The occasional, often ill-considered thoughts of a Roman Catholic permanent deacon who is ever grateful to God for his existence. Despite the strangeness we encounter in this life, all the suffering we witness and endure, being is good, so good I am sometimes unable to contain my joy. Deo gratias!


Although I am an ordained deacon of the Catholic Church, the opinions expressed in this blog are my personal opinions. In offering these personal opinions I am not acting as a representative of the Church or any Church organization.

Monday, October 19, 2020

COVID-19 Bible Study Reflection #19: To Approach Our God


I'd like to begin today's reflection with a reading from the Gospel according to Mark. It's a passage in which the evangelist describes two miraculous events that occur almost on top of each other -- two different but intimately related miracles.

Please take a moment now to open your Bible to Mark 5:21-43 and read this passage in which Jesus performs these two miracles, healing one person and reviving another who had died.

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Oh, what a Gospel passage this is for us!

Mark, inspired by the Sprit, blends these two events, these two healings by Jesus. He sandwiches them together, as they happened, so you and I won’t miss the point.

Two people confront Jesus on this day in Galilee, two very different people.

The first is Jairus. Now Jairus was an important man, an official of the local synagogue, the man who oversaw its administration and finances. And because he was an important man, everybody knew him, or wanted to be known by him. Quite likely, everyone in Capernaum who was anyone wanted to be his friend.

We all know men like Jairus. He’s the first to know, the first to shake your hand, to slap you on the back, the first to be invited, the first to be served, the last to be overlooked – a man to be noticed.

That’s not to say he wasn’t also a good, God-fearing man who took his position in the synagogue seriously. His importance in the community would simply have been a byproduct of that position.

Jairus had a family; he had friends and servants; he had a life filled with people who cared for him. He’d probably lived a good life, a life where all had gone well…until now. We sense that Jairus would gladly give up everything he had, everything he was, to save his daughter who was near death.

For 12 years Jairus loved his daughter, loved her as only a father can love. Yes, given her condition, he was desperate. He had no doubt heard of Jesus. What did he have to lose? Why not approach this healer?

But we suspect it’s more than that, don’t we? For the Holy Spirit can act through and in the midst of our desperation. And we know the Spirit is present, for where Jesus is, so too is the Spirit.

Moved by the Spirit, Jairus approached Jesus. No, that’s wrong. He didn’t just approach Jesus. This important man fell to his knees at Jesus’ feet and begged for his daughter’s life. How different from those other important people in the synagogue Jesus last visited. There they plotted to kill Him [Mk 3:6]. Perhaps none of them had a dying child.

Looking up at Jesus, Jairus pleads with Him, begs Him to come and lay hands on the girl, to mediate God’s grace and power so his daughter may be delivered from death – this daughter who has lived just 12 short years.

Jesus, moved by a father’s love for his daughter, goes with Jairus. They’re followed by the crowd, the crowd that always seems to follow Jesus. And it’s in this crowd, this necessary crowd, that we encounter another in need of healing.

For 12 Years Jairus has enjoyed the presence of his daughter. But unlike Jairus, a woman in the crowd has spent those same 12 years on the outside looking in, because for 12 years a flow of blood had made her unclean according to Jewish law.

For 12 years, she was the last one at the well, the last one at the marketplace, the last to be noticed, and the first to turn away. For 12 years, she lived life on the fringes, avoiding people, avoiding contact, avoiding everything… everything except shame.

For 12 years, she had stood among the captives, longing to be free. Her friends had disappeared long ago -- gone, along with her money and her pride. If she had anything left -- anything at all -- she would have given it up just to be healed.

By the time she encountered Jesus she had been 12 years with little real human contact; 12 years without the prayers of the synagogue; 12 years of loneliness. Yes, indeed, you can be lonely, even in a crowd, for she had learned long ago how to appear almost invisible.

There are men and women just like her today. They’re all around us. You see them at the soup kitchen and the food pantry. You see them on city streets and alleyways, along life’s edges, pushing a shopping cart containing a few possessions. The one you might notice, just for a moment, before she slips away.

But they’re here, too, in your neighborhood, living alone, eating alone, always alone. I saw her the other day at Walmart, in front of me at the checkout counter, counting out her change to buy a small bag of groceries.

Of course, sometimes, perhaps most times, we don’t even notice her. Or when we do, we wonder why they let these crazy people out on the streets.

Yes, the woman who reached out to touch Jesus is with us still.

As we accompany Jesus this day in Capernaum, we encounter two very different people, both in desperate need, yet both turning to Jesus filled with hope.

Driven, inspired by the Holy Spirit, Mark asks us to look at these two people, but to look at them together, as he nests their stories one within the other.

They’re so different, these two.

Jairus, the man of importance, doesn’t hesitate. So sure of himself, he goes in search of Jesus, finds Him, and approaches Him directly. He’s the kind of man who can say, “Jesus, help me!” and trust he’ll be welcomed and heard.

But the woman, buried in the crowd…she’s different, isn’t she? She’s not so sure. Does she dare approach Jesus directly? No, 12 years of hiding, 12 years of shame have taken their effect.

She has no place, no position, no privilege, no power, and so she believes she’ll have no welcome. And the thought of more rejection is just too much for her. And so, instead of approaching Jesus openly, which might only bring on more shame, more public humiliation, she decides instead to sneak up on Jesus. If she can just touch His garment, His healing power will flow through her. Then she can slip away silently.

But Jesus sees her, and He feels her, doesn’t He? He senses her presence as the Holy Spirit’s healing power moves through Him to her. He sees her just as clearly as He saw Jairus. Yes, He sees them both that day in Galilee.

Jesus never allows the person in front of Him to block His view of the person hidden in the crowd. Unlike us, His eyes are never so focused on the obvious that He misses those who live on the fringes, those who hide just out of view.

No, Jesus never focuses solely on those whom the world sees as important; for then He might overlook those who have stumbled and fallen.

Jesus sees what the rest of us too often fail to notice.

But perhaps you did notice one thing: both Jairus and the woman fall at Jesus’ feet when they approach Him. Yes, Jairus has been blessed in life, but he knows the source of those blessings. He, too, moved by the Spirit, falls at Jesus’ feet and begs for one more blessing.

Jairus falls, filled with hope, pleading for help, but the woman falls at Jesus’ feet in fearful thanksgiving.

You see, she’s already been healed and knows it. As Mark tells us:

“She felt in her body that she was healed of her affliction” [Mt 5:29].

Because she’s already been healed, she’s fully aware that the power of God flows from this man whose garment she touched.

Jesus calls her to Him, doesn’t He? And how does she approach Him? Mark tells us: “in fear and trembling”?

Filled with God’s healing Spirit, she knew that she was approaching someone who is more than a mere man. And she knew, too, that her salvation was present.

Isn’t it remarkable that St. Paul, uses these same words when he instructs the Philippians to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling” [Phil 2:12]?

For this woman’s salvation, her spiritual healing, far outweighs her physical healing.

“Daughter, your faith has saved you…” [Mk 5:34]

He wants to do more than heal her physically; He wants her to know that her wholeness came from her faith. And He wants to remove her fear of approaching Him.

Only then does He send her on her way: “Go in peace.”

He does much the same when He arrives at the home of Jairus and is told the girl has died. To ease the fears of this father, he says:

“Do not be afraid. Just have faith” [Mk 5:36].

Maybe that’s why we are invited to read about these two healings, one inside the other.

Two very different people -- Jairus in his comfort and position and the woman in her poverty and obscurity – and yet both come to Jesus in humility; both come to Jesus filled with hope; and both come to Jesus in faith.

They leave their encounters with Jesus fully aware that, as St. James reminds us, everything comes from God:

“Do not be deceived, my beloved bothers: all good giving and every perfect gift is from above” [Jas 1:16].

In the same way, we’re reminded of the fact that we are not our own. How did the Psalmist put it?

"Know that the Lord is God; He made us; His we are"[Ps 100:3].

So maybe we're not supposed to wonder whose need was greater, or whose faith was stopnger, or why Jesus stopped to talk with the woman when a little girl was dying and needed Him so desperately. 

Maybe it’s enough for us to know that Jesus saw them both! And that’s the wonder of being a Christian. Jesus will see us too if we fall down before Him in humility, in hope, and in faith.

Of course, the other part of being a Christian is recognizing Jesus in those who stand before us.

Too often today we outsource our response to Jesus’ call.

Why get personally involved when I can just write a check? Anyway, the government will take care of the hungry, the homeless. That’s why we pay all those taxes. As for their spiritual needs…well, isn’t that what bishops, priests, and deacons do?

Yes, we go on with our lives, seemingly unaware that God calls each one of us to do His work in the world.

Your work, dear friends, is the Apostolate -- that is, the work of the Apostles – for you are sent by God into the world. The Second Vatican Council, in its Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity, clearly reminds us of the call God extends to the laity:

“The laity derive the right and duty to the apostolate from their union with Christ the head; incorporated into Christ’s Mystical Body through Baptism and strengthened by the power of the Holy Spirit through Confirmation, they are assigned to the apostolate by the Lord Himself. They are consecrated for the royal priesthood and the holy people (cf. 1 Pt 2:4-10) not only that they may offer spiritual sacrifices in everything they do but also that they may witness to Christ throughout the world” [Apostolicam Actuositatem, 3].

Did you get that? It’s a responsibility, a duty, we all have. You can’t duck it. You can’t imitate Jonah and try to hide from it. We are all, clergy and laity alike, called to “offer spiritual sacrifices in everything” and to “witness to Christ throughout the world.”

I suppose that’s the question for all of us: Have we done much of that lately?


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