Homily: Yr B Proper 13, June 28 2015, St. Albans.
Readings: 2 Sam 1.1, 17-27; Ps 130; 2 Cor 8.7-15; Mk
5.21-43
This morning in our gospel
reading we return to the Gospel of Mark and specifically to one of the most
carefully and artfully crafted narratives in all of Mark’s gospel. It is two stories woven into one, with the
story of the woman who suffered from hemorrhages sandwiched in-between the two
parts of the story of Jairus and his daughter.
The two stories play off one another, displaying both parallels and
contrasts: the sick girl is introduced
as a daughter, the woman is named at the end as “Daughter”. The woman has been bleeding for twelve years;
the girl is twelve years of age. The
woman has been unable to bear children because of her bleeding; the girl who is
just reaching the age of child-bearing is at risk of never realizing that
potential. The girl has her father as an
advocate, indeed it is Jairus who is the focus of the story; the woman must act
alone.
But why does Mark put these
stories together? What is the point of the
overall narrative that he has so carefully crafted for us? It is at first tempting to give the easy
answer, that this gospel text is intended to reveal to us that Jesus is a great
healer. But although that is true, it
can’t be the gospel writer’s main purpose in recording these encounters. After all, if we’ve been paying any attention,
we already know by Chapter 5, that Jesus is a great healer. Already in the first four chapters of Mark
that has become quite clear. Why after
all, do you think there are such great crowds that gather around Jesus the
moment he steps off the boat? They know
that Jesus is a great healer; the word is out, news has spread, as early as
chapter one people were bringing all of the sick to Jesus. They
track his every movement and wherever he goes, he is swarmed by crowds. Even modern day historians, some of whom read
the gospels with a skeptical eye, all agree:
Jesus was a great healer and that’s why he attracted such crowds. We don’t need another story to tell us that.
So what is the point of this
story? There is a hint in Mark’s
intro. “When Jesus had again crossed
over by boat to the other side of the lake, a large crowd gathered around him
while he was by the lake.” The lake, the
Sea of Galilee, is the boundary between Israel and foreign lands, and Jesus has
been moving back and forth across it in the first few chapters of the gospel,
literally crossing the boundary between home and away, between where we are
safe and comfortable and where we are not.
And as the story begins he is by the lake, again right on the boundary
between land and sea. That may not seem
like much to us, but it would have had more significance for Mark’s original
readers. The sea symbolized forces that destroy
humanity, chaos and evil. The land is
where we are at home, indeed, the home God created for humanity, safe, ordered,
peaceful. And Jesus places himself right
on the boundary between the two. And
you’d be right if you suspected that both of the encounters in this story are
going to involve some boundary crossing.
Each of these stories,
indeed, has two stages, with an internal boundary that gets crossed. Mark makes it easy for us to see where the
boundary is in the story of Jairus and his daughter because he splits the story
into two parts for us. The second part
starts with the report of the death of the daughter. In the story of the woman suffering from
hemorrhages, the second stage begins when Jesus calls her out and asks “Who
touched my clothes?” In both stories,
the second stage marks the boundary where hope turns to fear. It also marks the point where Jesus takes
over as the principal actor and speaker.
Up until that point Jesus had yet to speak in either story.
At the beginning of the
story of the woman who suffered from hemorrhages, despite her suffering, she is
full of faith and hope. She knew about
Jesus, and she thinks, “If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.” She is the one who drives the action forward
– she sees her opportunity in the crowd, comes up behind Jesus and touches his
cloak, and she is rewarded – immediately her bleeding stops. But just then the moment she dreads is upon
her. Jesus, realizing that power had
gone out from him, turns around in the crowd and asks, “Who touched my
clothes?” And the woman, knowing what
had happened to her comes and falls at his feet, trembling with fear.
Why is she so afraid? Where has her hope gone, where is the
assertiveness and determination that she showed just moments before? Where is the joy that should come from her
healing?
She trembles because her
greatest fear is at hand,and that is the fear of being shamed, publically, in
full view of the crowd. You see, that
was something she’d been dreading for twelve long years. In her society, bleeding would have made her
impure. Unable to marry, an outcast in
society. Unable to have children, unable
to have a normal family, with all the shame that that entailed. As someone who was impure she shouldn’t have
been in the crowd, certainly she shouldn’t have touched Jesus. Maybe she’d been keeping this hidden for all
those years, living with her shameful secret. She had hoped to remain anonymous, nameless,
but she was being outed. The moment of
public shame she had feared had arrived.
“Who touched my clothes?”
In fear and trembling she
falls at his feet and confesses, telling him the whole truth. And then Jesus surprises her. There is no shame, no condemnation. “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be healed of your disease.” Not only has she been healed of her disease,
but more importantly she has been absolved of her deepest shame and relieved of
her greatest fear. No longer is she nameless,
rather she has been given a new name.
Daughter. Child of God. One who is in relationship, part of a family,
no longer anonymous and isolated. Not
only has she been healed; she has been made well.
Jairus too is hopeful at the
outset of his story. He comes to Jesus,
he falls at his feet, he begs him repeatedly, he tells Jesus exactly what he
wants. “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.” Jairus may
be desperate but he is forceful and his faith is strong. Jesus goes with him. But as they go, people from the leader’s
house (notice how Jairus loses his name), people come from the leader’s house
to say, “Your daughter is dead.” With
those words, Jairus loses his name and never speaks again in this story. His greatest fear has arrived, the death of
his daughter, and with it his faith and his hope dissolve. And again, it is at the point where hope
dissolves into fear that Jesus who has not yet spoken in the story of Jairus,
Jesus takes over and begins to speak and to direct the action. His first words go to the heart of Jairus’ state
of being:
“Do not fear, only believe.”
And he goes to the girl, and
takes her by the hand and say to her, “Talitha cum” which means, “Little girl,
get up!” And immediately the girl got up
and began to walk about.
Two amazing stories, one amazing
narrative. What does it mean for you and
me? Well, let me ask a few questions:
Does anyone here have a fear
of being publically shamed? Of having their
deepest, darkest secrets exposed for all to see and condemn?
Is anyone here afraid of
death? Their own death, or the death of
a loved one?
Has anyone ever been to that
place, been at that boundary where hope and faith dissolve into fear?
I think that the point of
these stories is to let us know that when we get to that place, that boundary
where hope and faith give way to fear, Jesus will be there waiting for us. Waiting perhaps until the moment when we are
speechless to speak, telling us not to fear, uttering no words of condemnation
but naming us once more as a beloved child of God, assuring us of what we need
to be well, to move once more from fear to faith.
Amen.
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