Why Trouble the Teacher?

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 5:21-43                                                                    

June 27, 2021

Proper 8B                  

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Interruptions are a part of life.  Most of us begin each day with some kind of a plan—a to-do list, a schedule of appointments, a carefully crafted calendar.  But we all know what happens with our best-laid plans.  Interruptions are inevitable:  A child gets sick.  An appliance stops working.  The phone rings.  Some unexpected emergency forces us to abandon our schedule and start improvising.

          Because Jesus fully shared in our humanity—because He had to be like us in every way—His daily schedule was also subject to interruption.  I suppose that according to His divine foreknowledge He knew exactly what each day would bring.  But to hear Saint Mark tell of the events in today’s Holy Gospel, it certainly seems like even the Savior’s schedule was also subject to change.

          St. Mark introduces us to two minor characters in today’s reading:  Jairus, a synagogue official, and a woman who had suffered with a discharge of blood for twelve years.  I call them “minor” characters because Mark mentions them only briefly.  But in Mark’s gospel these minor characters have a major role in showing us what faith looks like.  These “bit players” are actually the true disciples in whom faith trumps fear—who are saved by faith.

          You can be sure that Jairus had tried everything to save his dying daughter.  The synagogue prayer chain was no doubt praying for the sick child.  The best medical help had been consulted.  By the time Jairus falls at the feet of Jesus, he’s a father filled with fear.  When you’re a dad, and your little girl is dying, the helplessness is unbearable.  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.  That was an interruption Jesus could not refuse.  Without hesitation Jesus goes with Jairus.

          But along the way there’s a traffic delay.  Crowds press in on Jesus.  He can barely navigate the narrow city streets.  The woman with the discharge of blood sneaks up behind him.  She’s suffered for twelve long years, as long as Jairus’ daughter had been alive.  Physicians had done nothing except empty her bank account.  Her uncleanness had left her isolated and alone, cut off from the synagogue’s sacred space.  She was hoping for a drive-by miracle:  If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.  And, with one touch, she felt healing come into her body.  Jesus, too, felt that power had gone out from Him.  But Jesus doesn’t do anonymous, drive-by healings.  He stops to connect with the woman—to see her, look her in the eye, and to hear her confession of faith.

          Lots of people had probably touched the robe of Jesus—jostled Jesus, or bumped into Him.  Personal space was at a premium for a celebrity like the Savior.  The disciples were incredulous when Jesus stopped to find out who had touched Him in that sea of humanity. Everyone is touching you!  But not everyone had faith.  This woman did.  She believed that simply touching His garment would bring healing.  She had faith.  That’s what made her different.  That’s why power went out from Jesus.  Faith receives what Jesus has to give.  She knew she was considered unclean.  No one would ever want to touch her.  But she trusted that if she could only touch Jesus it would all be better.  Jesus says as much:  Your faith has made you well.  By faith she received the healing power of Jesus.  A happy ending.

          But that happy moment was interrupted by devastating news from Jairus’ house:  Your daughter is dead.  Why trouble the teacher any further?  Those words must have pierced the soul of Jairus.  They had been so close, but now it was too late.  Why trouble the teacher?  After all, dead is dead.  No one can change that.  Why trouble the teacher?  Because Jesus Christ came to be troubled with this very thing.  Because Jesus came to be bothered by our death.  Jesus came to do something about it.

          This entire account pivots on what Jesus says next.  He looks at the devastated father and says, “Do not fear, only believe.”  You trusted me with her illness, when she was sick.  Now trust me with her death.  Do not fear, only believe.

          Jesus says that for your benefit too.  To you, here and now, this morning Jesus breathes faith into your troubled heart.  Do not fear, only believe.  Your prayers may seem unanswered.  Like Jairus, you might feel that you’ve been put “on hold” while the Lord deals with problems more pressing than yours.  Do not fear, only believe.  You may be in despair, trapped by your own besetting sins or harmed by the sins of others.  You may have lost all faith in institutions, in your fellow man, in your government.  You may be grieving the death of a child.  Don’t be afraid, only believe.

          Jesus came to save all—the woman with the discharge of blood, Jairus and his little girl.  He came for them and for you too.  He came to bring healing from the sickness of sin, to bring order to your disordered life, to make you clean, to give you light in your darkness.  For the joy of your salvation, He endured the cross and scorned its shame. 

          In Holy Baptism He reached out to touch you just as He did with the two dear “daughters” of today’s text.  No, you didn’t touch His garment.  No, He didn’t take you by the hand.  For you He did much more.  He baptized you.  He gives you His body and blood to eat and drink.  Jesus doesn’t get any closer or more personal than that.  The hem of His robe is nothing compared with His life-giving, sin-forgiving body and blood.  This is the body and blood that went to death for you—that was raised to life again—that conquered death and the grave—that is glorified at the right hand of the Father—now given and shed for you.  Take and eat.  Drink of it all of you.  Do not fear, only believe.

          Loud lamentation and weeping were already underway by the time Jesus and Jairus got to the house.  Still today in the Middle East there’s no quiet, stoic sobbing, but only loud weeping and wailing.  It was a swelling chorus of despair.  Jesus surveyed the scene and asked, “Why all the weeping?  The child is not dead but sleeping.”  And they laughed at Him—not the laughter of joy, but the sneering, scoffing of unbelief.  Still today the world laughs at the notion that Jesus can do anything about death.

          Jesus said the girl was sleeping—not because she wasn’t dead, but because waking her from death was, for Jesus, no more difficult than waking her up from a nap.  Why trouble the teacher?  Here’s why:  Jesus went to the bedside and took

her cold little hand into His.  He gently says to her, “Talitha, cumi.”  Little girl, arise.  (Just like a dad waking up his daughter for school.)  With those words from Jesus, life and breath and beauty returned to that precious child.  Her ashen face became pink and rosy.  Sullen, staring eyes once again sparkled with life and light.  Lifeless lips smiled.  This is exactly why Jairus dared to bother Jesus—why you should dare to bother Jesus—to trouble the teacher with death.

          You too can trust this Jesus.  You too can bother Jesus, and pour out your petitions like Jairus did.  You can trouble the Savior when you’re troubled by death.  Jesus knows all about it.  He’s tasted death for you.  Jesus came to be bothered by your sin and death.  That sin He came to absolve.  That death He came to destroy.  Christ is risen, and in Him you too will rise.

          When it was all said and done, Jesus strangely told everyone to keep quiet about it—that no one should know what He had done for the daughter of Jairus.  Why?  Because this is not how Jesus is going to deal with sickness and death—not just one at a time—not just a widow’s son here, a synagogue ruler’s daughter there, an old friend named Lazarus.  Jesus didn’t come to save only a few, but the world.  He came to die and rise for the sin of the whole world—to invite the whole world to believe in Him.  That’s the Jesus we look to in faith—the one hanging from the cross whose wounds bring us healing, whose death is our life, whose shame is our glory, whose weakness is our strength.  On the cross, power went out from Him.  On the cross, life and forgiveness went out from Him.  Strength and healing went out from Him.  And today, by faith, all that went out from Jesus on the cross—these all come into you—rich blessings received by faith.

          When you are desperate.  When death draws near.  When you feel most helpless.  Trouble the Teacher.  Bother the Savior.  Lay it on the line before the Lord of Life.  Do not fear, only believe.

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.