Only Believe

 

Mark 5:21-43

June 27, 2021

 

            In her novel, My Sister’s Keeper, author Jodi Picoult tells the story of parents, especially the mother, who are desperate to save their daughter, Kate. Kate was diagnosed with leukemia when she was only three, and her parents exhaust every possible treatment, every possible avenue trying to save her life. What Kate needs are stem cells, but her older brother is not a match. So, the parents consult with a genetic engineer and have another baby, genetically designed to match Kate’s stem cells. That baby is Anna, and the rest of the story centers around her desire to be her own person, not spare parts for Kate.

            But Anna was born as a desperate attempt to save Kate. She was conceived and delivered to be the miracle Kate needed. That’s how far her parents were willing to go to save their daughter, despite the consequences to their actions. Their desperation for their child drove them.

            Every month now I give myself a shot of a medicine that keeps my migraines at bay. I have to work myself up to the shot, mentally, and remind myself that the anticipation is far worse than the actual shot. But I do it, because before I started these injections, I would have migraines that would go on for three days. I would manage to reduce the pain for a while, only to have it return with a vengeance. I would do my best to function as normally as possible during these bouts. I have moderated session with a grueling migraine, cooked plenty of meals, kept the house up, and even stood in the pulpit and preached. But there were many times, the pain would get so bad, I would just want to do anything, anything to make it stop. There were times when the pain was so acute, if I had heard of a man wandering around town performing healings, I would have sought him out. I would have risked anything I had to risk if it would have made the pain go away. I was desperate to be healed.

            Desperation. That’s what our gospel lesson is filled with this week. Desperation. The woman who has been hemorrhaging for twelve years was desperate to find healing and relief, and Jairus was desperate to find healing for his young daughter. Jairus was a leader of the synagogue. He had standing in the community. It was probably far more shocking than we realize for him to seek out Jesus directly. There were plenty of people of less importance who would have gone to Jesus for him. But Jairus went to Jesus. Jairus fell down before him and begged for Jesus’ help. He was probably putting his reputation and religious career on the line by doing what he did, but he was so desperate I imagine all concern for dignity, reputation, and standing were forgotten. Jairus’ daughter – his little girl, his child – was deathly ill. He was willing to go to any length to save her. Jairus, a man of authority and power, was powerless before his daughter’s illness. In his helplessness, he was completely vulnerable and made himself more vulnerable still by rushing to Jesus for help. Jairus knew; he knew that if Jesus laid his hands on his daughter, she would be made well. So as soon as he saw Jesus he fell at the teacher’s feet and pleaded with him to come and heal his little girl. His actions show the depth of his desperation and his belief that Jesus could make his daughter well.

            As Jesus was making his way toward Jairus’ house, another person came to Jesus in desperate need; a woman who had been hemorrhaging for twelve years. Twelve years! She had been living with misery for as long as the little girl had been alive. There is no reason given for why this woman bled for so long, but we do know that she spent every cent she had on physicians and doctors. Yet none of them could make her well.  None of their treatments worked.  The text tells us that she had “endured much under many physicians.”  I suspect that means that she was given every test, every treatment, and every cure known to a doctor of that time. Still nothing worked. She had only grown steadily worse.

            When Jesus stepped into that crowd by the sea, this desperate unnamed woman knew that if she could only touch him, if she could just grasp his clothing for a fleeting second, she would be cured. All would be well.

            She did just that. I imagine it was her desperation that gave her the strength to push through that large crowd. Being ill for so long, she must have been anemic and weak. But her desperation and her belief that Jesus could heal her gave her the strength and the courage she needed to make her way through that crowd and touched Jesus’ cloak before the throngs of people surged against her, pushing her back and away. She did it. She reached Jesus and touched his robe, and as soon as she did this her bleeding stopped. She knew that something was different. She felt it in her body. The bleeding stopped. She was healed.

            All of this is amazing. We could stop the story right here and know that a miracle happened. Outside of knowing the fate of Jairus’ daughter, nothing more would need to be said.  It is a miracle! Yet another twist of the story occurs after the woman has touched Jesus’ robe and is healed. As the surging, pressing crowd reached for him, grasped and groped for him, Jesus perceived that someone had touched him. Jesus felt this rush of power leave him.

            So, he stopped where he was and called out, “Who touched me?”

I’ll be honest, I share the reaction of the disciples.

Huh? What do you mean, “Who touched you?” Have you seen the size of this crowd?  There are about a gazillion people trying to touch you, reach you. Folks are coming at you from all sides, how can you possibly know that one person touched you when all of these people are trying to lay hands on you?

But Jesus knew. He knew something was different. He knew something had happened.  He felt the woman’s healing just as she did. This poor woman must have been terrified beyond belief. Certainly, she must have felt a thrill of fear that Jesus could sense the power that had moved between the two of them. But her fear must have gone beyond the fact that she touched this rabbi. Her twelve years of bleeding meant that she was ritually unclean. Not only had she dared to touch Jesus, but she also surely touched a whole lot of other people in her push to reach him. For twelve years she would have lived an outsider’s life. For twelve years she would have been banned from full participation in the life of the synagogue. Contact with her would have contaminated others. Her uncleanness would have been contagious. So, she should have been nowhere near a great crowd such as this one, and certainly nowhere near a teacher such as Jesus.  Her very presence there was a violation of the Law.

            I’m sure she was afraid. I’m sure she was shaking at the potential punishment and the consequences for her actions. But she was in desperate need, and that need outweighed everything else. She needed Jesus. Jairus needed Jesus. This woman occupied a much lower place in society than Jairus did, but their need for Jesus was an equalizer. It bridged the distance that society and status placed between them. They were both willing to be completely vulnerable to receive the healing they so desperately needed. How far would you go to save your child? How far would you go to save yourself?

            The consequences for this woman’s actions would have been great indeed. But despite her fear and dread, she owned up to what she did. She stepped out from the others, out from hiding. She fell before Jesus and confessed what she had done. However, instead of reprimands and rebukes, Jesus said to her, “Daughter your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be healed of your disease.”

            This woman believed. She knew Jesus could heal her. She was in desperate need and had faith that her need would be answered. She knew that all she had to do was touch his robe be cured. She was right.

            But Jesus’ healing didn’t stop with this woman.  Lest we forget, her healing was an interruption to Jesus’ original purpose. He was on his way to Jairus’ house to heal his little girl when the woman interrupted. She seemingly distracted Jesus from his initial intent. As Jesus once more moved toward Jairus’ house, some others who were waiting came to Jairus and informed him that his daughter was dead. There was no point in bothering Jesus any longer.

            Jesus overheard them and told Jairus, “Do not fear, only believe.” Only believe. Jesus and a small contingent of the disciples went to Jairus’ house. The mourners were gathered. Despite their wailing and weeping, they couldn’t contain their laughter when Jesus announced that the little girl was not dead, only sleeping. Their laughter did not deter Jesus. He took the girl’s hand and said, “Talitha cum.”  The text interprets this as, “Little girl, get up.” She obeyed. She stood up. She was healed!

It was desperation that made both Jairus and the long-suffering woman willing to be vulnerable. In their need, they went to great and even dangerous lengths to seek Jesus’ help. In their need they turned to Jesus, and Jesus responded, directly and indirectly. Not only did Jesus answer their need, but Jesus also stepped across boundaries to do so.

An unclean woman touched him, but instead of chastising her, he called her “daughter.” He restored her place in the community. Jesus touched a girl who was dead, making him unclean, but that boundary of social propriety did not stop him. Her need, her father’s need was greater than any wall social mores could construct. Jesus was unafraid of defying social boundaries because suffering also defies boundaries. These intertwined stories bear that out. Suffering does not respect status or boundary. Need does not care about social niceties. Here is the good news. Neither does Jesus. Jesus meets us where we are. Let all of God’s children say …

And yet, and yet, Jesus crossed boundaries to relieve the suffering of the woman and Jairus’ daughter. But Jesus did not put an end to all suffering. Suffering is profoundly real today. The stories coming from the collapse of the condo in Florida bring this home. There is great desperation on the part of the families and friends waiting for news of their loved ones. There is, I think, desperation on the part of the responders trying to find anyone left alive.

The suffering there and everywhere is real. People are desperate for healing, for help, for wholeness. Jesus overcame death through resurrection, but death still walks among us. That woman, healed of her bleeding, eventually laid down her mortal coil and died. And the young girl, perhaps she grew to an old age, but she too left this earthly life through death.

When I read stories such as these from Mark’s gospel, I am renewed in my faith, but I am also renewed in my questioning. If you can heal the suffering of some, Jesus, why not all? If you can raise from the dead one, why not all? We are all so desperate to be healed, Jesus, and we believe and we believe and we believe, but it would seem to be to no avail.

And yet, while our questions are not answered, we also know that God in Jesus is with us in our suffering – not bringing it to an end, but with us. With. Us. Holding us, comforting us, grieving with us, loving us. Our faith that Jesus is with us does not bring suffering to an end, but we believe, we believe, that we do not suffer alone, and we do not suffer in vain. We believe, even when it seems foolish to do so. We believe, and we give thanks.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.” Amen.

 

 

Peace! Be Still! -- Father's Day

 

Mark 4:35-41

June 20, 2021

 

            In May of 2013, an EF5 tornado ripped through Moore, Oklahoma. It closely followed the same devastating path of a tornado that hit Moore in the 1990’s. The tornado was over a mile wide and at its worst the winds hit 210 miles per hour. Even with the advanced weather technology and storm chasers that Oklahoma takes full advantage of, there was just a little over a minute of warning that this storm had reached such a deadly momentum and was about to hit.

Moore is just north of Norman and just south of Oklahoma City, and about 35 minutes away from where we lived in Shawnee. 24 lives were lost in that storm. School had not yet been dismissed for the summer, and the tornado hit an elementary school, where both teachers and children were killed. A journalist from one of the Oklahoma City stations was trying to report what was happening, but he lived in Moore and was so emotional he could barely speak. Through the power of modern television, we watched it happen in real time. It was shattering to know this was happening and yet there was nothing we could except pray.

We watched the television that day already on edge because the day before a tornado had hit the western part of Shawnee. It had ripped its way down I40, taking out trees and hitting houses and a trailer park on the west side of the city. Businesses along I40, including the Shawnee Mall, were evacuated. Later that summer, I was in a meeting with the City Manager and he showed us a picture on his phone from that afternoon. It showed the familiar anchor stores of the mall and just behind it was an enormous funnel cloud just bearing down.

I remember that afternoon vividly. It was Sunday. I had come home from church and turned on the tv to see what the weather was going to do. Just as the weatherman urged people in our area to start seeking shelter, the sirens went off. I had two kids and a cat, and we didn’t have a basement. I was herding everyone into the bathroom when my music director texted me.

“Where are you taking shelter?”

She urged me to come to OBU – Oklahoma Baptist University, where her husband was a professor – and shelter with them. So, I got the kids, one of them crying and demanding to know why I had moved them to this state of tornadoes, into the car and we started toward OBU. About two minutes into the drive, we heard a train only we weren’t near the railroad. I saw that people were gathering at the fire station. I made the most illegal U-turn of my driving career, parked across the street, and ran with the kids to the shelter of the fire station. There we waited.

Thankfully for us, but not for the people that suffered damage, the storm shifted toward the south and dissipated. When the sirens sounded the all-clear, the kids and I made our way back to the car. We got into the car, but I couldn’t drive yet. My hands were shaking too much to turn the key. I asked the kids to just give me a minute and put my head in my hands and tried to breathe normally. We were safe, at least for the moment, and we did not yet know what would happen the next day. We had survived this storm.

When I read this familiar parable now, I can’t help but remember that day back in 2013. I realize that the circumstances of their storm and ours were different. We were not in a boat being battered by the sea. We were not being swamped by waves that threatened to sink our boat. But I understand what I think must have been a rising sense of panic. The disciples were trying to do everything they possibly could to save themselves. However flawed the disciples were, however clueless they could be, especially in Mark’s gospel, about who Jesus truly was, they were seasoned fishermen. They knew and understood the Sea of Galilee. They knew how quickly violent, life-threatening storms could form. They weren’t newbies when it came to storms at sea, which means this storm must have been pretty bad. I can imagine their panic was quite real. They needed all hands on deck as it were to keep the boat from capsizing. So, Jesus needed to wake up. How could he sleep through something like this anyway? Did they wake him because they thought he could save them? I’m not convinced that’s what they thought. I think they wanted him up and going to help them, but I’m not sure they believed he could save them.

I definitely don’t think they could have predicted what came next. Not only did Jesus wake up, he woke up and rebuked the storm. He rebuked it the way he rebuked demons and unclean spirits. He told the wind, “Peace! Be still!”

And the wind obeyed. The wind settled down. The sea stilled. Where only seconds before, the storm was so great they could have all been thrown into the tumult, now there was dead calm.

And this is the moment where the disciples grow truly afraid. The New Revised Standard Version translates what they felt as awe, but a better translation would have been terror.

They were filled with terror because this man, their Teacher, their Rabbi, was no ordinary teacher or rabbi. He may have cast out a demon or two, healed some folks, sure, but he had just commanded the wind to be still and the wind obeyed him. The. Wind. Obeyed. Him.

Yes, I’m sure they were filled with terror and awe and amazement and astonishment and overwhelming incredulity, because this man they were following, this man they took on the boat just as he was, had the power to command the wind and calm the sea. It was too much for them to fully grasp, and they would continue to misunderstand Jesus’ full identity. They would continue to fail to get it and to get him through the rest of his earthly life. But in this moment, they had a glimpse of who Jesus was, of who Jesus is.

Who is this guy who stills the storm, who calms the seas, and even the wind obeys him?

Who is this?

Jesus was and is the Holy One of God, the Son of God, the One both fully divine and human. They took Jesus on the boat just as he was, and this is who he was. So, what did the disciples want him to do for them when they woke him up in a panic? Was it just to help bail water? Did they think he could perform some healing miracle like the ones they’d seen him do before? Did they even know what they wanted or what they thought he could accomplish? Probably not. But whatever it was that they were thinking Jesus could do or not do, what they received in that moment was so much more than what they expected.

And it terrified them. It terrified them, and I suspect it terrified them because they realized that this invitation to follow they had accepted was sending them down a path that would demand more from them than they had possibly imagined. It would demand change from them. It would demand trust from them. Did they have it in them to trust Jesus this much? Did they have faith enough to go where he would lead them? Did they trust him enough?

It seems to me that trust is at the heart of this passage. The disciples begged Jesus to wake up, see what was happening to them, care about what was happening to them. And his response was not only to care for them, but to take care of them by stilling the storm. Then he asked them, and I think it was in a gentle voice, why were still so afraid? Why did they not have faith? In other words, haven’t you figured out yet that you can trust me?

Do we? Do we trust him? In the good moments in life, I don’t expect Jesus to still the storms for me. I don’t expect Jesus to make everything better and all right and okey dokey. I even make it a point to teach that the purpose of faith is not to make everything better. And that is just fine … until the next storm hits. Then, in a panic, I accuse Jesus, I accuse God, of not caring, of abandoning me, of walking away when I need God most.

Because when it comes right down to it, my trust is always a little shaky. I think I know better. I think it is all up to me. To trust Jesus with everything I have, with everything I am means that I have to let go of my need to control. I have to trust, and sometimes trust just isn’t that easy.

And yet the storms keep coming, and I keep weathering them. I haven’t drowned yet. My boat has not capsized yet. Looking back at past storms, I can see so clearly that Jesus was in the boat with me, fully himself. So, if I know he was with me then, why do I have such a hard time believing that he is with me now and will be with me tomorrow?

He was with me when I raced my kids to shelter in the face of a tornado. He is with you in whatever storms – literal or figurative you have faced. He is with us, this congregation in all of the storms that we weather together. He is with us, and yes, his presence may require us to change. Yes, his presence may fill us with both awe and terror. But he is with us, and he calls us to have faith, to let go of our fear, to trust. He calls us to trust him. Can we do that? Will we do trust that he is with us and with his presence we can survive any storm?

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.” Amen.