Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
In Mark 5:21-43, Mark deliberately embeds one striking healing event inside another. The dramatic tension unfolding in each story is generated by their interplay. They need to be preached together.
The supplicants in these interwoven stories could not be more different. Jairus, who seeks healing for his dying twelve-year-old daughter, is the local synagogue leader and probably well known and prosperous. No doubt his key role earned him considerable deference. Yet, the unnamed, ill and destitute, weakened woman who presses furtively through the crowd is described in more detail than he—in fact, more detail than any other character in any of Mark’s healing stories. She has watched her health and her scant resources ebb away. No sum of money paid to either experts or quacks has stopped her flow of blood. It has gone on as long as Jairus’ daughter has been alive.
These very unlike persons have two things in common: faith in Jesus’ power to heal and desperation. For both of them, the present moment with Jesus at hand is critical, and neither can afford delay. But delay is exactly what makes the unfolding drama excruciating. Jesus senses that “power” has “gone out” of him and is determined to find and speak with the person who touched him—an expectation that seems neither practical nor timely, either to his disciples or to us (and certainly not to Jairus).
Jesus knows that the one who touched him won’t be fully whole unless she is restored socially and religiously, not just physically. Although astute students of 1st century Torah caution that observance of ritual uncleanness laws may not have been as rigorous as we imagine, a chronic oozing of blood could well be a non-negotiable case, driving one into ritual isolation. Jesus insists on hearing the woman’s “whole story” before publicly calling her “Daughter” and commending her faith. Tragically, while this “daughter” has been restored both physically and socially, her future now open and promising, another daughter has died. Her future is gone. We feel Jairus’ frustration and anguish.
Why does Jesus say, “Do not be afraid, only believe”? Perhaps Jairus trembles, imagining a lifetime of regret. If he had reached the Teacher minutes sooner, might Jesus not have been drawn aside and delayed? Still, Jesus hastens, determined, to Jairus’ home, taking only Peter, James, and John. At the house, professional mourners wail, then laugh when Jesus says the child is “sleeping.” They know death. But Jesus dismisses them. Inside, flanked by the child’s weeping parents, Jesus says, “Little girl, arise!” The child, nearly a woman now, rises and stands. “Give her some food,” Jesus advises.
Jesus’ way with these two female sufferers reveals who he is, as well as what it may look like to embrace and practice the coming reign of God. We can neither discount nor regard anyone on the basis of gender or rank. God is not constrained by our urgent timetables or our limited views of what is possible. Healing is not only physical; healing includes social restoration to dignity and community. Healing includes feeding the hungry. We may think we know hopelessness when we see it; but even the grave itself must one day yield to the unquenchable Life that burst forth in Jesus’ resurrection. We cannot preach that every sufferer will be healed in this life. We can preach that faith can go toe to toe with suffering. One day, death’s hold shall break. God’s future lights the far horizon; and in that light, we choose faith over fear, faithful action over resignation, and instead of mourning, dancing.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 