Mark 5:21-43 (Jairus and the woman with the issue of blood)

Let’s get started this morning by reading our text, Mark 5:21-43.

”21 And when Jesus was passed over again by ship unto the other side, much people gathered unto him: and he was nigh unto the sea. 22 And, behold, there cometh one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name; and when he saw him, he fell at his feet, 23 And besought him greatly, saying, My little daughter lieth at the point of death: [I pray thee], come and lay thy hands on her, that she may be healed; and she shall live. 24 And [Jesus] went with him; and much people followed him, and thronged him. 25 And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, 26 And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse, 27 When she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. 28 For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole. 29 And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in [her] body that she was healed of that plague. 30 And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes? 31 And his disciples said unto him, Thou seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me? 32 And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing. 33 But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what was done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth. 34 And he said unto her, Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague. 35 While he yet spake, there came from the ruler of the synagogue's [house certain] which said, Thy daughter is dead: why troublest thou the Master any further? 36 As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken, he saith unto the ruler of the synagogue, Be not afraid, only believe. 37 And he suffered no man to follow him, save Peter, and James, and John the brother of James. 38 And he cometh to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and seeth the tumult, and them that wept and wailed greatly. 39 And when he was come in, he saith unto them, Why make ye this ado, and weep? the damsel is not dead, but sleepeth. 40 And they laughed him to scorn. But when he had put them all out, he taketh the father and the mother of the damsel, and them that were with him, and entereth in where the damsel was lying. 41 And he took the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cumi; which is, being interpreted, Damsel, I say unto thee, arise. 42 And straightway the damsel arose, and walked; for she was [of the age] of twelve years. And they were astonished with a great astonishment. 43 And he charged them straitly that no man should know it; and commanded that something should be given her to eat.” (Mar 5:21-43 KJV)

What was the longest night of your life?

When Audrey was one year old, we started looking at her pictures, and we noticed that in almost all of them, she had this weird white eye. I’d worked in a photo lab. I’d seen a lot of red-eye photos, but this was different. It was in almost all of her candid photos. We also had people start coming to us and telling us that they noticed that one of her eyes was lazy and didn’t focus with the other.

So like any good parents, we went on Google (bad idea). It turns out that there is a very aggressive form of cancer called retinoblastoma that kills kids all the time, and that the easiest way to spot it is—you guessed it—white eyes in baby photos.

So we went to the doctor. The doctor looked in her eye (not an easy thing to do with a one-year-old). “That’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like that before. We need to get an MRI.” So we go to the hospital, and they put our little baby to sleep. Then they put her in that machine, and when it’s over, we go home and wait for the results.

We get a call from her doctor that night at 11 P.M. I don’t know how many of you have had your doctor call at 11 P.M., but that’s not normal practice. He tells us that she has something called a glioma on her optic nerve inside of her brain. He told us there was a chance it was cancerous, and there was a chance it was a sign of another disease. If she had that, then she would get these tumors all over her body for the rest of her life.

Obviously, you know the end of this story. Audrey’s fine. She doesn’t see out of one eye, but you’d never know it. She doesn’t have cancer, and she doesn’t have tumors growing all over her body. But it took a year and a lot of trips to the hospital to figure that out.

That night when we got that doctor’s call was the longest night of my life. I thought I was going to lose my little girl or at least see her go through unimaginable pain.

I tell you that story because I sympathize with the Jairus in this story. His little girl was dying. If you’ve ever seen one of your little ones sick or been told they have some disease, then you know. It’s tough. This was his only daughter. She was 12. She was on her deathbed, and there was nothing this man could do.

The other main character in this story is a little harder for me to relate to personally. There was a woman who had “an issue of blood.” That means there was something wrong in her reproductive system, and she was hemmoraging a small amount of blood constantly.

That doesn’t sound like a big deal. It’s not life-threatening; a little gross, but that’s it.

But she was a Jew, so it was a very, very big deal. It meant that she would be divorced from her husband. It meant that she would be ceremonially unclean and barred from the synagogue and from the temple court. It meant her social, religious, and family life were cut off from her.

I read this illustration someone wrote from her point of view, and I’m going to read it to you because I think it will help you understand what this lady was going through:

I’d gotten used to the bleeding. And the weakness that went along with it. But it was the loneliness that consumed me.

For twelve years, my body has unnaturally bled. At first I thought it was just my monthly courses run long, but then it didn’t stop. I tried to hide it from my family of course, smuggling out the dirty rags to wash down at the river. But nothing gets past my mother. When she found out she just gave me that look, you know the one, the one that told me that I was a complete failure – worthless. Whatever was she going to do with an unclean daughter?

At first they tried to take me to doctors. Always the Roman doctors, not the Jewish ones – they didn’t want it getting out in our community that I was unclean. The doctors were more than willing to take my parents’ money, but nothing they did helped. The bleeding just continued – and I grew weaker and weaker. When it got to the point that I was too weak to even help my mother with the chores, my father had the idea to marry me off as quickly as possible. I assume he knew that my condition would be discovered, but then I would be another man’s problem.

I’m surprised I survived the night my husband found out the truth. I think I passed out sometime after the third blow weak as I was. The next thing I knew he had thrown me at my father’s doorstep – demanding payment for the humiliation of having been given worthless goods. My father, of course, denied knowing anything at all – calling me a deceptive harlot, spitting in my face, and saying that I was no daughter of his.

Now everyone knew I was unclean. No one could touch me, and everything I touched or anywhere I sat immediately became unclean. No shopkeeper would allow me near his wares; no housewife would allow me to pause to catch my breath on her doorstep. I begged as best I could for the occasional bite of bread, as my condition even barred me from the profession most desperate women end up turning to. No one wanted me.

So like I said, I got used to the bleeding and the weakness, but the loneliness got to me. No one’s touched me for nearly twelve years. Oh, I’ve been spat upon and received the occasional kick from daring young boys – but no hugs, no shoulder to cry upon, no sister to help braid my hair. And it’s been that long since I’ve been allowed in the synagogue as well – to raise my voice in praise to God or hear the precious words of the Torah read. I am as invisible and worthless to God as I am to everyone else.

So for the same time that Jairus had been enjoying his only daughter, this lady had been living this little hell of ostracization and loneliness because of this silly disease. She did what anyone would do in her situation: She sought help.

Verse 26 says:

”And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse”

She went to the doctors. Now I don’t want to disparage doctors, but sometimes, even today, they don’t know what they are doing. I’m not saying I could do better; just that they don’t always get it right.

Jewish literature gives us all kinds of kooky remedies that the doctors were to try for this particular disease. Listen to this:

Rabbi Jochanan says: "Take of gum Alexandria, of alum, and of crocus hortensis, the weight of a zuzee each; let them be bruised together, and given in wine to the woman that hath an issue of blood.” But if this fail, "Take of Persian onions nine logs, boil them in wine, and give it to her to drink: and say, Arise from thy flux.” But should this fail, "Set her in a place where two ways meet, and let her hold a cup of wine in her hand; and let somebody come behind and affright her, and say, Arise from thy flux."

“Practicing medicine,” right?

So this story paints for us two desperate characters: One about to lose his daughter and one who has lost twelve years to a terrible disease. I want to focus on these characters this morning and first show you the contrast between them—or what set them apart from each other—and then look at the common faith they had. Lastly, we’ll talk about what we have in common with them.

Let’s pray and I’ll give you those points.

The first thing I want you to see this morning is…

The Contrast Between These Characters

From society’s standpoint, you would be hard pressed to find two more different characters than Jairus and this woman.

To start, one was a man, and the other was a woman. In a very paternalistic society, people would have viewed Jairus as far more valuable than this woman, even if there was nothing wrong with her.

Secondly, Jairus was a respected leader of the synagogue—something like a pastor today—but it was an unpaid position. Likely, Jairus was very wealthy and very well connected. This woman, on the other hand, was rejected and viewed as unclean from the synagogue. She was rejected by the very society that Jairus was in charge of.

Jairus had a happy family and lots of friends. This woman would have been an outcast from her family and friends and deemed untouchable.

For twelve years, Jairus has been enjoying the happiness of his daughter. For those same twelve years, this woman has been a lonely outcast, spending all her money on quack doctors and hopeless cures.

To sum it up, Jairus is on the top of society. This woman is on the bottom. Jairus is seen by society as a winner. This woman as the ultimate loser.

It would be hard to come up with two people more different than these two, but what did they have in common?

Let’s look at…

The Commonality Between These Characters

Why is this one story? If both of these people are so different, why does every gospel put these two stories together as one? What’s the common theme here?

I think it’s this: Both of these people came to Jesus by faith.

Now, think about what their faith was like.

It was a superstitious faith.

Jairus had it in his mind that Jesus had to come into the girl’s presence and lay hands on her for her to be healed. He must have been thinking Jesus had some kind of magic ability or something. This woman had no doubt heard that holy men’s shadow or clothes could be holy and have healing power, and so she just wanted to get a hold of His clothes.

Both of those things sound kind of superstitious, almost like they are going to a medicine man or something, and we know that Jesus isn’t like that. But they came.

A second thing I notice about their faith is that…

It was a hesitant faith

Many commentators and preachers have pointed out that Jairus, as the ruler of the synagogue, was a Pharisee. At the very best, he was probably on the fence about Jesus, but it’s very likely he was opposed to Him. It wasn’t until he had no other option—until the doctors said “there is nothing more that we can do”—that he humbled himself and came to Jesus.

Then you look at this woman, and she seems equally bold and timid. She’s bold to push herself into this crowd where she isn’t wanted, but she doesn’t have the boldness to ask Jesus. She wants to just reach out and touch His clothes, hoping He won’t even notice.

They were both hesitant.

A third thing about their faith is…

It was an ignorant faith

You can read this whole chapter, and nothing gives you the sense that either Jairus or this woman fully grasped who Jesus was. They knew He was special. They knew He was a healer. But you never get the idea that they recognized that He was Messiah, the Son of God. They came with what little knowledge they had, and it was just a little knowledge.

They were ignorant.

So why did they come—superstitious, hesitant, and ignorant? They came because they had…

A Desperate Faith

The Commonality Between Them and Us