Twelve Years ~ Two Daughters

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 5:21-43                                                

June 30, 2024

Proper 8B                 

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        In today’s Holy Gospel Jesus raises Jairus’ daughter, and heals a woman with a flow of blood.  On the surface, this account seems so random—so chaotic and messy.  It seems like nothing goes according to plan.  Jesus’ calendar for that day gets decimated by interruptions within interruptions, one after another.  I personally hate it when that happens in life and ministry.  Things always have a way of getting messy and muddled.

        But I have learned to love this account for a certain symmetry and balance that isn’t apparent at first glance.  What seems messy and chaotic on the surface is actually infused with divine design.

        It begins with the number twelve.  The daughter of Jairus is twelve years old, and she’s dying.  And, in fact, she dies.  For twelve years this lively little girl has lived life to the full—loving and being loved.  But now hers is a life cut short—too short—only twelve years!  Few things are more tragic than the death of a child.  The Lord gives and the Lord takes away—but that “taking” exacts a terrible toll.  Twelve years is too brief—not nearly enough time—a life cut short at the tender age of twelve.

        But for as long as Jairus’ daughter had been alive—for twelve long, arduous years—a certain woman had suffered with a continual discharge of blood.  What began as a routine, monthly occurrence . . . continued occurring, on and on and on, for twelve insufferable years.  Doctors had done nothing but drain her bank account.  In our culture a disorder like this would be a private matter.  But in that culture, this woman was rendered as a perpetual outcast—always unclean, always defiled, always infertile—likely never knowing a husband’s love or the blessing of mothering—for twelve, long years of agony.  She wasn’t dying, but, make no mistake, she was bereft of life.  For her, twelve years was forever long.

        Do you see the symmetry?  How a twelve-year timeline frames and balances this otherwise messy, chaotic chain of events?

        Jesus is on His way to help Jairus’ daughter.  Help is on the way.  But there’s a traffic delay (Just like in Milwaukee).  Crowds press in on Jesus.  He can barely navigate the narrow city streets.  The woman with the discharge of blood sneaks up behind Jesus.  She believes that Jesus can heal her:  If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.  And with one touch, she felt healing come into her bleeding body.  (The flow of blood immediately dried up.)  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.  He indulges in this interruption, even in the middle of an emergency call to Jairus’ house.  Jesus wants to see this woman, look her in the eye, and hear her confession of faith.

        That faith is what made her different.  That’s why power went out from Jesus.  Faith receives what Jesus has to give.  She knew full well just how defiled and unclean she was.  No one would ever want to touch her.  But she believed that if she could only touch Jesus it would all be better.  Jesus says as much:  Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your disease.  A happy ending.

        But notice what Jesus calls her:  Daughter.  Daughter, your faith has made you well.  It’s another bit of surprising symmetry.  Even as He’s on His way to help the dying daughter of Jairus, Jesus designates this unlikely woman as His “daughter.”  She who likely had no family—or who had been exiled from whatever family she had—she is welcomed into the family of faith with one word from Jesus:  Daughter.  And with that word she knew beyond all doubt—she was loved by Jesus.  She—the perpetual outcast—she was precious to Jesus.

        No sooner does Jesus call her “daughter,” than word reaches them from Jairus’ house:  Your daughter is dead.  No sooner does Jesus restore the life of one daughter, than the life of Jairus’ daughter slips away.  And, everyone knows, dead is dead.  No one can change that.  Why trouble the teacher any further?  Why?  Because Jesus came to be troubled with this very thing.  Jesus came to be bothered by our death.  Jesus came to do something about it.

        Everything hinges on what Jesus tells Jairus at that moment of devastation:  Do not fear, only believe.  And Jesus says that for your benefit too.  Through this symmetrical story Jesus breathes faith into your messy, chaotic, troubled heart.  Do not fear, only believe. 

        Like Jairus, you may feel that your prayers have gone unanswered.  You may feel that your problems have been put “on hold” by a distracted Savior.  Do not fear, only believe.  You may be in despair for yourself or others.  Your suffering may stretch for a span of years even greater than twelve.  You may be trapped by your own sinful addictions, or victimized by the sins of others.  You may have lost all faith in doctors and institutions, in government and politicians, or in your fellow man.  You may be grieving the death of a child.  Jesus Christ knows what you shoulder.  And He says:  Don’t be afraid, only believe.

        There’s a lot going on here.  Are you keeping up with the chaos confronted by the Christ?  Do you see the symmetry?  This account is framed and balanced by twelve years . . . and two daughters . . . and one Savior.

        Jesus came to save one and all—the daughter with the discharge of blood, Jairus and his daughter.  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, Jesus endured the cross and scorned its shame. 

        Jesus does His saving work one sinner at a time.  In Holy Baptism He began that work in you—He touched you—just as He did with the two “daughters” in today’s text.  He touched you, cleansed you, claimed you as His own dear daughter or son.  One sinner at a time, Jesus gives His body to eat and His blood to 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 also raised to resurrection life—that conquered death and the grave—that is now glorified at the right hand of the Father—here given and shed for you.

        But let’s back up.  We have one final stop to make—at the house of Jairus.  Confronted by a chorus of weeping and wailing, Jesus declared:  The child is not dead but sleeping.  The gathered mourners laughed at Him.  Or, more accurately, they sneered and scoffed in unbelief.  Still today this sad world scoffs at the notion that Jesus can do anything about death.  Jesus said she was sleeping—not because she wasn’t dead indeed—but because waking her from death was, for Jesus, no more difficult than waking her from a nap.

        Jesus went to the bedside and took her cold little hand into His.  Talitha cumi.  Little girl, arise.  (Just like a dad waking his daughter for school.)  With those words from Jesus, the girl’s sullen eyes began to sparkle with light and life.  Lifeless lips smiled.  Death was defeated.  This is why Jairus had dared to bother Jesus.

        You too can trust this Jesus.  You can bother Him—trouble Him with your troubles—pour out your petitions.  Trouble the Savior when you are troubled by death.  Jesus knows all about it.  He’s tasted death for you.  Christ is risen and in Him you too will rise.  This is the Jesus we look to in faith—the one hanging from the cross.  He is a symmetrical Savior, 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 of sins went out from Him.  And today, by faith, all that went out from Jesus on the cross—these blessings all come into you—rich blessings received by faith.  Your faith has saved you.

        The days of our lives are often like that random day in the life of Jesus.  Interruptions, chaos, twists and turns we didn’t see coming.  But there is an unseen symmetry—a divine design—a blessed balance—that shapes all our days.  Twelve years, two daughters, one Savior.  In that one Savior your life is framed by sin and grace, Word and Sacrament, law and gospel, death and life.  Do not fear, only believe.

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