“Hope is optimism with a broken heart”. Nick Cave
Today's story is about several different people from every parish I have been in. It is about all of them in general and none in particular. I have watched this drama play out frequently, always trying to tread gently and listen to their words rather than speak my own.
I’ll call them Matilda and Rupert because to the best of my very dodgy memory, I don’t think I have ever had the privilege of ministering to a Matilda and
Rupert, although I would dearly like to of course.
Matilda is Rupert's mum. She was given a confronting medical diagnosis and a very grim prognosis. Such was the relationship between the two and the faith of both of them, that not even a poker-faced doctor could take away their faith and their hope. In 99% of the cases, the sombre doctors were right and Matilda did die. But something else happened in the process. Something very difficult to articulate. It cannot be measured in a laboratory or grasped in our hands. It is something far more miraculous and lovely than a brief respite from the inevitable demise that our hard-wired mortality demands.
When all seemed lost, forlorn and hopeless, not once did the ‘Ruperts’ and ‘Matildas’ of this world give up. Their faith and courage remained unflinching in the face of the stethoscopes and machines that go bing. Even when there was blood and vomit and drugs and tears their hope was not taken away or vanquished.
It remained supreme and triumphant even when and perhaps especially when, the last breath had been taken and the undertakers phoned.
And that I think is part of the message of today’s two healing stories. Yep, it's great that the dead girl got up and lived. It would be nice to think that she lived a happy long life, married, had babies of her own and was a faithful, practising Jew going along to the synagogue where her dad was head server and vestryman.
It’s splendid that the woman who had had the bleed for 12 years (coincidentally the same number of years as the young girl had been alive) was restored to her family, to her community and in good health.
Whilst none of these healings could have happened without The Master's help, it is the faith and hope of these ladies that smacks you between the eyes. The woman who believes with everything that she is, that if she just touches the hem of Jesus’ garment then that will be enough and she will be healed.
That takes real grit, passionate hope and faith that I hope that I might have one day if I ever grow up.
Jarius of course is just as tenacious. Let’s call it for what it is. His daughter is dying. She is in the last stages of palliative care but this does not stop him. He is undaunted in his mission.
A few things about Jarius, his daughter, Matilda and the woman.
First, notice that in each case physical touch is involved. The woman touches Jesus’ garment and Jesus takes the little girl by the hand. And I wonder how many times you also have brought healing, comfort and consolation by your touch to those who are in need. I am sure that you have done more than you realise. It’s always the way. We go away feeling futile and impotent, but what we leave behind is always remembered and so deeply appreciated.
Secondly, both the woman with the bleed and the little girl are ritually impure. In both instances, Jesus places the needs of the afflicted person above purity laws. Jesus allows himself to be touched by the woman who has been unclean because of her bleeding, and, as a result, socially and religiously marginalised; ‘outside’ the chosen people of God. If Jairus’ daughter is dead, then the touch of her body would render Our Lord impure. In the context of this story, the two women are equals: both need healing which he can give.
Finally, the woman approaches her Lord on her behalf. Jarius on behalf of his daughter. It matters not whether we approach HIM for ourselves or on behalf of someone else. The faith, the hope, the courage, the unstoppable, unconquerable love and just the act of asking, are all that count, no matter who is approaching Jesus and why.
For my Matildas and Ruperts wherever you are and whoever you are, please know that even when your countenance was contorted by grief and your eyes were blotchy and reddened, in my eyes and in the eyes of The Master you were amazing and you are magnificent. To touch and anoint was a humbling and undeserved privilege.
So where to now?
A couple of simple phrases for you to take home. I hope you will find them helpful. They are not the last word, for the last word has not been written yet and Him who is THE spoken word, is always the Living word.