Insiders,
Outsiders and Life’s Interruptions
Psalm
139/Mark 5:21-43
A
few remarks, a poem and a song.
This
episode in Mark chapter 5 is about life changes in more ways than one. Two
people are healed, a woman and a young girl. Social protocol is changed: one
would expect Jairus, a leader in the synagogue, a quintessential insider, to
get special attention, but one is surprised that the woman who has bled month after
month for 12 years also gets Jesus’ power and attention and blessing AHEAD of
the very important man he was going to help. Personal change: the woman (who
has no name) and the daughter (who also has no name) are both restored to
normative life in the community – the community that laughed at Jesus for even
trying to help them. The church changed: it should not go without mention that the
lectionary selection itself has changed. In our 1979 Book of Common Prayer
lectionary the story of the woman was cut out so that our Proper 8 Gospel was
JUST the story of Jairus’ daughter. Once we adopted the Revised Common
Lectionary (2006) her story was restored. That says as much about us as a
church as it does about the Gospel of Mark. For so many years her story was not
heard in our churches. And yet, I would argue, her story is the central to the
whole story. That is, there is just one story of which she is a central and
most important part. It is a credit to our church that we restored this story
to its wholeness, for the woman’s story is one we all share and one we all need
to hear. We are left to imagine why her story was not included in our Sunday
lectionary until 2006.
It
is no accident as Mark tells her story. The woman has been bleeding as long as
the little girl has been alive: twelve years. They share a sort of kinship,
even though the woman, because of her condition, would have been ostracized
from society and from town as being “unclean.” That is, she in all likelihood
could not live at home. She was homeless and alone.
Being
unclean and homeless are things few of us understand, yet there are times when
we don’t feel at home in this world any more, and we may even feel yucky and
unclean about ourselves. And when we are seriously ill we are usually separated
out from society – often times even in isolation. Were we to be aware of life
in the world of Jesus we would be utterly astonished that this unclean and
homeless woman gets Jesus’ power, attention and blessing BEFORE the daughter of
the very important official, Jairus.
We
may as well face it, outsiders have been commanding our attention recently:
Rachel Dolezal, Dylann Roof, Caitlyn Jenner, Freddie Gray, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev ,
James Holmes to name just a few. It ought to break our hearts to think of how life
for each of them, and all of us, may have been different if someone like Jesus
had allowed them to interrupt their lives. What if someone had given them
attention and blessing and healing of some sort? If only they had had a
stronger sense of belonging, a stronger sense of being accepted and at home in
this world. What if?
We
are meant to place ourselves in these stories. What is it like to be the leader
of the synagogue whose daughter is "at the point of death?" What is
it like to be in the "great crowd" following Jesus? Are we among
those who truly follow him? Are we among those who laugh at him for trying
against all odds to help these two women? What is it like to be the little
girl, home, waiting, fearful of what comes next? What is it like to be the
disciples, trying to protect Jesus from the crowd? What must it have been like
to be the woman, cut-off from society for 12 years? What is it like to have her
kind of hope and faith? What is it like to touch the hem of Jesus' garment? Can
we grasp that the important things in this life are those things that interrupt
whatever it is we think we are doing or think is important?
Now
the poem, then a song to help us imagine what life could be like.
The Lightening by
Madeleine L'Engle
When
I pushed through the crowd,
jostled,
bumped, elbowed by the curious
who
wanted to see what everyone else
was
so excited about,
all
I could think of was my pain
and
that perhaps if I could touch him,
this
man who worked miracles,
cured
diseases,
even
those as foul as mine,
I
might find relief.
I
was tired from hurting,
exhausted,
revolted by my body,
unfit
for any man, and yet not let loose
from
desire and need. I wanted to rest,
to
sleep without pain or filthiness or torment.
I
don’t really know why
I
thought he could help me
when
all the doctors
with
all their knowledge
had
left me still drained
and
bereft of all that makes
a
woman’s life worth living.
Well:
I’d seen him with some children
and
his laughter was quick and merry
and
reminded me of when I was young and well,
though
he looked tired; and he was as old as I am.
Then
there was that leper,
but
lepers have been cured before –
No,
it wasn’t the leper,
or
the man cured of palsy,
or
any of the other stories of miracles,
or
at any rate that was the least of it;
I
had been promised miracles too often.
I
saw him ahead of me in the crowd
and
there was something in his glance
and
in the way his hand rested briefly
on
the matted head of a small boy
who
was getting in everybody’s way,
and
I knew that if only I could get to him,
not
to bother him, you understand,
not
to interrupt, or to ask him for anything,
not
even his attention,
just
to get to him and touch him…
I
didn’t think he’d mind, and he needn’t even know.
I
pushed through the crowd
and
it seemed that they were deliberately
trying
to keep me from him.
I
stumbled and fell and someone stepped
on
my hand and I cried out
and
nobody heard. I crawled to my feet
and
pushed on and at last I was close,
so
close I could reach out
and
touch with my fingers
the
hem of his garment.
Have
you ever been near
when
lightning struck?
I
was, once, when I was very small
and
a summer storm came without warning
and
lightning split the tree
under
which I had been playing
and
I was flung right across the courtyard.
That’s
how it was.
Only
this time I was not the child
but
the tree
and
the lightning filled me.
He
asked, “Who touched me?”
and
people dragged me away, roughly,
and
the men around him were angry at me.
“Who
touched me?” he asked.
I
said, “I did, Lord.”
So
that he might have the lightning back
which
I had taken from him when I touched
his
garment’s hem.
He
looked at me and I knew then
that
only he and I knew about the lightning.
He
was tired and emptied
but
he was not angry.
He
looked at me
and
the lightning returned to him again,
though
not from me, and he smiled at me
and
I knew that I was healed.
Then
the crowd came between us
and
he moved on, taking the lightning with him,
perhaps
to strike again.
- Madeliene L’Engle
The
Blessed Augustine, the African Bishop of Hippo wrote, “Our hearts are restless
until we find our home in thee.” We are all looking to be healed of something. God
in Jesus allows us to interrupt whatever is happening and accept our
belovedness in God’s eyes. We all have a home in the heart of God’s love. If you
don’t believe in miracles consider this: even the Supreme Court of the United
States of America is coming around to affirm that all people have a home in the
heart of God’s love and deserve the opportunity for the kind of healing
witnessed in the story of two women, one young, one more mature, representing
the extremes of the social spectrum. We
all want to be made clean and whole. We all want to come home – home with
others, at home with God, and at home with ourselves.
Be
made clean
Go
back to your home
You
are clean
You
are whole
You
are loved
You
are home once again
You
are home
Be
made whole
You
are no longer alone
You
are clean
You
are whole
You
are loved
You
are home once again
You
are home
-Kirk Kubicek, Sounds
Divine
Amen.
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