Fear and Death

Mark 5:21-43

Vasily Polenov, Resurrection of Jairus' Daughter 1871 (PD) 

Three friends were sitting in a bar one day and somehow they got onto the topic of what they want their friends and family to say about them as they look into their caskets at their funerals.

The first said, “I want my family to look down at me and tell everyone that I was a good father and a good husband.”

The second said, “I want my friends to look down at me and say that I was kind and I was successful.”

The third said, “I want everyone to look inside my casket as say ‘Hold on a minute, he’s moving!’.”

~

Today’s Gospel is all about fear and death. 

Not only fear and death, but who gets to dictate to us what to fear and who gets to dictate to us what things are actually dead. 

We are presented with two options in these two miracle stories; 

Jesus or the popular majority. 

Things haven’t changed all that much since Jesus’ day either. 

For the most part, the popular majority gets to dictate to us all just what is living and what is dead. 

The popular majority also gets to dictate to us all what we should fear and what we should not. 

And at times, the finger of that majority is pointed squarely at our own foreheads. 

WE are the ones to be feared. 

That is exactly what occurs in today’s gospel as this woman, who has been suffering from twelve years of blood surging from her body, attempts to reach out in desperation for Jesus. 

I know you’ve been told this before, but -in Jesus' day- the flow of blood coming from this woman, any break in the skin, or anyone who was bleeding even slightly, meant they were to be isolated. They were contagious. They were unclean, and they were to be feared until the problem was contained. 

So, when this woman sneaks in behind the crowd, she isn’t sneaking up on Jesus, she is trying to sneak in behind the crowd, avoiding the crowd's judgement. 

She is trying to avoid their fear, their condemnation, their persecution. 

A fear that has not only been dictated to the crowd, but it has been dictated to her as well. 

She believes that it is acceptable for them to be in fear of her. She knows she is unclean, and she believes they have every right to be in fear of her. 

She doesn’t know the cause of her ailment. 

She has exhausted every resource at her disposal to alleviate the problem, yet it has only gotten worse. 

In desperation, she reaches out to Jesus. 

She hopes to go unseen, unnoticed.  

This is one of those “better to ask for forgiveness than permission moments,” because if she asks Jesus directly to heal her ailment, she will announce her ailment before the fearful crowd's scorning gaze that has surrounded them both. 

Sneaking into that crowd would have had consequences. 

Much like the lepers in other stories, it is her responsibility to maintain her distance from others, to isolate herself from the rest of society. 

But this is a story of desperation. 

It is a story that shows us all, that fear cannot deter desperation. 

The most desperate will always muster up the courage to confront the fears others impose as deterrents. 

It is also a story about what we should truly fear. 

Because what we should truly fear is not the fears imposed by the popular majority, it is the fear and trembling that drops this woman to her knees before Jesus. 

One piece that gets lost in translation, is that Jesus’ eyes are locked upon this woman after he scans the crowd and asks just who has touched him. 

It is well within Jesus’ power to expose this woman, revealing the unclean and unlawful act that she has committed.

Yet, she is no longer in fear of the crowd. She is in awe of the power of God that has been revealed in Christ. 

Before Jesus even has the opportunity to proclaim her healed, she should have fled the scene in fear of the crowd, 

But she remains, unable to move, only able to confess to Jesus and the crowd surrounding them both the whole truth of her situation. 

Freed from her fear of being exposed to this crowd, freed of her fear of the consequences!

The healing of a bleeding woman, Rome, Catacombs of Marcellinus and Peter.
4th ct. A.C.

Fear is as alive and well as it has ever been. 

We are coming up on two years since our last presidential election. 

Out of all the sermons I have preached in this place, I remember that Sunday, following the election as clearly as almost any Sunday I have preached since. 

The Gospel was from Luke 21:5-19

Jesus’ prediction of the temple’s destruction. 

A destruction that Jesus accurately predicts occurring from not only within the temple walls but within that temple community. 

I recall being a little intimidated with the task of preaching on that Sunday and that moment in our nation’s history, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it in light of that powerful text. 

Preaching a word of warning against becoming a nation divided, much like that community that tore down their most holy of holies. 

Today, I’m a bit less intimidated, having preached far more than nine sermons to this congregation like on that particular Sunday. 

But this text speaks to this moment in our nation’s history in a unique and a powerful way that I cannot avoid. 

Because our fears are dictated to us by the popular majorities of our nation, today more than ever. 

Our popular majorities and crowds select ringleaders to muster up fear and division among each and every one of us. 

We buy into it, we repackage, and we sell it as our own. 

Whether we tune into Sean Hannity, Rachel Maddow, Laura Ingram, or  Lawrence O’Donnell,  

-just to name a few, but there are many others out there-

We muster up fear in our own respective crowds. 

We are so busy trying to find our like minded crowds, we forget that each and every one of us is probably carrying some kind of disease or sin in our own lives. 

Sin and disease that could turn our own crowds or tribes against us at the drop of a hat, if it were to slip out into the crowds, tribes, and parties where we feel so at home. 

Yet we subscribe to that tribalism and devotion to our own crowds with a sense of loyalty, that far surpasses the loyalty, devotion, and  LOVE that we should have for the whole, for ALL people. 

A whole nation of people, with different views, diseases, and sins, that make us whole. 

I love my country, but the symbol of our flag, our pledge, our national anthem, it just means so many different things to so many different people today. 

I really want to believe these are all still symbols that unite us, but I don’t know if that is something that holds the same power to draw us together anymore. 

We are far too devoted to our own tribes and our own crowds, rather than a united sense of community and DECENCY! 

Yet, there is another symbol revealed to us and that is the Word and witness of  Christ Jesus. 

If we are really honest about that symbol, that reveals God to us all,

perhaps we can be freed of our own fear and expose ourselves without shame amongst those crowds?

Perhaps our nation can heal and be made whole once more? 

Photo by Jason Zeis on Unsplash

This second healing story is split in two by the healing of the woman who reaches out to Jesus in the crowd. 

Jesus ends up being sidetracked on his way to Jairus’ house, to heal his daughter who is on the verge of death. 

And here we see another crowd attempting to dictate to Jairus and Jesus just who and what is to be declared dead. 

It isn’t hard to imagine the anguish Jairus feels in the pit of his stomach or the pain revealed upon his face. 

After all, this is a man that is no less desperate than the woman who desperately reaches out to just brush her hand upon Jesus’ garment. 

This man, too, has fallen upon his knees at the sight of Jesus in desperation at the very beginning of the story. 

And when his daughter is declared dead, his worst fear is dictated to him by another crowed of messengers. 

Jesus’ statement to Jairus is not a command or a suggestion but an urging, perhaps even a plea, that he continue to hold to his belief and not give into the temptation to fear the worst. 

Jesus attempts to quiet the crowd’s mourning upon reaching the house.

A crowd that is attempting to stir up and evoke emotional chaos, a fervor of grief and anxiety. 

He attempts to silence their irrational rambling and senseless commotion by announcing that the child is not dead but is in fact sleeping. 

Isn't it odd how Jesus can command the howling winds and turbulent sea, but when confronting the crowd they only respond in laughter and disbelief?

Perhaps when we gather into our own crowds, guided by the beliefs of our own tribes, we are far less faithful than even the elements of nature?

And as simply as Jesus commanded the elements of nature on the sea of Galilee when he says “Peace, be still” in our gospel last week, 

He again uses just two measly words, “Child, rise.”

Gabriel von Max, The Raising of the Daughter of Jairus  (PD) 1881

One of the downfalls of humanity, is that we give up far too easily. 

Not necessarily giving up on ourselves, but on hope. 

We are far too willing to give up on each other, on our potential to be good and loving and kind. 

We are far too willing to give up on the ideals that make us united as countrymen. 

We are far too willing to declare others diseased, tainted, or blighted because they seem like a threat to us. 

We are far too willing to ignore the humanity of each and every person in our midst, in spite of how precious we all are in the sight of God. 

As we commemorate Independence Day this week, I’m not so sure we can look to our nation’s symbols to unite us any longer. 

I don’t think those symbols are dead, I truly believe there is life left in those symbols that represent who we really and truly are, much like the daughter of Jairus.  

It makes me sad, but not hopeless. 

I still believe that we as a nation have tremendous potential. 

I still believe that we as a people can stand for something far more powerful than just a strong military and a strong economy. 

I still believe that we as a nation will not only survive, but we can be a symbol of new life, if we just believe in a hope beyond our own survival, a hope beyond our own crowds. 

Maybe, just maybe, there is a symbol powerful enough to show that death is in God’s hands, not our own. +

Amen

Photo by Chris Dixon on Unsplash