RETHINK CHURCH – RETHINK FAITH
A reflection on Mark 5:21-43 used as a sermon at my church:
Have you ever felt afraid because of your faith? Afraid to come to church? Afraid of not being welcome, of not being accepted? Afraid of what others will think of you? In Mark, we have the story of Jairus and his dying daughter as well as the story if the hemorrhaging woman and fear plays an important part for both Jairus and the woman…
When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.”
So he went with him. And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had 
endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’” He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”
While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl, get up!” And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.
Who are these two people and why would Mark put them together. On the surface, these two characters don’t seem to have much in common. Jairus was a leader in the synagogue; the woman was a poor sick woman, one who wouldn’t be welcome in the religious places because of her illness. They are two very different people from two very different worlds. But they do have something in common with each other and with our church today…and that thing is fear.
Jairus is a man in fear of his daughter’s life, she is sick and dying. A man in his position would have access to the best medical care available but still she is dying and he has decided to go to Jesus for help. But there are other fears that he has to face. As a leader in the synagogue, he would have known what the leaders were thinking of this crazy rabbi and his followers. He also has to face the fear of breaking the rules. It’s not like Jesus is in the synagogue or at the temple. He is out in the crowds, amongst the people who the religious rules say Jairus is to avoid. His move could result in his loss of position, reputation, and good-standing in the community. But he faces all these fears and goes to Jesus because he is at the end of the line; he has nowhere else to turn.
And we have the hemorrhagic woman, a woman in such a bad position that we don’t even know her name. She is a victim of the same rules as Jairus - rules designed to keep society and the church running orderly - to maintain the status quo.
She has spent all her money for treatment but to no avail. With her disease, she is unclean and can’t even seek solace in the synagogue or temple. Like Jairus she has exhausted all possibilities, but not all hope. This un-named woman takes a risk, puts aside all the rules just to be close to Jesus, to be close to the divine, to just touch his robe.
And in those few moments, Jesus turns everything upside down. He breaks the rules. He turns his back on the status quo. Jesus touches the unclean, the sick and the dead – all those the religious rules say to avoid. But Jesus doesn't become unclean by contact with them. They don't bring him down to their level as society would think would happen, but he raises them up. Jesus' holiness transforms their uncleanness.
We don't even know the woman's name, but we do know that Jesus called her daughter (thugater – Greek - a daughter of God), a term that signifies kinship and relationship. The woman's story is the story of every person wounded by man and society - the poor, the sick, the prisoner, people of color, and in the case of the United Methodist Church, the members of the gay community. Today we hear in the news all the stories about making gay marriage legal (which is important and a necessary step in making thinks just and fair in society) but that's not the real problem. It's an outward symptom of the real problem, much like civil rights and segregation were outward symptoms of the real problems between blacks and whites. Passing a gay marriage bill is like the woman touching Jesus' cloak; the physical symptoms are fixed but that isn't where the real healing will occur. The woman is healed when Jesus calls her daughter, bringing her into relationship with him. Jesus restores her to health; but even more, he restores her to family. And the real healing between the church and the gay community (feel free to insert black community, the poor, prisoners, etc. here) comes when we no longer look upon them as "the others" but truly call them sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, when we are in true relationship with them - and that means going to them where they are, just as Jesus did.
So that brings us back around to Jairus. I can identify with Jairus. A few years ago, I was the lay leader who led our local congregation through the process of becoming open and affirming to our gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered brothers and sisters. I sat through meetings where scripture, tradition and doctrine were used to explain why it was wrong, why homosexuality was sin. They warned me and others that scores of people would leave the church if we passed such a statement. Others used scripture, tradition and doctrine to argue for inclusion. There were some difficult and tense discussions. Like Jairus, the leadership took a risk; they took a step in faith, knowing that God does not want to exclude others from the family. And when it came to a meeting of the church as a whole, the church took the same risk. And you know, the walls stood and there wasn’t a mass exodus. Now I don’t know if Jairus lost his position in the church because he went against the rules, but I am still standing here as the lay leader of the church.
So now what? What does all this mean for us today in 2009? All this stuff, even the vision statement our church out in place, is in the past. We hung our banner, we opened up the door. Well it’s time to take another risk. Yes we made a statement, and we meant it. But that statement won’t heal the relationship between the church and the gay community, the poor, the prisoners, the sick. That statement doesn’t erase the hurt they feel from past encounters with the church, those times when the door was not opened, or sometimes slammed in their face. We are called to make the next step, to go to them, much as Jesus did, go to the places where the broken are to be found and help them heal the pain and remind them (and ourselves) that they are members of the family. Only then can we expect to ever see them walking through the door we have opened.
