The Rev. Dr. Leah D. Schade
June 28, 2015
Text: Mark 5:21-43
#marriageequality #blacklivesmatter
I teach Ethics at Lebanon Valley College. As the students and I grapple with issues of
fairness, justice, and access to resources throughout the semester, they begin
to become overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of problems our society
faces. I remember one student’s comment
when I introduced them to the notion of environmental ethics. “There are too many other problems to worry
about,” he said. “I know environmental
issues are important, but I just don’t think we should focus on them when we’ve
got our national security to think about and all the other social problems.”
Setting aside his assumption that
environmental issues and national security are unrelated (because, in fact,
they are integrally related [see http://weather.climate25.com/]),
what I sensed in his comment, and others shared by his classmates is the fear
of scarcity. That there’s not enough to go around. If we focus our energy on racial equality,
there won’t be enough left for gender equality.
If we focus on marriage equality, there won’t be enough left for
economic equality. If we focus on
raising the minimum wage, there won’t be enough energy left to focus on climate
disruption. And so on. The underlying assumption is that there is
only so much justice and healing to go around.
This is the situation Jesus faced
in his ministry every day. There were so
many issues and social problems in first century Palestine – the brutal
military occupation by the Roman Empire, the ethnic tension between the Jews
and Samaritans, the unequal access between men and women to the Temple and God’s
blessings, and the poverty of the majority of the population. Add to that the hundreds of people who were
daily crying out to him for healing – the lepers, the lame, the ones possessed
by mental and emotional demons. It was a
time of great turmoil, and there was Jesus right in the thick of it all.
In this story from Mark in
particular, we see the conflict of two dire needs – one that has been simmering
for a long time, one that has come up suddenly.
Jesus is asked to come to the house of Jairus the synagogue leader in
order to heal his little girl who is on the verge of death. The need is urgent. He must come now.
But as he makes his way through
the crowd, another need makes itself known.
This is one that has been plaguing the woman for twelve years –
menstrual bleeding that just won’t stop.
Such a condition makes her a pariah to society because she is considered
ritually unclean. The bleeding is not
her fault, but it has drained her resources, her energy and her patience. There she is in the crowd where she has been
ignored, disrespected and disregarded for most of her life. But suddenly she sees an opportunity for
healing – and she grabs it.
She doesn’t ask Jesus
directly. She doesn’t want to interrupt
him on what she knows is a very important mission. But like the Samaritan woman at the banquet,
she just wants a few crumbs from the table.
And so she reaches for the hem of Jesus’ robe – hoping against hope that
even a brief swipe of her hand against the fabric that has touched this divine
healer’s skin will be enough to give her a modicum of relief.
That’s all she wanted – some relief
after years of suffering. She didn’t
want to draw attention to herself. She
didn’t want to cause a fuss. But she
acted out of desperation after waiting for so long for healing. And miracle of miracles - she got it! Instantly she could feel her body returned to
wholeness, the bleeding stopped, her energy returned.
But then her plan goes awry,
because Jesus halts in his tracks. He could
have just kept going. Why did he
stop? The healing had already happened,
hadn’t it? Or perhaps the healing was
not actually complete. Because Jesus
wants to know who it was that reached out and took some of his power for themselves.
Now the woman is faced with a
decision – fade into the crowd as she has always done, or speak up for herself
in public? Certainly she would face
admonishment. How dare she – a woman, a
bleeder, an outcast – reach out to him, the Son of God, for healing? Who does she think she is?
Trembling, but with courage, she comes
forward and claims the healing she sought for herself. Maybe she just doesn’t care anymore – as long
as her body is whole again, she can face anything else. Or maybe the healing itself has revealed to
her a boldness and audacity that she had forgotten about. In any case – she comes forward to face her
fate. Who does she think she is? A healed women. She may still feel afraid, but she is
choosing to act out of courage.
Who do they think they are? I’ve been hearing that question a lot recently
as I watch the crowd of social issues pressing in on us in the last few
weeks.
Blacks wanting
their lives to matter. Who do they think
they are?
Same sex couples
wanting the freedom and right to marry.
Who do they think they are?
Middle and lower
income people wanting access to affordable health care. Who do they think they are?
Women wanting
equal pay as men and freedom from sexual violence. Who do they think they are?
Minimum wage
workers wanting a pay increase that would enable them to support their
families. Who do they think they are?
Citizens wanting
clean water and a sustainable atmosphere for the planet. Who do they think they
are?
The question is: who does God
think they are? Jesus gives us the
answer. He calls the woman “Daughter.” He doesn’t call her: You female dog. You uppity Negro. You abomination.
You low-life. You scum. You tree-hugger.
No - he calls her “Daughter.” He claims her as his own. As his own child. No other human label matters. Further, he says to her: Your faith has made you well; go in peace,
and be healed of your disease.
Notice he didn’t say, my healing
power has made you well (even though it has).
He said your faith. Your willingness to reach out for what you
needed. Your trust in me. Your audacity. Your boldness and courage. That is what has made you well.
If the one who is desperate,
whose needs have been ignored and pushed aside and belittled for so long; if the
one who is longing for a fair and livable wage;
if the one who is reaching out for healing and wholeness, for equality
and recognition of their humanity; if the one who is grasping for just the hem
of the robe hoping for a modicum of relief – if that one is recognized and
healed by Jesus, then can we begrudge any of those individuals or groups who reach
for the hem of the robe today?
The venerable homiletician Fred
Craddock once wrote: "There are
many 'meanwhile, back at the ranch' people whose needs are not only very real
but whose conditions are worsened by the fact that they have been made to feel
that, in a world as sick as ours, they have no right to cry for help. Many whose lives are small screen, black and
white, push through the crowd to touch the hem of His garment, hoping for a
little inconspicuous healing,” (As One
Without Authority, Parthenon Press, Nashville, TN, 1979; 84).
Not only does the healing happen,
but Jesus acknowledges the woman’s dignity, her humanity, her rightful place
alongside her brothers and fathers, alongside the ones who are already
privileged to have whole and healthy bodies, the ones who already enjoy economic,
racial, sexual and geographic privilege.
I think it is safe to say that Jesus wants no less than that for the
ones who are today reaching for the hem of the robe.
And that’s all fine and good for
the woman, but it doesn’t get at the original problem – the concern that there simply
isn’t enough healing to go around. While
Jesus is taking his time to find and talk to this woman, what happens? The girl, the one whose need is urgent, but
late-coming, has died. All the while
Jairus certainly must have been wringing his hands, tapping his foot
impatiently, knowing that time was running out.
And it has. Jesus had to choose,
and someone had to lose. So it would
seem that my student is right. There
simply is not enough time and energy and resources to go around. We have to choose, and someone has to lose.
Only . . . that’s not that way it
works with God. Brushing aside the
doomsdayers who have given up, Jesus resumes his mission to Jairus’ house. “Do not fear.
Only believe.” The Greek word is pisteo – have faith, grab hold of
confidence, reach for the hem of the robe.
And yet the little girl cannot
reach for him – not even a thread of his garment. So instead, Jesus reaches for her . . . holds
her hand . . . speaks to her . . . “Little girl, get up.” Arise, wake up. What you cannot do for yourself, I do for
you. My compassion knows no bounds. There is plenty of healing to go around.
Najeeba Syeed-Miller, J.D.,Assistant Prof. of Interreligious Education at Claremont School of Theology, spoke
at the Academy of Homiletics in 2014, addressing teachers of preaching. She encouraged us as Christians to preach
about taking risks, to talk and listen with confidence. She
said that when we dismember our hearts from our bodies, when we dismember our
hearts from each other, we are dismembered from God. This is what enables and justifies our
rationalization of denying healing and wholeness to our neighbor, to our enemy,
to our planet.
But healing comes when we practice
mercy toward others and ourselves. “God
is the full manifestation of justice, beauty and power,” she said. “Mercy implies a pain-inducing empathy that
lays hold of the compassionate one; moves them to satisfy the needs of the one
needing mercy. The Divine has an
infinite capacity for experiencing pain, and thus an infinite capacity for
mercy and healing.” Expanding our hearts
extends mercy to others. Mercy is the
road to justice – for the woman, for the girl, for people of color, for the
poor, for marriage equality, for the planet.
And for you. The hem of Jesus’ robe is as close as the
drop of oil we will swipe across your brow.
Reach for the hem of the robe.
And if you know of someone else in need of healing, reach out on their
behalf. Bring Jesus to them, as Jairus
did for his daughter. As we offer
healing prayers for each other, right now, do not think yourself unworthy of
Jesus’ healing. There is enough healing
to go around. Reach for the hem of robe. Amen.