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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