Be Made Well
Written by Amy Lee
Proper 8 (June 30, 2024)
Be Made Well
I love this familiar story of the bleeding woman. It’s beautiful and tender and there’s so much to receive and notice. I was inclined to just skim over the story of Jairus and his daughter because at least initially, it felt less compelling, less relatable. I wasn’t going to delve into what scholars refer to as a Markan sandwich (or my favorite sandwich, a Vietnamese banh mi) - one story sandwiched between the halves of another story. I honestly just wanted to pay attention to the woman on the margins, rather than Jairus with his privilege and power. Yet, I began to wonder if Jesus was inviting me to lean into both stories. How are Jairus, his daughter and this nameless woman inextricably bound together?
I imagine this woman crawling on the ground to try to get to Jesus. She comes from behind, wanting to stay invisible, terrified of being “found out.” She has been hemorrhaging for twelve years, deemed “unclean” all those years by Jewish standards. She sought help from all the doctors she could afford. She is alone, weighed down by shame and grief, yet desperately wanting to find Jesus so she can be healed. He’s her only hope. She reaches out and touches the edge of his garment and is immediately healed. Jesus is on his way to heal Jairus’ daughter who is dying. Yet, he stops because something extraordinary just happened. He searches and finds her. Having been found out, this trembling, nameless woman falls at Jesus’ feet. Jesus looks at her with that long, loving soulful gaze. She can’t help but tell him “the whole truth” - her story of being cast aside, invisible and forgotten. Jesus helps her from the ground, to stand. He calls her “Daughter.” He sees her in all of who she is, has been and will be. He pronounces wholeness, restoration, shalom. Jesus restores her to her community, her family. She is made well – whole. She came seeking physical healing, for the bleeding to stop; yet she leaves with way more than she ever imagined.
Turning to Jairus, we see a parent pleading for the healing of his child who is severely ill and near death. As a leader of the local synagogue, he is resourced and privileged, yet he can’t find a cure for his daughter. He is like a parent who wields their power to get their child appointments with the best doctors and access to the most promising treatments. Yet nothing has worked. He has watched his little girl suffer and be diminished by her illness. He has run out of options. He falls at the feet of Jesus and begs for him to heal his daughter. By the time Jesus makes his way to Jairus’ home, we are told that his daughter is already dead. Yet, at Jairus’ home, Jesus defies all expectations and heals Jairus’ little girl.
The contrast between Jairus and the woman is quite apparent, starting with the fact that he is named and she is not. There is a power disparity. The woman has no position and has been cast aside. Jairus has a position as a leader in the local synagogue. The woman approaches Jesus indirectly from behind. She moves from the margin to the center. Jairus is at the center and approaches Jesus directly from the front. Jairus advocates and pleads for his sick daughter. He has a community who has surrounded his daughter. The woman has no one. She comes to Jesus alone, with no one to speak on her behalf. Her community has abandoned her.
But for all the contrasts, these two stories converge. One commentator says that the only thing Jairus and the woman have in common is that both are victims of desperate circumstances whose only hope is Jesus. But there is so much more to notice here. Both Jairus and the woman are afraid. Jairus fears death, losing his daughter. The woman fears being found out. She fears living on the margins with her unclean ailment, forever alone. They both respond to what they have heard about Jesus. They also both actively seek Jesus out and intercept him, compelled by their belief that he can heal. Moreover, Jairus and the woman demonstrate courage. Both chose to cross borders to get to Jesus– from the space they inhabit to the feet of Jesus. Jairus moves from his high position as a religious leader and the woman moves from the sidelines, the edge of society. Both the child and the woman are healed by touching Jesus. In healing both, Jesus invites both to stand up. Lastly, only the child, Jairus’ daughter, is identified as belonging to a community. The bleeding woman is described as belonging nowhere. Yet, after she is healed, Jesus calls her “Daughter.” Beloved. Both the twelve year old child and the woman who have been bleeding for twelve years are healed of their infirmities and restored to their communities. They are both daughters of the Most High. Their healing and restoration are inextricably bound together. Their stories embody shared vulnerability and shared humanity.
Who do we identify with in these stories? Jairus desperately wants his child to be healed, to be restored to all of who she was created to be. He is privileged and resourced. Can we, especially those of us who are parents, relate to his desperation? Perhaps we have a child or someone we care about who has a debilitating physical or mental condition or addiction. Or adult children who have walked away from their faith? Or loved ones who are making choices that we feel are destructive? What would it look like for us to plead with Jesus for them to be made well? How do we bring Jesus to them? Or perhaps we are the child who is ill and someone has advocated for us to be made well?
Or perhaps in the story of the bleeding woman, we see ourselves, parishioners, students, clients and/or those on the margins we want to stand with in our communities. The woman is defined by lack and loss, her affliction, shame, grief and humiliation. Do we see ourselves in this outsider, someone who is unnoticed, unseen, always standing on the edge looking in? What does it look like to reach out for Jesus, perhaps from behind rather than from the front? How is Jesus inviting us to come and be made well?
We can relate to different characters in Jesus’ stories in different seasons of our lives. These stories convert us because they’re both our stories. Perhaps, like me, we see ourselves in both – advocating for the vulnerable, yet painfully aware that I am weighed down by my own perceived lack and wounds. I wonder if part of Mark’s intention in pairing these two stories is to remind us that Jairus, the woman and Jairus’ daughter all belong to each other. We are all invited to the Kingdom. Jesus is inviting us to be made well, to be whole, to belong and see one another. May we hear their stories as one cosmic story of God’s abundance and grace that is far wider and bigger than our human imagination.