The interwoven story of the daughter of Jairus, and the woman with a haemorrhage, is told by St. Matthew in 8 verses; by St. Luke in 16 verses; and by St. Mark in 22 verses. We’ve just heard St. Mark’s account. It’s marvellously well told: full of humanly interesting little details omitted by the others. Of the three versions we have, St. Mark’s is by far the fullest, most lively, most dramatic, most immediate.
Clearly St. Mark does not tell this story just for our entertainment, or information. As we read, or listen, Mark wants each of us, through the scenes and characters of the story, to come ourselves to Jesus. Mark wants each of us to encounter Jesus, personally, immediately; especially through the virtue and gift of faith, and the sense of touch. As in the story, if and when we make our way to Jesus, all things to the contrary notwithstanding, it’s as if we are left alone with him. If, in our great need, we put aside all social constraints, all doubts, all fears, and dare to approach Jesus directly, we find ourselves, as if unexpectedly, looking into his eyes. Then in his presence everything else melts away into unimportance, and we realise, as if with a shock, that we ourselves are the focus of all his attention, and concern. In this encounter, Jesus looks at us, and knows us, through and through, and loves us. Returning his gaze, we understand, with absolute certainty, that this man is totally good. No: he is goodness itself. In outward appearance Jesus seems ordinary enough, but we know he’s unlike any other man who has ever lived. With a sort of instinct that is completely trustworthy, we realise also that Jesus possesses power. His power could be terrifying, but it’s not, because he will use it, for now, only to heal, to give life, to manifest the compassion he has on human misery. His mission is to reach out and touch all human wretchedness, and thereby transform it. There’s something else we notice in the eyes of Jesus. We become aware of a depth of sadness there. This is a man who carries a tremendous burden: a man of sorrows, and himself acquainted with grief. For now, with admiration, we see him stopping the flow of blood of a sick woman. Later we will see his own blood flowing freely, with no one doing anything to stop it.
St. Mark hints at the direct relevance of this narrative to us, his Christian audience: he uses words or phrases loaded with special significance for Christians: Lay your hands on her, says Jairus, that she may be saved, (or) If I can just touch his clothes, says the woman, I shall be saved. And Jesus says: Do not be afraid; Only have faith; Go in peace; She is not dead but asleep; and most dramatically, at the end: Rise up... And she rose up...
It’s beautiful and good for us to dwell on the image of Jesus as healer, as physician, as restorer of life. We rightly turn to him in prayer on behalf of the sick, and the dying, and those stricken with grief, and those tempted to despair. We come to him without shame on our own behalf too, aware of our own radical infirmity, and brokenness, and mortality. But we don’t stop there, because Jesus is more than just a healer, and what he came to give us is very much more than mere restoration of health. Maybe we need to insist on this all the more in these days, when public discourse is so obsessed with health and safety. Health and safety are good, but they are not the ultimate good. Jesus did not come in the first place to make us all healthy and safe, any more than he came to make us rich, comfortable and prosperous.
No: the healings, the cleanings, the raisings to life in the Gospel are all signs, figures, indicators, of who Jesus is, and what he came to do. In the first verse of his Gospel St. Mark calls Jesus “the Christ, the Son of God”. In the light of the Resurrection, and the coming of the Holy Spirit, we understand further that Jesus is God the Son; the eternal Word of God, one in being with the Father, who became flesh for our salvation. So to encounter Jesus is to come directly into the presence of God. To touch Jesus is to touch God. It’s as St. John said at the beginning of his first letter:
That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon and touched with our hands - the word of life - he was made manifest...
Already in today’s Gospel story we see how Jesus not only heals, but also overcomes ritual impurity. According to the law of Moses, touch of something unclean always conveys uncleanness (see e.g. Haggai 2:12). But Jesus is cleanness, and purity, and rightness before God, in its source. So he will deliberately touch a leper (1:41), a bleeding woman, or a corpse (5:41). Far from being himself contaminated, by this touch he conveys his own power to cleanse, to purify, to make whole.
Some years ago now I was sent by Abbot Hugh to attend a Youth 2000 event at Walsingham. On the last evening we had a sort of dramatic enactment of the touch of the sick and unclean woman. Today’s Gospel was read, and preached on, and then around 1,000 young people sat cross legged on the ground, arranged in a single long line running back and forth inside the enormous marquee. A Priest took up the Monstrance with the Blessed Sacrament, and accompanied by Acolytes with torches, slowly made his way along the line. As I recall it took him some hours to get round, because each young person would reach out to touch the ample humeral veil with which the Priest held the Monstrance. Not content with a mere touch, nearly all of them chose to bury their face in the veil. It was all very emotionally charged. But it well highlighted for those young people what is the faith of the Catholic Church: that in the Blessed Sacrament, we have Jesus present amongst us even now; Jesus available to us; Jesus reaching out to us; Jesus loving us; Jesus giving himself to us; healing us; drawing us to himself; drawing us to God. This is Jesus, truly present, in all his goodness, and compassion, and power. This is Jesus, who by his saving passion has overcome sin; who by his death has conquered death, and who now invites us to share his own risen and divine life.