The Rev. Keri T. Aubert     21 Samuel 1:1, 17-27

All Saints Episcopal Church, South Burlington, Vermont Psalm 130

June 28, 2009 2 Corinthians 8:7-15

Proper 8, Year B, RCL     Mark 5:21-43

The woman is pale from anemia. She has tried everything in her search for a cure, spending all the money she had on every healer she could find, and still she bleeds. The blood loss leaves her continually weak and tired, struggling to keep up with the basic things she must do to survive. Her struggle is a physical one, but it’s not only that; it’s also, and much more importantly, emotional and spiritual. By her community’s religious standards, menstruating women are unclean. Because of the hemorrhaging, she has been unclean for twelve years. She is a devout woman, but the belief that God has considered her to be dirty all this time has left her spiritually bereft. She wonders what she has done to displease God so tremendously. She goes over and over the events of her life, but she comes up with nothing. Still she thinks her sins must be great to deserve such punishment; she is sure that everyone who looks at her can see her guilt. Everywhere she goes she carries her shame with her like a damp, heavy cloak. Even the comfort she might receive from others has been restricted, because menstruating women are ritually impure, and anyone touching them is also made impure. She doesn’t want to compound her shame or risk further displeasing God, so she has spent twelve years distancing herself from family and friends, twelve years avoiding touching others or being touched by others.

On this day, the woman has come to the edge of the Sea of Galilee to observe the man called Jesus of Nazareth, who has been reported to be in the area. She has heard rumors about him. She’s heard that he’s been turning the rules of her society upside down. She’s heard that he’s been performing miraculous healings. She’s also heard that the Temple scribes and Pharisees are less than happy about all this. She has come anyway. She stands beyond the edge of the crowd so as to avoid accidentally touching anyone. But she can see Jesus. She sees him get out of the boat with his friends. She can tell it’s him by the way the people around him are acting. They defer to him as if he is the emperor. But they don’t look nervous, the way most average people look when in the presence of government officials. Instead they look both surprised and peaceful, as if they had been lost in the middle of a hot desert and just stumbled upon a cool oasis. Jesus looks relaxed. He’s making his way slowly away from the water’s edge, talking to various people as he goes.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, the woman sees a man rushing toward the crowd. It’s one of the synagogue leaders, Jairus. Jairus is pushing his way through the bodies, clearly trying to get to Jesus. Jesus is controversial at the synagogue, and so her heart catches for a moment as she wonders whether there will be trouble. Jairus rushes up to Jesus but, instead of assaulting him, Jairus drops down at Jesus’ feet. Jairus would be expected to fall at the feet of someone who significantly outranks him—but Jesus is his subordinate. Cleary, something is wrong, and Jairus wants something from Jesus. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but she knows that Jairus’ daughter has been sick. She sees Jairus get up and start back toward the way he had come, with Jesus beside and a half-step behind him, and the crowd following behind.

The woman feels certain that Jesus can provide the help she so desperately needs. But she can’t simply march up and speak to Jesus like Jairus did. Unrelated men and women are not allowed to speak to one another, and therefore she cannot make a direct plea to Jesus. As she ponders her options, it occurs to her: Jesus is so powerful that all she needs to do is touch him. Of course, even that is a problem, not only because of the rules for bleeding women, but also because it is highly improper for men and women to touch in public. But she’s pretty sure she can touch Jesus’ clothing without anyone seeing it. The crowd will provide cover, and anyway, because of her illness, she’s been practically invisible for twelve years. If she’s careful, not even Jesus will notice. She’s not sure that makes it okay. She doesn’t want to break the rules, and her shame tells her that she of all people should know better. For just a moment, she is paralyzed by indecision. But then something amazing happens: she feels the cloak of shame being lifted off her shoulders, removing the weight of unworthiness that has been holding her down for so long, and encouraging her to act. She knows that God has never wanted her to suffer. She is certain that God has sent Jesus to provide the healing for her suffering.

Feeling a lightness she hasn’t known in years and a freedom she has never known, the woman eases up to the back of the crowd following Jairus and Jesus. Jesus is striding along through the lakeside breeze, his cloak billowing after him. She makes her way through the people and carefully edges up behind Jesus. The same force that removed her shame now steadies her nerves. She casually reaches out, as she might reach out to brush the hair out of a child’s face. For a fraction of an instant, pale hand makes contact with linen fabric. It’s all she needs. Already knowing that she is healed, the woman slows, lets the crowd begin to pass her, and melts back among the people.

But the woman won’t escape quite so easily. Jesus abruptly stops and turns, his eyes searching the people nearby. The crowd has to stop, too. In the way of a stopping crowd, the people press closer together, so that the woman is trapped among them. The question in Jesus’ eyes moves to his lips. “Who touched my clothes?” His tone is not angry, but she is fearful. She has broken the rule about touch, and answering him will break the rule about speaking to unrelated men. Besides, she has taken the healing that some might charge a fee for, and she has no money. Will Jesus understand? Will her bleeding return? Will the crowd punish her? She suddenly decides that a man powerful enough to stop her bleeding would certainly be compassionate enough to relieve her fear. She steps out of the crowd. She throws herself and her fear at Jesus’ feet, much as Jairus had only minutes before. She blurts out her whole story. Jesus listens carefully. Then he speaks directly to her, himself breaking the rule against unrelated men and women speaking to one another. He will soon break another rule by touching a dead person.

Jesus could have simply let the woman go. After all, her bleeding had stopped; she had the thing she had come for. But there is something Jesus needs to tell her; there is something she needs to know. She needs to know that it was not his touch that healed her; rather, it was her faith that healed her. Even if she never sees Jesus again, she can carry her faith with her for the rest of her life, everywhere she goes. With this faith, she need never fear the return of her bleeding—she need never fear anything else—ever again. Jesus honors the woman’s faith by calling her “daughter”—this names her as a member of his surrogate family and ends the separation she has endured. Voices are now calling Jesus; he turns, and the woman slips away. But she is no longer invisible. She is no longer unclean. She is restored to her place in the community. She is restored in her relationship with God. By the grace of God, the woman’s faith has carried her to that place of restoration; by the grace of God, her faith will keep her there.