Lamentations 3:22-33 Psalm 30 2 Corinthians 8:7-15 Mark 5:21-43
A few weeks ago I spoke about favourite sandwich fillings. You might remember.
I had learned about what they call the Markan sandwich, hence my mention of Christmas dinner in a bun. When I approached this morning’s reading, I recognised that is another Markan sandwich. We have Jairus approaching Jesus, begging for his daughter to be healed, and Jesus went with him.
Then we meet the woman who has been bleeding for 12 long years. 4,383 days of exhaustion and social exclusion. More than 4000 days of not being able to enter the temple, nor even able to sit anywhere public, lest others became tainted by her sin. Twelve years of making eye contact with nobody. And she had spent a fortune on doctors and physicians and still she was bleeding. She interrupts Jairus’ story, presses through the crowd, and reaches out and touches Jesus’ garment so she can be healed. Jesus senses power come out of him and asks who touched him. He comes face to face with the woman and tells her she is healed. And then we return to Jairus. By the time they arrive at his home, Jairus’ daughter is dead. Jesus goes in, takes her by the hand and raises her to new life.
Jairus and his daughter
The bleeding woman
Jairus and his daughter again.
Another Markan sandwich.
Two amazing tales of healing. Two examples of Jesus going to the place of death and decay, the place of filth, forbidden, challenging all the rules of ritual and purification. He goes there and speaks light and life and brings healing and wholeness.
But what does this story say to us, more than 2000 years later?
And what does it mean when we don’t see people healed, or raised from the dead?
Nearly two years ago, my brother-in-law was diagnosed with a medical condition that was quickly making him blind. The medical staff could do nothing to slow or stop it. There is no cure. What do we do with healing miracles when our experiences of family members, close friends, even ourselves, is one of not being made well, or of dying and not being taken by the hand and raised up to life. Not in this realm anyway.
And then I began to wonder about the difference between being cured and being healed. And that shone an entirely different light on the story. Let’s look again.
Jairus comes running – my daughter is at the point of death, come and lay hands on her. Jesus arrives and his daughter has died. Jesus takes her by the hand and tells her, ‘talitha cum’, get up, and immediately the girl got up and began to walk about. She was cured of her illness. But then Jesus tells her family to give her something to eat – in the 1st century, sitting and eating together meant someone was part of the community, part of the family. So initially she was cured, but her true healing came in being restored to her family.
And then the bleeding woman.
She grasps Jesus’ garment and the bleeding stops. She is instantly cured.
Then Jesus asks who touched him – the disciples laugh, but he finds the woman and she comes in fear and trembling and tells him the whole truth. By then the bleeding has stopped. She is cured. But when he says to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease’, then she is healed. She is not bleeding. But she is so much more than that. She is now the daughter of the King; restored, accepted, welcome, clean. She is whole – truly healed.
And I began to think, is it possible to be healed and not cured? And is it possible to be cured and not healed?
There is no cure for my brother-in-law’s condition.
Maybe you or someone you love has also heard those words from a medical professional – there is no cure, or, this is terminal. It is hard. Really hard.
And yet, in Christ, we are offered, day after day, complete restoration, healing, wholeness, a welcome into Christ’s own family, belonging.
It is possible to grasp that invitation, to be that, and still be physically unwell.
And similarly, perhaps it is also true that one can be cured of their illness and never encounter life in its fullness, free and whole, never be truly healed, and that is deeply sad.
The woman in that crowd could have gone home that day, never having looked into the eyes of Jesus and hearing those words ‘daughter…go in peace’. She shouldn’t have been in that crowd – she knew that – only desperation took her there. If she had never heard those words of welcome, that acceptance into the family of God, she may well have been cured, but would she have been fully healed? Not fully, I don’t think so.
I am beginning to see that finding a cure is not what is the most important thing. Healing is our goal, healing is our aim. And, as the church, as Christ’s hands and feet here on earth in this time, healing is also our primary purpose.
For a world that is afraid and anxious, healing looks like space and quiet calm.
For a person who is lonely and isolated, healing is a warm welcome, time, a chat.
For those without, healing is provision.
For the hungry it is food, for the cold it is clothing, for the homeless it is shelter, for the marginalised it is advocacy or giving up something of our own rights so others can have more.
We might not be able to cure disease or sickness. There might be no cure. But there is always healing to be found. It flows from the Divine source; it is found in streams of living water; it is eaten and drunk from this table; it is found in friendship and fellowship; in fun and in those tough conversations, and it is offered to each of us, over and over, that we might be healed and extend it to others for their healing too.
Jairus’ daughter was healed by Jesus’ touch and her family’s meal.
The woman was healed by her bravery, perseverance and then Christ’s warm welcome and peace.
We are each offered healing and wholeness in every moment of each day.
Let’s chase after healing, take hold of it, grasp it, become it.
And let’s share this gift of healing with those still in need. Amen.
Holy Adventures 