Mark 5. 21-43
The kingdom of god is made up
not of the privileged, but of the needy.
This is where – this is when – things start getting difficult. Taking the bible word-for-word, letter-for-letter. Most of the time, it’s not all that hard to read the book literally. When we’re able to keep everything at an arm’s length. When the story’s about things that happened, long, long ago, far, far away. Like when the universe was created in six days. Or when an ark carried two of every living thing. A virgin conceived. Water was changed into wine. At times like that, it’s easy to say, “Amen, amen!” and “Verily verily!” And we just move on to the next best thing. Easy! Almost effortless! Taking it all at face value!
But it’s different – more difficult – when the stories are up-close and personal. Like when someone we love is sick and we can’t make them better. When they’re broken and we don’t know how to fix them. That’s when reading the bible literally becomes more … problematic. More challenging. Like when “my little daughter is at the point of death …” Like when “a woman has been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years …” When we fall at Jesus’ feet and beg him repeatedly. When we crawl through the crowd just to touch his clothes. And nothing happens. Nothing changes. The bleeding continues. The little girl doesn’t get up. That’s when biblical literalism becomes difficult. That’s when biblical literalism becomes impossible. Why then, but not now? Why there, but not here? Why them, but not me? Not me, not mine?
“Believe in miracles,” they say. “Make miracles happen.” So, we believe and pray. And we pray and believe. But, apparently, more often than not, not the way we should. Evidently, not the way we ought. Life just goes on. Goes on as it always has. We blame god. We blame ourselves. And the words meant as promise and hope – “Your faith has made you well!“ – become threat, accusation. Doubt and uncertainty reign supreme. The woman creeps up on Jesus from behind and touches his robe. Jairus falls at his feet and begs … and begs … and begs … The woman is healed. The daughter raised. But it just doesn’t work that way, for us. Not anymore. If it ever did. Literally.
Truth is, the bible isn’t a new book. It was written nearly a hundred generations, ago. And that’s the most recent part! And the people who wrote the stories didn’t see the world like we do. What we take for granted, for them had no meaning. Where we focus – fixate – on the how, they were concerned with the why. They were inspired by the mystery and the miracle. Sick healed. Demons cast out. Lepers cleansed. Dead raised back to life. That was the world in which they lived. But there was, even, more to it than that. Their world was anchored – rooted – not in facts, but in truth. And truth is anything but literal.
Truth is poetry! Truth is metaphor! Truth is story! And all the i-dotting and t-crossing only gets in the way. Distracting. Distorting. So, this week, rather than concentrate on the obvious, as I’ve done before, I thought I’d look, instead, at the not-so-obvious. At the subtle, the indistinct. And I didn’t have to look too long or too hard to realize that the woman healed and the girl restored had something in common. Neither would be allowed into the Temple. Neither would be welcomed. Neither would be allowed anywhere near god. Not in the holy place. Not in the holy of holies. Truth is, all the people Jesus cleansed and all the people Jesus cured would be forbidden to walk through the door. The Temple was reserved only for the righteous and the holy. Only for the perfect and pure. And these people – all these people we’ve been reading about – w re just that. They were just people. Plain. Ordinary. Every day. No different from millions – billions – of others. What could god want with them.
Then, it hit me … The gospel isn’t just Jesus’ story. It’s their story, too! Their story and ours story with them! It doesn’t belong to presidents and kings, to the dreamers and the music makers. It belongs to them! The nameless crowds! The faceless multitudes! To the pariahs and to the untouchables! To anyone, to everyone, crumpled up and tossed aside! The crippled! The lame! The blind! They’re the ones in the parables – and us with them – who replace those too busy to attend the feast. Those who had better things to do. People just like Jairus! And Jairus’ daughter. People just like the bleeding woman. And you know, that’s the real miracle!
People, back in the day, weren’t much different from us. They were afraid of pain. Afraid of suffering. Afraid they’d catch it. Afraid it’d rub off on them. And so, they – just like us – instituted social distancing. And they’d lock them out. They’d push them away. Separated. Isolated. Quarantined. And so, for a while, the crowds would stand, on the outside, looking in. But after a while, they grew tired and turned and walked away. And no one misses them. No one saw them go. No one, that is, but Jesus. No one, that is, but god. And that surprises us. It shocks us. To be with people that, in the opinion of the world, aren’t worth the time. That weren’t worth the trouble.
The Temple was the heart and soul of Israel. Judaism’s pride and joy. And yet, here’s Jesus, far from Jerusalem. Surrounded by a crowd of “those” people. A man with an unclean spirit. A leper. A paralytic. A man with a withered hand. And like Jairus’ daughter and “that” woman, all citizens of the kingdom of god! Each! Every! These are the tired and the poor of god! The huddled masses! The wretched refuse! The tempest-tost! And Jesus … Jesus was – Jesus is – their king! Our king! Not many are wise, as Paul points out, not many by human standards! Not many powerful! Not many of noble birth! But these are the ones chosen! Called! And yet, over the ages, we’ve gotten it all backwards. Flipped it upside-down. Turned it inside-out.
The church isn‘t dying. It’s not drying up and blowing away. It’s just that we’ve forgotten. Forgotten who the kingdom is! Lost sight of what the kingdom looks like! In the name of the king … well … we’ve been inviting all the wrong people! If Jesus needs to love, we need to invite people who need loved! Think about that … If god needs to love, we need to invite people who need to be loved! People like Jairus! People like the little girl! People like the woman! People like you and me! And you know, that might not be as difficult as we expect …