It was the talk of the town: Jairus’ daughter was ill. She couldn’t get out of bed, and hadn’t been seen in public for days. Jairus had used his influence and his more-than-adequate financial resources to secure for her the best possible medical care, but so far, nothing was helping. Indeed, some of the rumors floating around were that she had died.
Those rumors were false. She wasn’t dead; not yet, anyway. However, it was starting to appear that, unless some miracle of healing were to occur, death would come soon.
Being the daughter of such a prominent community leader, her situation was being closely followed by the tabloids. She was twelve years old, the age when society started paying attention, the age at which one made the transition from childhood to adulthood. Jewish regulations—which, obviously, Jairus was familiar with—set twelve as the minimum age at which a girl’s marriage contract could be drawn up. (For boys it was thirteen.)
This should have made her the darling of all the magazine covers, and would have, if she were well enough for the photo shoots. She was the perfect age, her dad was a “celebrity” of sorts…. Scripture doesn’t say what her name was. I think her name was Paris. Or maybe Miley.
As I said, Daddy had done everything he could to help his little girl, but nothing worked. Death seemed like it was days, perhaps hours, away. He was desperate.
He had heard about Jesus. He had heard rumors of his miraculous healings. The tabloids had reported on those, too, although Jairus knew from experience that half the stuff printed in the tabloids was lies and fabrications. Just the other day, the papers had printed something about Jesus controlling the weather. I mean, really! The articles actually said that Jesus spoke to a howling wind, commanding it to cease, and it did. That sounded too absurd to Jairus. But then a trusted friend told Jairus that he saw first-hand a miracle in which Jesus had healed a man who had been paralyzed. This man had been paralyzed for years, but after he met Jesus, he could walk freely. If Jesus could do that, then maybe he could control the weather as well.
Jairus remembered when the paralyzed man was healed. He didn’t see it happen, but people came to the synagogue, asking him about it. At the time, Jairus had been skeptical, and he told them that this healing could not possibly have happened. But so many people seemed to be convinced, including his trusted friend. Could the rumors be true?
But how would it look for a highly respected synagogue leader to go asking, begging, for help from this Jesus? Oh, the paparazzi would love that! How much respect and influence would he lose if he humbled himself that way? He couldn’t do that; he couldn’t go to Jesus and humiliate himself that way, could he?
One look at his daughter was all it took for him to know that, yes, he could.
He found Jesus down by the sea. An enormous crowd was gathered around him. “Great,” thought Jairus. “Just great.”
Jairus made his way through the crowd. When he reached Jesus, Jairus fell at Jesus’ feet, and begged him: “My daughter is at the point of death. Come, lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.” As the words came out, his desperation overwhelmed him. The crowd no longer mattered. All that mattered was his little girl. He cried out again: “Please, sir; my little daughter is at the point of death. Come, lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live!”
Jesus began to follow him; and the crowd did, too. In fact, everyone was pressed in together, jostling one another. It was like trying to get in to see the Lakers victory celebration at the Coliseum.
In the midst of this huge crowd was a woman who had been having hemorrhages for twelve years. In fact, she remembered the day it all started: it was the day she had read in the tabloids about the birth of Jairus’ daughter.
Like Jairus’ daughter, she, too, had been seen by many doctors. However, she did not have the money and the influence that Jairus did, and all of her medical treatments had left her broke. Health care is expensive, you know…
The worst part of it all was that nothing had worked. Despite the medical treatment, her condition had grown worse.
Her condition had kept her from being a part of society. She was in that stage of life we call menopause, but was unable to make that life transition because of her condition. She was stuck there. Plus, her bleeding made her unclean. Jewish regulations prohibited her from having contact with anyone,… which meant that she had been living in seclusion for the past twelve years.
For twelve years, society had waited for Jairus’ daughter to come-of-age and taker her place in society; and for twelve years, this woman had also been waiting; waiting to reclaim her place in society.
She knew she shouldn’t be there—she was “unclean”—nevertheless, she snuck through the crowd toward Jesus. She thought to herself, “If I just touch his clothes, I will be made well. I won’t bother anyone; no one needs to know.” When she reached Jesus, she reached out and touched his cloak, and immediately her hemorrhage stopped. She could feel in her body that she was healed of her disease.
Jesus stopped walking. “Who touched me?” he said. Well, everyone was touching him, pressing in on him; everyone was jostling one another. It was like the crowd leaving Disneyland after a Friday night showing of Fantasmic.
Jairus was at that very moment touching Jesus, daring to grab him by the hand, and lead him, as quickly as possible, to the bed where his daughter was dying. Didn’t Jesus realize how urgent this was? But Jesus would not budge.
Jesus looked around. It was then that the woman emerged from the crowd, and fell at Jesus’ feet, terrified that she had been found out, terrified that she would now be cast out of society forever for what she had done. “It was me,” she confessed; and she told Jesus the whole truth.
Jesus did not cast her out. Instead, he welcomed her by addressing her, using a word that signified relationship: “Daughter,” he said, “your faith has made you well. Go in peace.”
At that very moment, some people arrived from Jairus’ house. By the looks on their faces, Jairus knew why they had come, even before they spoke those awful, horrible words: “Your daughter is dead.”
Does it seem strange to you that the announcement of his daughter’s death came at the precise moment of the older woman’s healing? Could this have anything to do with the fact that the woman’s illness began twelve years ago, at the time of the girl’s birth? What is the mysterious connection between these two lives?
If the story were to end here, it would be easy to conclude that God’s preference is for the poor, the lonely, the outcast—people like that woman. She was healed; the rich and quite possibly spoiled daughter was dead. The one who deserved healing is healed; the one who already had everything in life is dead.
Had the story ended there, perhaps this is how the tabloids would have written it up. I confess to you that this is how I myself would be tempted to interpret it. I would be quick—too quick—to judge the prominent official’s daughter; Paris, or Miley, or whatever her name is. And as far as the tabloids, well, we know that today’s hero often becomes tomorrow’s villain. The angel of one day becomes the next day’s demon. That happens all the time.
But this story is not yet over. When the news came of the girl’s death, Jesus said to Jairus, “Do not fear; only believe.”
They left the crowd behind, but another crowd was waiting at the house: friends, family, and the professional mourners that were a part of the ritual that surrounded the death of any prominent Jew in those days. They were all packed in and around Jairus’ sufficiently-sized home, making a commotion, weeping and wailing, pressing in together, jostling one another for room. In number, it was like the crowd that will be gathering later today for our “Evening on the Patio.” (Hey, one can hope!)
Jesus said, “What’s with all this commotion?” He sent them outside. Then he took the girl by the hand, and he healed her. He made her well.
So both the woman and the girl were made well. This story, like all of the New Testament, was originally written in Greek, and the Greek word here is sozo. Sozo means to be made well. It means to be made whole. It means to be healed. And sometimes, it is translated as “to be saved.”
Salvation. Healing. Wholeness. This is what was missing from the lives of both the girl and the woman. The stories of how they received sozo—the stories of how they were made whole—these two stories are intertwined with one another. It’s as if the healing of one depended upon the healing of the other. You cannot tell one of these stories without telling the other.
Now I have heard kids in youth group say, “I won’t come if so-and-so is there.” I’ve even heard adults say things like, “I won’t be part of that committee as long as he’s there,” or, “I won’t attend that church as long as she’s there.” But don’t you see? We’re all in this together. We’re all broken in some way. We’re all in search of healing and wholeness. The healing of one is connected to the healing of all. The girl’s healing was connected to the woman’s healing, and vice versa. My healing is connected to your healing. His search for wholeness and her search for wholeness are one. These are things that you cannot separate.
My family recently went to see the movie “Up.” Maybe some of you have seen it. “Up” is a movie about the search for healing and wholeness. There is an old man whose brokenness comes from unfulfilled dreams and the death of his wife. There is also a young boy whose brokenness comes from having an absent father. Their lives are broken until they come together. It is only together that they find healing. It is only together that they find wholeness.
The same is true for us. And that is why we’re here.
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