And, behold, there cometh one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name; and when he saw him, he fell at his feet,And besought him greatly, saying, My little daughter lieth at the point of death: I pray thee, come and lay thy hands on her, that she may be healed; and she shall live. And Jesus went with him; and much people followed him, and thronged him. And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, and had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse, when she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole. And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague. And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, who touched my clothes?And his disciples said unto him, thou seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, who touched me? And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing. But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth. And he said unto her, Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace and be whole of thy plague.”