Desperate Faith; Ruthless Trust; Courageous Hope — Saturday Sermons from the Sidelines

Mark 5:21-43; 5 Pentecost B 2021

All good sermons can be illustrated by referring to an episode of the television series, M.A.S.H. In “Showtime,” the episode that concludes the first season, Father Mulcahy is troubled by his apparent uselessness in the camp. Mulcahy and Hawkeye Pierce sit together in the mess tent.

“You’re not eating, Father,” Hawkeye begins. “You know something I don’t know?” Mulcahy furrows his brow, “Something’s troubling me.” Pierce leans into the conversation, “Think of me as your mother, Father.”

“May I make a confession?” Mulcahy asks, oblivious to the wisecrack. “As long as you don’t use any real names,” Pierce responds.

“For some time now, I’ve been comparing the disparity of our callings,” Mulcahy muses. “Doctor versus priest. You fellows are always able to see the end result of your work. I mean,” he continues, “you know immediately if you’ve been successful. For me, the results are far less tangible. Sometimes…most of the time…I honestly don’t know,” he sighs, “whether I’m doing any good or not.”

Pierce offers some encouragement about an old medical school saw that God does the healing and the physician collects the fee. Mulcahy is not particularly persuaded.

Later, Pierce and McIntire are operating on a patient. The surgery is not going well, and the patient is dying on the table. “It doesn’t look good, Trapper,” says Ugly John, the anesthetist. Trapper John muses about originally wanting to be an architect. Pierce, the happy pagan, gestures to Mulcahy. “Over here, Father. We need some cross action.”

Mulcahy takes the patient’s hand, closes his eyes, grasps his rosary, and begins to pray. The patient briefly opens his eyes and moves a bit. “The blood pressure is still low, but it’s better,” observes Ugly John. “Hang another unit of blood,” orders McIntire.

“What was that about not being sure you did any good?” Pierce asks with eyebrows arched.

“It’s not supposed to work that way, you know,” Mulcahy replies, not knowing whether to be joyful or embarrassed.

“Often trust begins on the far side of despair,” Brenna Manning writes in his book, Ruthless Trust. “When all human resources are exhausted, when the craving for reassurances is stifled, when we forgo control, when we cease trying to manipulate God and demystify Mystery, then – at our wits’ end – trust happens within us,” he declares (page 117).

Perhaps it is supposed to work that way, you know – at least, sometimes.

Mark is presenting the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. In Jesus, the Reign of God is drawing near and is even now effective among us. In response, we are invited to get a new way of seeing the world and to put our trust in that Good News in life and in death. That trust seems to arise most readily in situations of despair and death. That’s one of the themes in our text this week – and throughout the first two-thirds of Mark’s gospel.

Jesus is not in the business of delaying, deferring, and/or denying the power of death. Those are modern games that we play too often and too well. The desperate woman in the crowd succumbed to mortality at some point in the future. The funeral for Jairus’ little girl was rescheduled, not repealed. If it were up to me, I would always negotiate for another second, another minute, another day with a loved one who was dying. But merely extending existence is not what we mean by “eternal” life.

Miracles of healing do happen – although they may be described in a variety of ways depending on one’s frame of reference and reality. When they do, we who follow Jesus see them as pointers to the greater healing of the cosmos – the defeat of sin, death, and the devil for good and all in the New Creation.

“Just as Jesus wasn’t coming to be a one-man liberation movement in the traditional revolutionary sense,” Tom Wright argues, “so he wasn’t coming to be a one-man emergency medical centre. He was indeed starting a revolution, and he was indeed bringing God’s healing power, but his aim went deeper,” Wright continues, “these things were signs of the real revolution, the real healing, that God was to accomplish through his death and resurrection. Signposts are important, but they aren’t the destination” (Kindle Location 1274).

Disease had attacked the woman in the crowd and penetrated her body. Death had attacked the home of Jairus and penetrated the body of his daughter. They were each faced with hopeless situations as they pursued the one, last, desperate strategy of recruiting Jesus to mount a rescue. There was no point in bothering Jesus further, the messengers said. After all, dead is dead. And that is that.

Jesus is undeterred. “Don’t be afraid,” he tells Jairus. “Just keep on having faith.” There is that theme of resilient reliance that we have encountered in Mark’s account. It seems clear that in Mark’s faith community, there was a definite danger that disciples were on the point of giving up their trust in Jesus in the face of suffering and adversity.

Mark, the pastor and gospel writer, has some clear encouragement here. Just pay attention to what Jesus has done and keep on believing.

Desperate faith; ruthless trust; courageous hope – these are marks of what an authentic relationship with Jesus looks like. On the front end, it can be scary. Perhaps, like the woman in the crowd, at times we fall on our knees, trembling. That’s all right.

“The awareness that the eternal, transcendent God of Jesus Christ is our absolute future gives us the shakes,” Manning writes. “One day out of the blue comes the thought of our inevitable death, and the thought is so troubling that we want to live the rest of our lives in a shoe” (page 76). But life in a shoe is the same as death in the open. God wants far more for us and far more from us.

“The basic premise of biblical trust,” Manning suggests, “is the conviction that God wants us to grow, to unfold, and to experience the fullness of life. However,” he cautions, “this kind of trust is acquired only gradually and most often through a series of crises and trials” (page 9).

Ruthless trust is sort of like the way my dad described wisdom. Wisdom comes from good judgment. Good judgment comes from experience. Unfortunately, experience usually comes from bad judgment. I can testify to the truth of that observation.

Ruthless trust comes from experiencing, over and over, God’s reliability in Christ by the power of the Spirit, in the midst of trials and tribulations.

That’s grace. God loves me for nothing. And God invites me to trust that unconditional love. “Trust is our gift back to God,” Manning writes, and God “finds it so enchanting that Jesus died for love of it” (page 2). That’s the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. If only we Jesus followers could live that way and declare our message in those terms.

Instead, we want our trust and hope to add up, to be reliable, to make sense, ready to be locked in our spiritual safe deposit boxes. “All that is elusive, enigmatic, hard to grasp will eventually yield to our intellectual investigation, then to our categorization – or so we would like to think,” Manning notes. “But to avoid mystery is to avoid the only God worthy of worship, honor, and praise,” he continues. We are really searching for “a God worthy of awe, silent reverence, total commitment, and whole-hearted trust” (page 57).

We meet that God in these stories from Mark’s gospel. We know these stories because they were told. They are not merely stories of healing and resuscitation. They are stories of transformation and salvation. I know people who have experienced genuine healing and transformation in their meetings with Jesus. I think that our worship services need more times for such testimonies to encourage us all not to fear but just to keep on trusting.

Speaking of transformation, we can see that encounters with Jesus cannot be merely transactional. That’s an important word for us, perhaps. Too often we disciples come to Jesus with our part of the bargain well in hand. We expect to do our part – whether in piety, practice, or payment – and to get our reward in return. We may expect our circumstances to improve, but we don’t really wish for our lives to be changed.

What if we come knowing that any and every genuine encounter with Jesus changes us in body, mind, and spirit? What if we come expecting to be challenged and changed whenever we meet Jesus? How would that impact my experience of hearing sermons and receiving the sacrament? How would that change my interaction with God’s Word in Scripture? How would that change my expectation of what happens when I meet Jesus in my neighbor?

What if the result of meeting Jesus is desperate faith, ruthless trust, and courageous hope?

The word to Jairus is clearly the word to us as well – do not be afraid! Just keep on putting your faith in Jesus. In that relationship Jairus is changed, as is the woman in the crowd. That’s the risk and the reward of desperate faith, ruthless trust, courageous hope.

So, the stories leave us with a question for the week. What if we come to our encounters with Jesus expecting never to leave the same as we arrived?

Text Study for Mark 5:21-43 (Pt. 4); 5 Pentecost B 2021

Another Markan Sandwich

This passage is the textbook example of Mark’s preference for intercalation – the placement of one story inside of and in connection with another story. This is often referred to as the “Markan sandwich.” “This method of storytelling invites the reader to compare and contrast the outer and inner stories,” writes David Malick, “resulting in a new story outcome that includes, but also transcends, the component stories. A key to interpreting an intercalation is to recognize the way in which the writer has brought the two stories together, and yet holds them apart,” Malick continues, “to produce an interpretation of the stories.”

We’ve looked at each of the stories separately and in some detail. Now, let’s look at these stories in connection to one another. Robin Branch’s 2014 article is a helpful summary of these connections.

First, let’s look at a number of similarities in detail in the stories. Both stories involve women at the center of the drama. Neither of the women is named, although each woman is a “daughter” in either a figurative or literal way. Each story is a healing of some kind. The number 12 is significant in each story. Each situation is desperate and seems to be irresolvable. Both the woman and Jairus kneel in Jesus’ presence in fear and homage.

There is some sort of touch involved in the healing. Branch notes that the flow of life is from Jesus to the woman and the girl. Neither “contaminates” Jesus with uncleanness or death. In each situation, the response is immediate, but there is conversation that follows. Each story involves faith and some description of its role in the healing. There is also some measure of incredulousness in each story. There is fear and amazement in each story. In each story the woman is restored to a community. The woman is “saved” (the literal meaning of the word translated as “healed”).

Jesus shows compassion regardless of personal honor and status. Both women have been part of the Jewish covenant community but are in danger of being excluded. Both the woman and Jairus interrupt and deflect Jesus on his journey. Both the woman and Jairus receive discouraging advice or news from others, and Jesus discounts that advice in each case. Both have heard about Jesus and initially seek him out because of what they’ve heard.

Second, let’s look at the contrasts in the stories. The woman in the crowd is of low social status in several ways. Jairus is a person of relatively high social status in the village setting. As Branch notes, Jairus is easily recognized in the crowd, while the woman is able to move about incognito. The woman seeks to secure her healing covertly, while Jairus requests healing for his daughter “publicly” and repeatedly. The woman has waited for twelve years. Jairus needs to wait for a few minutes more.

As I’ve noted previously, commentators disagree about the ritual purity status of the woman in the crowd and the impact of that status on how we read the text. But there is some difference, certainly, in how Jairus and the woman in the crowd interact with the synagogue community. Branch notes that Jairus would be sought after and included because of his position of power. The woman was likely ignored and thus excluded from communities.

The woman in the crowd gets Jesus’ immediate attention. Jairus, on the other hand, has to wait (and wait and wait) for anything to happen. We get to listen in on the thoughts of the woman in the crowd in great detail. We don’t get that information regarding Jairus’ internal state. Instead, we hear him speak publicly. Jairus approaches Jesus face to face. The woman comes up to Jesus from behind.

Jairus has a home, a family, and a daughter he loves. The woman in the crowd appears to be not only alone but also isolated and alienated. She is, as Branch suggests, perhaps homeless and likely in quite poor health overall. Jairus asks Jesus to come and lay hands on his daughter. The woman in the crowd touches Jesus on her own. Jairus is likely to have been well-off financially. The woman in the crowd is destitute, having spent all her resources on failed attempts to be made well.

The woman in the crowd is healed in public, and Jesus publicly commends her faith. Jairus’ daughter is healed in private, and Jairus is gently reprimanded in public for his faltering faith. The woman in the crowd has only heard reports of Jesus’ healing power, and she comes to him on the basis of those reports. Jairus witnesses that healing power firsthand and is still shaky in his response to Jesus.

Mark uses the story of the woman in the crowd to instruct and encourage Jairus in his faith – his resilient reliance on Jesus in the face of despair and death. We see, as Branch notes, that the woman wanted to get healed and melt back into the crowd. But she was “saved,” not merely healed. Her interaction with Jesus was about transformation, not merely transaction. She walked away a different person, not just a healed body. Jairus watches and learns to expect the same outcome.

“The two stories of Jairus’ daughter and the woman in the crowd show this: an encounter with Jesus changes a person, Branch (2014) writes, “and tangentially changes many people.” Branch notes that both the woman and the daughter are returned to their communities. The woman becomes a member of Jesus “kin-dom,” a royal gesture. The healings will have ripples that resonate in the community for the rest of the lives of each of the women.

What sorts of homiletical bites can we take out of this Markan sandwich? This is certainly a story of the last being first and the first last – that God shows no partiality to human status and hierarchy. Death is the great equalizer.

This is another Markan story about the nature of faith as resilient reliance on Jesus in the face of despair and death. The woman in the crowd is a picture of persistence, courage, initiative, and hope. Jairus, for his part, asks Jesus repeatedly for help, not just one time. There is no condemnation for their fear and despair, but there is the invitation to move beyond that fear into trust.

That resilient reliance on Jesus has a “pushy” edge to it. In her 2014 article, Branch describes the woman in the crowd as having chutzpah – the willingness to put herself forward. She may have feared the possible response, but she was not to be put off. I’m struck by how often Jesus commends what we would consider “pushy” or aggressive behavior and calls it “faith.” I think of the story of the assertive widow in Luke 18. What if our own experience of relating to Jesus had a bit more of that edge to it – wrestling with God until we receive a blessing (like Jacob in Genesis)?

This is another Markan story about the power and reality of witness in the community. We know these stories because they were told. And they are not merely stories of healing and resuscitation. They are stories of transformation and salvation. I know people who have experienced genuine healing and transformation in their meetings with Jesus. I think that our worship services need more times for such testimonies to encourage us all not to fear but just to keep on trusting.

Speaking of transformation, we can see that authentic encounters with Jesus cannot be merely transactional. That’s an important word for us, perhaps. Too often we disciples come to Jesus with our part of the bargain well in hand. We expect to do our part – whether in piety, practice, or payment – and to get our reward in return. We may expect our circumstances to improve, but we don’t really wish for our lives to be changed.

What if we come knowing that any and every genuine encounter with Jesus changes us in body, mind, and spirit? What if we come expecting to be challenged and changed whenever we meet Jesus? How would that impact my experience of hearing sermons and receiving the sacrament? How would that affect the way I pray? How would that change my interaction with God’s Word in Scripture? How would that change my expectation of what happens when I meet Jesus in my neighbor?

The word to Jairus is clearly the word to us as well – do not be afraid! Just keep on putting your faith in Jesus. In that relationship Jairus is changed, as is the woman in the crowd. What if we come to our encounters with Jesus expecting never to leave the same as we arrived?

Oh, so much to preach, and so little time! Certainly, we preachers will need to pick and choose wisely from this rich and rewarding text. We haven’t even gotten to the contrast between the woman in the crowd and the crowd at Nazareth in chapter 6! Fortunately, this text comes back around again, so keep good notes on the ideas you have that don’t make it into this year’s message. You will likely get another whack at this one in three years!

Resources and References

Branch, Robin Gallaher. (2013). A study of the woman in the crowd and her desperate courage (Mark 5:21-43). In die Skriflig , 47(1), 319-331. Retrieved June 16, 2021, from http://www.scielo.org.za/scielo.php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S2305-08532013000100032&lng=en&tlng=en.

Branch, Robin Gallaher (2014). ‘Literary Comparisons and Contrasts in Mark 5:21−43’, In die Skriflig 48(1), Art. #1799, 9 pages. http://dx.doi. org/10.4102/ids.v48i1.1799.

Gaiser, Frederick J. “In Touch with Jesus: Healing in Mark 5:21–43.” Word & World, Volume 30, Number 1 (Winter 2010), pp. 5-15.

Malick, David. “An Examination of Jesus’ View of Women through Three Intercalations in the Gospel of Mark.” Priscilla Papers, Vol. 27, No. 3 (Summer 2013), pp. 4-15.

Moss, Candida R. “The Man with the Flow of Power: Porous Bodies in Mark 5:25-34.” Journal of Biblical Literature 129, no. 3 (2010): 507-519.

Wright, N. T. Mark for Everyone (The New Testament for Everyone). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.

Text Study for Mark 5:21-43 (Pt. 3); 5 Pentecost B 2021

The Girl in the House

It’s always obvious when death has invaded a house. Often, we pull the shades and reduce the ambient light. We speak in hushed tones and anxious whispers. Some of us putter about, trying to put things in order in the midst of the chaos. Others of us sit staring into space, stunned into inaction by the incursion of the dark power.

Functionaries come and go – clergy (perhaps), funeral home staff, sometimes medical and hospice workers, sometimes law enforcement (depending on the situation and the state). Someone is often on the phone and/or the computer, contacting other loved ones and friends with the news of the death.

As others learn of the death, they come to the door – often with food in hand. Some sit for a while in silence or in tears. Some take it upon themselves to orchestrate the grieving for a bit. Some simply want to learn if the reports are true.

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

Whether one thinks that Death is an actual “spirit” or a sociological event, an emotional pall is cast over the house, just as a pall will be cast over the coffin in some of our traditions. There is nothing more to say, nothing more to do. There is only waiting – waiting for events to take their course, for the reality to set in fully, for the next ring of the doorbell.

Death had attacked the home of Jairus and penetrated the body of his daughter. He learned that the situation was hopeless even as he pursued the one, last, desperate strategy of recruiting Jesus to mount a rescue. There was no point in bothering Jesus further, the messengers said. After all, dead is dead. And that is that.

The people in the know wondered why Jesus would continue so cruelly to sustain the hope of the panicking parent. They ridiculed Jesus’ confidence, so he kicked them out of the house.

Now, let’s pause for a moment here. Jesus went into the house. That may seem like an innocent detail but think back a bit. “But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property,” Jesus declared in Mark 3:27 (NRSV), “without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.” Jesus went into the house.

The power of death had invaded that house and taken a little girl prisoner. The “strong man” was in charge of things. Only the Stronger One could enter that house and tie up Satan. Then the hostage could be released. Jesus enacts the little parable in Mark 3 as he enters the house of Jairus and takes it back for healing and salvation.

I’ve observed in earlier posts that this idea of the Reign of God as an invasion of healing and salvation is important in Mark’s account. Even the story of the woman in the crowd carries this sense. Jesus’ power of healing and salvation is so pervasive that sometimes it just pours out of him on its own. Touching Jesus’ garment was a bit lit grabbing hold of a live wire. The connection was made, and the power flowed.

Jesus went into the house. He overwhelmed the Strong Man and drove out the spirit of death in that house. The boundary between exorcisms and healings is always fuzzy in Mark’s miracle stories. It’s fuzzy because healing and exorcism accomplish much the same thing. The forces of sin, death, and the devil must be driven out of the house so the forces of forgiveness, life, and salvation can take their rightful place.

Jesus has no time for scoffers – those who by their resigned realism end up cooperating with the dark invader. So, out they go. Those who have even a shred of hope are welcome – especially that desperate mom and dad who simply want their daughter back.

Jesus takes her by the hand and speaks tenderly. Little girl, get up! Some commentators note that “Talitha” can also be translated as “little lamb.” These are words warm compassion and deep humanity. There is no delay in the response. She’s up and hungry! She is twelve, after all.

It’s one thing to release a woman from twelve years of disability, to free a possessed man from years of mental incarceration, even to still a wild wind and waves. It’s quite another to render inert the chief weapon of the Enemy – death itself. After all, this is the real power that tyrants have over any of us – the power to erase us from existence. If that power is no more, then anything is possible!

This is why Jesus orders them to keep it a secret. When word gets out, the powers that be – both visible and invisible – will be put on notice that their time is coming to an end. Such information provokes a swift response from the powers that be. Such a threat results in execution for such disruptive troublemakers. That time will come for Jesus, but not just now.

Of course, his strict orders to keep quiet about what happened were not particularly effective. Those who had laughed at Jesus’ audacity and confidence certainly went outside and shared the sad story. The little girl was dead. And this stupid, insensitive, charlatan from Nazareth couldn’t take the hint. Everyone in the crowd was certainly clear that funeral plans were now on the agenda.

Therefore, when the little girl walked out of that house at some point, whatever secret had been kept was a secret no longer. People tend to notice when a dead teenager is walking out and about in the village. And such an event was bound to raise a question or two. In short, word must have traveled like wildfire, not only through the village but through the region – and perhaps to the palace of Herod Antipas as well.

As I’ve noted previously, this healing/exorcism/resuscitation was a temporary reprieve. Some day the mourners would be planning the final funeral for the little girl. But not just now. The Reign of God has invaded not only the house of Jairus, not only the village of Capernaum, but the entire cosmos. The Strong Man is on the run, and the victory is assured.

Don’t be afraid. Just keep on believing! That resilient reliance will be the challenge for the disciples throughout Mark’s account. They won’t come out so well as the story unfolds. Perhaps, Mark hopes, we can do better – we who know the whole story from the outside in. But it’s hard, in the face of tragedy, to keep on believing.

I think about C. S. Lewis and his searing little autobiography, A Grief Observed. He notes his surprise that grief feels so much like fear. That is the first part of his report and of this text that makes sense to me. The father is afraid – afraid of losing, afraid of failing, afraid of being alone, afraid of death, afraid of chaos. It’s hard to keep on believing in the midst of all that fear.

The challenge to hold fear and faith, doubt and determination, together in the same space seems to be one of the elements of this text. A resource to meet that challenge is the memory of the community – our memory together of how it turns out in the end. Jairus had just seen the healing of the woman in the crowd while he waited for Jesus to come with him. Did that give him some hope that things might turn out all right?

We tell one another such stories week in and week out in Christian worship – stories that we call the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. In the midst of our fears, we can hold on to the hope that comes from such testimony. We can keep on having faith.

Resources and References

Gaiser, Frederick J. “In Touch with Jesus: Healing in Mark 5:21–43.” Word & World, Volume 30, Number 1 (Winter 2010), pp. 5-15.

Moss, Candida R. “The Man with the Flow of Power: Porous Bodies in Mark 5:25-34.” Journal of Biblical Literature 129, no. 3 (2010): 507-519.

“Skin,” https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/skin-1. Wright, N. T. Mark for Everyone (The New Testament for Everyone). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition

Text Study for Mark 5:21-43 (Pt. 2); 5 Pentecost B 2021

The Woman in the Crowd

One of the fundamental marks of the oppressed is the loss of bodily control and integrity. In the ancient world, that loss of bodily possession marks slaves, prisoners, women (especially prostitutes), and thespians. Clearly, the woman with the flow of blood is not able to maintain bodily control and is therefore dishonored and (perhaps) ritually unclean as a result.

Candida Moss notes in her 2010 article that this is a characteristic she shares with Jesus! “I will argue that the bodies of the woman and Jesus parallel each other in the sense that both are porous and leak uncontrollably,” she writes. “When viewed in the context of Greco-Roman models of the body, both the woman and Jesus appear weak, sickly, feminine, and porous” (2010:508).

Gender in the ancient world was not so much identified biologically as it was “positionally.” To be female was to be susceptible to penetration. That was a loss of bodily integrity. Therefore, to be female was to be inherently dishonored. Moss has an informative discussion of the views of ancient Mediterranean medicine in this regard. “Weak, porous, feminine, and moist become interchangeable terms,” she writes, “for those at the lower end of the somatic scale” (2010:514). At the other end of the somatic scale is a body that is impermeable, dry, hot, hard, regulated, and masculine.

A man having a “leaky” body was normally regarded as one who was dishonored – thus the purity concerns over male bodily discharges in the Hebrew Scriptures. Moss argues that Jesus’ interaction with the woman “reverses the traditional association of porosity and weakness, both because Jesus leaks a positive, healing power and because this leakage of power points toward his concealed identity” (Ibid).

Moss notes that, unlike the stories of other healers in the ancient world, the power does not come out of Jesus’ garments but rather out of his body. “This is not an act of simple magical transference from garment to woman,” she argues, “the woman’s touch pulls power out of Jesus himself” (2010:510). She notes that in the same way that the woman’s body leaks blood, so Jesus’ body leaks power.

Moss lists the specifics of the similarity. Jesus doesn’t control the flow of power out of his body. That flow is “something embodied and physical; just as the woman feels the flow of blood dry up, so Jesus feels—physically—the flow of power leave his body” (2010:516). Both Jesus and the woman “are porous, leaky creatures.” According to ancient cultural standards, Jesus is therefore weak, sickly, and dishonored.

In addition, Moss observes, there is something invasive and even penetrative about how the woman interacts with Jesus. She seems to have some control over his body. She initiates the contact and pulls power out of him without his awareness or consent. “To be sure, this ability is framed using the typical Markan language of faith,” Moss concedes, “but there is no escaping the power that she exerts over his body. This is something of a reversal of fortunes for the physician and patient,” she observes, “Here the disabled woman ably controls the body of the spiritual and physical physician” (2010:516).

If this imagery makes us uncomfortable, we are not alone. Matthew changes the account enough to remove this invasive action of the woman. Jesus preempts her action and takes control of the situation. Moss notes that Matthew’s caution may have been unwarranted. In fact, power leaking out may not, in the end, have been a sign of disability. Rather, it may have been a sign of the overflowing abundance of Deity which Jesus carried (carries) in his body.

I’m not quite so quick to remedy the imagery in that way (although it certainly makes sense). Instead, it seems to me that Mark communicates clearly the way in which Jesus exercises power in every instance. This is the one who came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. This is the one who, in terms of the Christ hymn of Philippians 2, does not see deity as something to be grasped and held as property. Rather, Jesus pours himself out for the life of the world.

Robin Gallaher Branch (2013), among others, calls her “the woman in the crowd.” Branch (2013) writes, “Although her illness debilitates her, she refuses to let it define her. This marks her as a woman of courage. The text develops this concept: she is more than her illness. Her illness, however, consumes her life, for it defines the way others treat her and think of her.”

The woman has a chronic condition which most commentators understand to be gynecological in nature. As a result, these commentators focus on the woman’s supposed ritual impurity, which they propose, cuts her off from Temple worship and from the more local worshipping community. Branch (2013), for example, makes that assumption. Some of Mark’s terminology may lead readers to this conclusion.

Mark’s text, however, does not specify the source of the hemorrhage. Nor, as Amy-Jill Levine and others note, does the text say anything about purity concerns. So, this conversation about purity and ostracism is at least to some degree imported into the text. “We have received this account as a story about women but have allowed her femininity to wash over her infirmity,” Moss writes. “Her condition is specifically gynecological, but the focus on the flow of blood causes us to overlook the broader perception of bodies in the ancient world” (2010:509).

Notwithstanding her vague diagnosis, the consequences of her illness are clearly described. She has suffered and endured for twelve years. Her condition and her search to find healing have cost her everything – her money and property, and perhaps her marriage, family, and friends. In spite of her heroic efforts, things have only gotten worse. She is desperate for a solution.

Branch (2013) notes that she appears to be alone in the world. She joins the Capernaum crowd somewhat incognito – perhaps out of a sense of shame, perhaps out of fear that she will be rejected or even punished. Her condition excludes her from worship and community life. Her entire existence seems to have been consumed by maintaining herself and seeking a cure.

“I imagine her life as one without hugs from friends, children and parents, as lacking normal human contact, as devoid of marital rights with its duties and privileges as full of toil because of the need to constantly wash everything, and as expensive because of the financial implications of a chronic illness,” Branch (2013) writes, “She is probably without income, because she is unemployable. In a culture dominated by the shame and/ or honor motif, the woman experiences embarrassment and exclusion.” In addition, Branch (2013) observes (assuming the flow of blood to be menstrual), she is probably chronically anemic and likely often accompanied by a disagreeable odor.

“All these factors lead to this reasonable conclusion,” Branch (2013) argues, “Mark introduces this woman as lonely, isolated, impoverished, quite likely anemic, and possibly dying. Her condition appears hopeless, and she is desperate. Most,” she concludes, “would think that she is better off dead.”

Jesus’ reputation as a healer precedes him as he returns to Capernaum from a foray to the other side of the lake. The woman has convinced herself that even a casual brush with Jesus’ clothing may be enough to heal her. The notion that the clothing of a holy person might be contain healing power was part of the popular piety of the time. She pushes her way through the crowd and accomplishes her goal. But that’s only the beginning of the encounter.

“Displaying determination and focus, this woman sets a courageous course,” Branch (2013) writes, “However, the woman displays selfishness by ignoring the fact that, legally, her touch makes anyone – including Jesus and those in the crowd bumping into her – unclean. Weighing the shame of being recognized by angry people, aware of the possibility of a public reprimand, knowing that people pick up stones to drive the unclean away and heedless of the harm and inconvenience she may cause crowd members and Jesus, she nonetheless approaches Jesus,” Branch (2013) observes. “In modern terminology, she stalks him in broad daylight. She decides her need trumps others’ rights.”

Rather than being condemned, however, the woman in the crowd is commended for her faith. What does that mean? “My opinion is that when the characteristics she exhibits – desperation, hope, selfishness, pushiness, courage, persistence, and self-interest – are directed at Jesus, they constitute faith,” Branch (2013) suggests. “Jesus both defines her action and attitude as faith and acknowledges her faith as directed at him.” It’s an interesting contrast to the disciples in the boat at the end of chapter four who are described as cowardly and unbelieving.

In addition, Branch (2013) notes, Jesus places the woman in a new family with him at the center. He calls her “Daughter.” Perhaps we should think back to the Beelzebul incident from a few weeks ago. Jesus “esteems her by showing all nearby that she is his true kin,” Branch (2013) writes. “She becomes the first example in Mark since his encounter with his family (Mk 3:31-35) of his power to re-order families.”

Jesus defines his family not as those who are biologically related to him (and who think he’s become mentally unstable. Rather, Jesus says, “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother” (Mark 3:35, NRSV). Resilient reliance on Jesus, even in the face of decades-long despair, seems to be part of doing the will of God. Soon after this text we will read that Jesus is rejected by the hometown folks in Nazareth, presumably including at least some of his biological family members. The juxtaposition of the texts is certainly significant.

Branch (2013) suggests that “The woman also is portrayed as a successful disciple, and one much more successful than the twelve male disciples at this point in the gospel of Mark.” She persists, takes risks, suffers, confesses, and overcomes her fear. She models the sort of faith that the disciples lacked during the Stilling of the Storm. And, as Branch (2013) notes, she is changed by her encounter with Jesus. She was (at least socially) dead and is now alive. That’s what happens to disciples!

Resources and References

Gaiser, Frederick J. “In Touch with Jesus: Healing in Mark 5:21–43.” Word & World, Volume 30, Number 1 (Winter 2010), pp. 5-15.

Moss, Candida R. “The Man with the Flow of Power: Porous Bodies in Mark 5:25-34.” Journal of Biblical Literature 129, no. 3 (2010): 507-519.

“Skin,” https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/skin-1.

Wright, N. T. Mark for Everyone (The New Testament for Everyone). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.

Text Study for Mark 5:21-43 (Pt. 1); 5 Pentecost B 2021

There’s so much in this text that I think I’ll just dive in and see where it goes. We’ll cover as much as we can in the next few days.

“May I make a confession?” Mulcahy asks, oblivious to the wisecrack. “As long as you don’t use any real names,” Pierce responds.

Pierce offers some encouragement about an old medical school saw that God does the healing and the physician collects the fee. Mulcahy is not particularly persuaded.

“What was that about not being sure you did any good?” Pierce asks with eyebrows arched.

“It’s not supposed to work that way, you know,” Mulcahy replies, not knowing whether to be joyful or embarrassed.

What do we do with the healing stories in the gospels? What do we do with the need for healing and wholeness in our ministries in the name of Jesus? I have prayed for the healing of a spouse, parents, other relatives, parishioners, friends, neighbors, and strangers. I have offered those prayers often in dire and even apparently hopeless circumstances.

Most of the time, those prayers were not followed by the desired outcome. But sometimes they were. Like Father Mulcahy (admittedly, one of my heroes and role models in pastoral ministry), I was more nonplussed by the effective prayers than by the ineffective ones. In our scientific, rational, evidence-based, materialist world, it’s not supposed to work that way, you know.

“The biblical healing stories often trouble us as much as they tantalize us,” writes Fred Gaiser. “The prospect of healing through the power of God or the touch of Jesus holds out promise to all, especially those in immediate distress or danger. Yet,” he observes, “the possibility of miraculous or even what seems to be magical cure seems elusive at best and, at worst, downright alien to much of what we have learned about God and Christian faith” (page 5).

The “we” in Gaiser’s writing refers to those of us in most “mainline” traditions and certainly does not refer to those in many other branches of the Christian family. Perhaps we late-modern rationalist Christians could learn a thing or three from those other branches. But for the sake of this study, I’m willing to grant Gaiser’s description of the majority of his readers and our theological predilections.

Amy-Jill Levine observes that we encounter medicine, magic, and miracles in the pages of Christian scripture. You can tell it’s a miracle, she says, when it’s free. Yes, she observes with a smirk, free health care is indeed a miracle (at least here in the States). But there is more going on here than charity, as Gaiser observes in the vocabulary of the second healing – the raising of the little girl from the dead.

Jesus commands that the little girl should “rise up” (the Greek word egeiro) and in response she gets up (the Greek word anistehmi). “Both of these Greek words are employed frequently in the New Testament beyond their everyday use to speak of Jesus’ resurrection,” Gaiser notes. “The reader is made to understand that this is more than could be expected from a traveling miracle worker.”

“The girl’s resurrection from the dead,” he continues, “comes in anticipation of and with the power of the resurrection that is present in Jesus and that finally proves the basis for all his healings. Jesus is not just the best wonder worker in the neighborhood,” Gaiser concludes, “In him, is the very power of God to create and re-create life…” (page 9).

For Jesus, it is supposed to work this way, you know.

Mark is presenting the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. In Jesus, the Reign of God is drawing near and is even now effective among us. In response, we are invited to get a new way of seeing the world and to put our trust in that Good News in life and in death. That trust seems to arise most readily in situations of desperation. That’s one of the themes in our text this week.

Gaiser notes that there is no formulaic relationship between “faith” and healing. “Faith and healing seem always to be related in the New Testament,” he notes, “but how they relate seems different in almost every case” (page 9). The woman in the crowd is at the end of her rope. Jesus appears to be her last hope. Jairus throws himself at Jesus’ feet and begs repeatedly for him to come and heal his little girl. Jesus tells the woman that her faith has made her well. Jesus urges Jairus not to fear but to have faith.

“This is the saving faith to which the formula refers (‘Your faith has made you well’),” Gaiser argues, “no longer merely the hopeful longing of the worried father or the desperate reaching out of the unclean woman (though both are present and significant in their own way), but faith in Jesus as he is known already in the Gospel as one who comes to proclaim ‘the good news of God’ and the coming of the kingdom (Mark 1:14–15)” (page 10).

That’s all well and good for the characters in Mark’s story, but what about for us? Is it supposed to work that way or not? “We are happy to be included in the saving work of Christ, the forgiveness of sins,” Gaiser writes, “but what, for us, are the healing dimensions of these stories, if any? Might we,” he wonders, “rather have simply the miracle worker?” I know any number of times when I would have answered with a resounding “Yes!”

That is, as Gaiser knows and assumes, a false dichotomy – between Jesus the unfailing healer and Jesus the Suffering Savior of all. Instead, he notes, they are one in the same. That is the reality to keep before us in this text. Who is this, that even the wind and waves obey him? Who is this, that a desperate woman can be made whole by the brush of a robe? Who is this who sees death as slumber and mortality as temporary? That’s the real burden of Mark’s song – this is Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of God — the one who came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life, a ransom for many.

That’s a helpful image and reminder in this conversation. In fact, Father Mulcahy, sometimes it is supposed to work that way. After all, we still need signposts to find our way. Some of those signs might be healings. Some might be sermons. Some might be sacraments and prayers and liturgy. Some might be works of justice and peace. Some might be in the person of the neighbor, the stranger, even the enemy. Jesus points the way in lots of ways.

“Only if we see Jesus’ movement in all its dimensions, including the political one, will we understand that behind the intense and intimate human dramas of each story there lies a larger, and darker, theme to which Mark is repeatedly drawing our attention,” Wright continues. “Jesus is on his way to confronting evil at its very heart. He will meet Death itself, which threatens God’s whole beautiful creation, and defeat it in a way as unexpected as these two healings. This time, though,” the good bishop reminds us, “there will be no command to silence.”

More to come…

Resources and References

Gaiser, Frederick J. “In Touch with Jesus: Healing in Mark 5:21–43.” Word & World, Volume 30, Number 1 (Winter 2010), pp. 5-15.

“Skin,” https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/skin-1.

Wright, N. T. Mark for Everyone (The New Testament for Everyone). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.