[ii Sam. 1:1, 17-27; ii Cor. 8:7-15; Mk. 5:21-43]
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
Jairus’ little girl died.
The little girl died, and people were sad.
In North-Western Europe, in Belgium/ Flanders most parents -most, not all- will be spared the loss of a child.
In other parts of the world, child mortality rates are still mindbogglingly high: lack of hygiene, lack of proper medical facilities and trained professionals, but also lack of clean water and basic food supplies due to draughts and floods, corruption and war are the root causes for these deplorable statistics.
Jairus’ daughter died.
If you’ve never experienced it, it’s hard, impossible to imagine what such a loss feels like. When a child dies a part of their parents must undoubtedly die with them.
When a child dies, mortality, death suddenly comes very close, closer than when someone dies who’s had a long life and for whom time has run its course.
When a child dies, our mortal instincts kick in, because a child dying before their time feels unnatural, it feels wrong.
We only have to think of any picture of a child face down in the sand, covered in dust, bullet holes in its body, but also bald because of the treatment or mutilated for life.
The response to such images for the most part -and rightly so- is one of horror, of revulsion.
Death frightens a lot of people, perhaps most people, especially the premature death of a child or a youngster.
Jairus’ daughter died.
We don’t know the girl’s name, only that she was twelve. (like the blood flows of the anonymous woman had been persisting for twelve years)
Her story is mentioned in the three Synoptic Gospels: Mark chapter 5, Matthew 9 and Luke chapter 8.
Her father’s name was Jairus, she was twelve years old and the story of her death has been retold countless times throughout the centuries.
When his daughter was near death, Jairus personally came to plead for Jesus’ intervention. Twice in our passage it’s mentioned that he was “a leader of the synagogue”, which means he was taking quite the risk to his reputation doing this so publicly, with the crowds and perhaps his colleagues scrutinising him closely.
On his way to Jairus’ house, Jesus -almost accidentally- heals the woman suffering from a haemorrhage.
To place that narrative here, is somewhat confusing because it seemingly interrupts the timeline of the text.
However, the two miracles have two key points in common: faith and life.
“Daughter, your faith has made you well…”
“Do not fear, only believe.”
Remember the disciples in last week’s Gospel reading: they were literally dead afraid, on that small fishing boat on Lake Tiberias, winds howling and waves beating in to them.
“Peace! Be still!” Jesus told the storm, and to the apostles He said: “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”
What a difficult, loaded question.
Poor disciples frightened out of their wits, and now their Teacher expects them to explain their faith to Him.
Faith has proven a delicate and often controversial topic, because church leaders, theologians and wise women and men don’t always see eye to eye on the matter.
Different interpretations put the ‘responsibility’ -if we can call it that- for faith in different corners.
Do all of us have some measure of it? What exactly is it? How do we get more of it, or how do we lose it?
If it’s a gift, does that mean that if people don’t believe, it’s not their fault because they weren’t given faith?
Interesting, isn’t it.
In the original Greek the word for faith is pistis, and it means ‘trust’ rather that subscribing to a certain set of religious tenets or rules.
Trust: trust that in any given situation, be it long term illness or approaching death, God is present, God cares and loves you.
There are almost seven and a half billion people on this planet and God knows every single person by name; God knows the hairs on our heads, He knows every detail of our lives, our breathing, our heart beats, our pains, our joys.
God is also present when life and faith in their earthly form come to an end.
“Do not fear, only believe.”
And He took her by the hand.
Trust beyond ourselves, outside ourselves.
Of course, often that’s easier said than done; sometimes our faith, our trust in God is rock solid, often it’s the tiniest flicker, barely noticeable.
God knows this too, and He loves us all the more for it.
Not only does God know His people, know us, He’s actively engaged with us, involved in our lives, in our faith lives, and in our death.
Jairus’ daughter died, and Jesus woke her from this death, which He called sleep.
“Talitha cum...little girl, get up!”
Little girl or big man, sick or healthy, VIP or a regular Jane and Joe, Mary, Joseph, John…everyone’s part of this story, a story of healing and a story of life.
Immediately her haemorrhage stopped...
And immediately the girl got up...
Don’t be afraid to be part of this story.
We’re allowed to be healed, to be made whole again.
We’re allowed to be part of life eternal, here and now, and after death.
Martin Luther, the German Reformer whose own struggles with faith and salvation and eternal life were central to his religious thinking, wrote:
“We resemble them that die, nor is the outward appearance of our dying unlike that of others; but the thing itself is different, because for us death is dead.” (Fourteen Consolations, 1519)
We too are called to help others to get up when they’re down, to encourage them when they’re suffering, to help them live again.
We too are called to tell people of this wonderful Gospel, this Good News: do not fear, believe, get up!
We’re called to share the great message of God, a God who loves, a God who forgives, a God who takes their and our hand and says: ‘I’m here, be blessed, get up and live!’
We’re called to tell the World in word and deed that God is present, in sickness and in health, in life as in death. Always.
And the peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.