The Bleeding Woman

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas

July 1, 2012; Pentecost 5, Proper 8, Year B

Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Mark 5:21-44)  Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live." He went with him. 

And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years.  She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, "If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well." Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.

Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, "Who touched my clothes?" And his disciples said to him, "You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, `Who touched me?'" He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease."

While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader's house to say, "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?" But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, "Do not fear, only believe." He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, "Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping." And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child's father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, "Talitha cum," which means, "Little girl, get up!" And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

_____________________________________

It helps to know a little background information to understand what was at stake in this encounter.  We know from earlier in the story that this is a “woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years.”  Her menstrual period didn’t stop after a few days each month, but continued perpetually.  This had been going on for twelve years. 

One can imagine the physical inconvenience and misery, but you also need to know what it meant to her socially.  The Jewish Law in the Torah is very clear and specific.  Throughout the days of her discharge “she shall be unclean.”  Everything she sits on or lies on shall be unclean.  Anyone who touches these things shall be unclean and must bathe themselves and their clothes and remain unclean until the evening.  Only after eight days without discharge can she be made clean, following a ritual sacrificing two turtle doves or two pigeons.  (Leviticus 15:19-30)

Life for women in first century Palestine was very intimate.  They lived in homes of extended families with small rooms where several generations of women would work together starting from before dawn preparing food for the all of their relations.  As they worked, they talked.  This was their time of bonding, of sharing their lives and feelings and hopes together.  Their shared labors continued in various forms throughout the day until a few hours after sunset.  From all of this, the woman with the hemorrhage was excluded.  For twelve years.

Imagine her sense of isolation and helplessness when she learns that Jesus had returned from his mission in the Decapolis, and tales of healing and great power swirled around him.  How desperate she must have felt, when she fashioned the hope, “If only I could touch him…  Maybe…?” 

There is a detail in Matthew’s account of this story that I think is very significant.  As a crowd follows Jesus toward the home of the leader of the synagogue, where the little girl has just died, (Matthew writes) “suddenly a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she had said to herself, ‘If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.’”  (Matthew 9:20-21) 

What she touches – the fringe of his cloak – is significant.  It is his tzitzit.  The Law of Moses instructed the Israelites to make fringes on the corners of their garments and to put a blue cord on the fringe at each corner.  There is some debate whether the fringes in Jesus’ day were a separate garment or were added to an existing piece of clothing, but the fringe – the tzitzit – was important and special.  It was the most valuable garment that a man would own; it might be his most valuable possession period.  It was also his most personal possession.  No one – absolutely no one – outside of his immediate family should ever touch the fringe, the tzitzit.  For someone other than a wife, parent, son or daughter to touch the tzitzit would be horrifying – an unspeakable act, signaling some form of depravity or perversion.  Unimaginable.

But that’s what this desperate woman does.  She touches Jesus’ tzitzit, and when she does, she feels her body’s healing.  But Jesus knows immediately that something has happened – power has gone out of him.  “Who touched my clothes?” he asks. 

Whoever has done this – whoever has touched Jesus’ tzitzit has done something profoundly disgraceful.  Shameful.  Theirs was a culture defined by honor and shame.  One moves up and down in power and respect according to one’s honor or one’s shame.  And it’s not just an individual matter.  Middle Eastern society is deeply interconnected.  Everything one does brings either honor or shame, not only to oneself, but also to one’s family, one’s community and one’s village.  One of the greatest complements someone can offer to a person from the Middle East is to say, “You bring honor to your community.” 

When Jesus says, “Who touched my clothes?” this desperate woman knows, if she is discovered, she will have covered herself, her family, and her village with shame.  For twelve years she has experienced the isolation of uncleanness.  Now she would be cursed with the humiliation of a public disgrace that she has brought upon the whole community.

We read from Mark:  “[T]he woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth.”  What courage.  She knows she be disgraced.  What integrity.

But look what Jesus says to her.  His first word is, “Daughter.”  Remember?  Only a member of a man’s immediate family is allowed the intimate act of touching his tzitzit.  “Daughter!” he says to her.  How beautiful.  Jesus embraces her into his family by naming her as his “daughter.”  He makes her act acceptable.  He makes her acceptable.  Jesus takes away not only her illness and isolation, but also her shame.  Jesus restores her to health and to community.

Every one of us carries some shame.  There are things that we can think of, and we begin to bleed.  Our heart rate rises, temperature seems to go up.  Our face may flush, or we might feel moist under the arms as the memory returns.  A buzz in the ears.  A gnawing regret:  “I wish I hadn’t done that.  I SO wish that had never happened.”

Sometimes when these things come back to mind, we believe that we are unworthy.  Shamed.  We think, “If others knew, what would they think?  If people actually knew me as I am, would they accept me?”  Sometimes others actually do know.  If your shame is something public, you might imagine they could be judging you every moment.

Jesus looks at you in your shame, smiles, opens his arms, and says, “My Child; my beloved.”  His infinite well of love embraces you with unqualified forgiveness and complete inclusion.  Power goes forth from him, and you are healed.  Restored to health and community.

The woman with the decade of bleeding is all of us, each of us.  We’ve all got wounds that seem to open and seep from time to time without final closure.  The woman who acted so shamefully is all of us, each of us.  We’ve all touched something we shouldn’t have touched.  The woman who reached out
to Jesus in desperation found healing:  The woman who took her shame to Jesus – telling him the whole thing, in fear and trembling – is also all of us, each of us. 

Jesus invites us to bring our hurts and our shames to him.  He does not judge or condemn.  He heals and accepts.  He makes us his own kin, his own daughters and sons.  He restores our dignity.  His power goes forth into us, and we are healed.  He takes us by the hand, raises us up, and invites us into wholeness and community.  He tells us, as he told her:  “Go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

__________

My gratitude to my friend Dr. Paul McCracken of the Jerusalem Institute for Biblical Exploration.  Paul was our guide for our pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 2010.  Paul sends a weekly Lectionary Note on the readings offering archeological, cultural and historical perspectives drawing from his long experience in the Middle East.  This sermon draws extensively from his Note for this week.  He posts his notes at www.jibe-edu.org (look in the right margin for links to “Lectionary Notes”).