W
e spent the night in the accommodations of Matthew’s spacious home. The next morning, as Jesus loved to do, we took a walk near the shore of the sea. It wasn’t long before a large crowd had gathered around us. Of course, they had come to see Jesus but we were beginning to feel that we somehow shared in his celebrity. We liked it, but at the same time, we resisted it. We sorely longed for time with Jesus uninterrupted by the needs of others.
A man began to push his way through the crowd toward us. It was Jairus. I recognized him because he was one of the elders at the synagogue. His face was ashen with grief. He came and fell at Jesus’ feet. “My little girl is dying, Lord.” He was on all fours, his head hanging. I was struck by paradox of such a man as Jairus so humbling himself. “Please,” he begged, “come and put your hands on her. Heal her and she will live.” The response was instant.
“Take me to her,” he said simply.
The crowd followed and pressed around us.
Just let me near enough to touch him, she thought. Let me merely touch his robe as he passes and I shall be whole. She was weak and pale. Frequently she was required to change the rags that held her bloody flow in check. She had leaked blood this way for twelve years. The disease had weakened her so severely that she could not see how she could live much longer. She had lost count of the physicians she had seen. Her financial strength was as exhausted as her diseased body. The physicians didn’t help. She only grew worse. No one it seemed, could relieve her suffering. At this point, Jesus was her only hope.
It was difficult in the press of the people to get close to where he would pass. Suppose he turned? Suppose he would not pass close enough? Doubts assaulted her. No! He is coming. If I can but reach through this person’s legs . . . There! She felt the soft folds of his garment caress her fingers. But she felt something far deeper, within her. Her entire body lost its pale chill and warmed naturally. Am I . . ? Am I . . ? Am I healed? Her sense of wellness was so complete that she could not speak. She wanted to shout but words would not come, only feelings. The crowd surged on but suddenly Jesus stopped.
“Who touched me?”
Peter, who walked next to him laughed, “You see these people crowding against you and you ask, ‘Who touched me?’”
“Someone touched my clothes. I felt power drain from me.” His eyes darted about in the crowd, searching.
Then he saw her.
And herein are two anomalies. How is it that Jesus could know that someone had merely brushed the folds of his robe in a crowd like that, and how is it that he would detect that healing energy had been released from him except that he was exceptional? Except that he had come from God? And over against that, how is it that if he came from God, which I do not doubt, could he possibly not know who had done it? It is an enigma I do not comprehend to this day.
She was on her knees, but her back was straight, unbent. Her face tilted toward him, beaming, yet she trembled, a strange mixture of fear and joy. He took a few steps to stand before her, yet the scene appeared as if she knelt before him. “I am responsible,” she said. “I touched you, for I said to myself that if I but touch the hem of his garment, I will be whole. And I was . . . I mean, I am.” Tears welled in her eyes.
Jesus reached forth his hand and caressed her face, “Dear sister,” he said tenderly, “do not be frightened. Your faith, your courage has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”
As Jesus conversed with the woman, several men appeared from the house of Jairus. “Your daughter is dead,” they said bluntly. “Why bother the teacher any more?” Their utter lack of sensitivity appalled Jesus. Jairus, stunned and confused, turned to leave. He healed this woman with the merest, unconscious touch. Why couldn’t he . . .
“Jairus!” from Jesus. “Jairus,” again calling his name. “Ignore these fools. Believe and your daughter will be healed.” The grieving father stopped and looked at Jesus with tentative eyes. “Come,” said Jesus. “Let us go to her.” We all started to follow. The crowd surged with us. “Wait!” said Jesus, “I want no one with me except Jairus.” The he pointed to Peter, James and John. “You come as well.”
When they reached the house, there was a commotion. Flute players and professional mourners had already been hired. They beat their breasts and wailed loudly. Jesus, annoyed by this shallow display of grief, said to them, “Stop all this ridiculous commotion and wailing! Why are you carrying on like this? Off with you! This child is not dead. She merely sleeps.” The laughter that accompanied this was filled with contempt and scorn. They knew full well the child was dead. They did not however, attempt to resist Jesus. He spoke with too much authority to be resisted. They all retreated from inside the house and stood impatiently outside.
He took the child’s father and mother and those he brought with him and entered the child’s room. She had lived but twelve summers. Now she lay pale and lifeless on her bed. The awful sense of irreversible finality was enough to break the coldest heart, to embitter the most joyful spirit. He took her by the hand, stroked her hair and said quietly, “Sweet child, wake up. You have many summers yet to fill, many winters yet to brighten.” Gently her chest began to rise and fall and her spirit returned. Her eyes blinked open and abruptly she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. After a moment of getting her bearings, she stood. Seeing her father, she ran to his outstretched arms. The raw emotional power of watching this reunited family, mother, father and child holding desperately to one another, brought ready tears to everyone’s eyes. Even Jesus. “Mama,” she said to her mother, “I’m hungry.” The tension broke and Jesus smiling, told them to give her something to eat.
“There is no need to tell anyone of this,” he said to the family. “Keep it quiet and cherish it just for yourselves.” But as soon as Jesus left the home, outsiders surged in.
In a moment someone came to the door and loudly announced, “She’s alive! And well!” News of what had taken place spread everywhere.
