NEVER IN A HURRY
I've been reading Luke in my morning devotions. Having just finished Mark, I was eager to dive into another gospel account, and one that, while perhaps lacking in the action orientation of Mark, had going for it Luke's historian perspective (i.e. precise and sequential).
For the first few days, though, I missed the action. Luke's stories, while told in chronological order, didn't seem to have the dramatic juxtapositions of Mark's account. Today, though, I got to the story of Jairus and the bleeding woman, a great juxtaposition if there ever was one.
Like Mark, Luke tells of a religious leader, Jairus, who falls at Jesus' feet and begs him to see his ailing daughter. As the crowd excitedly follows Jesus, I imagine it like a movie scene, with dramatic music announcing that something great is about to happen. The throngs can't get enough of this excitement, or of this Jesus, and hang onto Him, knowing that wherever He goes, amazing things are about to happen.
In the midst of this pulsating crowd, a woman slithers her way to the middle, and touches the hem of Jesus' garment. Immediately, she is healed of a mysterious and debilitating blood flow, which she had battled for twelve years and which (I believe) made her ceremonially unclean. She was actually breaking the religious law to be out in public like this, let alone grasping at the clothing of the greatest of religious leaders.
Jesus stops in His tracks, and asks (to those around him) a ridiculous question: "Who touched Me?" Peter, in so many words, says, "Um, Jesus . . . like everyone is touching You right now." The woman cowers in fear. She has been discovered. She is out in the open, where she isn't supposed to be. She has angered Jesus. She has interrupted an urgent emergency call for the healing of a dying girl.
And Jesus treats her so tenderly. She is allowed to tell her whole story, and Jesus sends her away with a word of blessing. It is, for me, one of the more moving accounts of the tenderness of God towards those of us who are unclean, bleeding, and desperate.
As if on cue, a messenger arrives to say they are too late to save the girl. What must Jairus have thought at that moment? I know I would've been furious at this desperate woman for stalling Jesus. Perhaps Jesus anticipated this; he says, "Don't worry; just believe." He arrives at the bed of the sick girl, proclaiming she's not dead, to which the mourners burst into laughter. But Jesus raises her from the dead, and returns her to Jairus. No need to hurry, when you're with Jesus; even death cannot stop Him.
I have never met anyone who was so wonderful a combination of tenderness and authority. I must have Him.
I've been reading Luke in my morning devotions. Having just finished Mark, I was eager to dive into another gospel account, and one that, while perhaps lacking in the action orientation of Mark, had going for it Luke's historian perspective (i.e. precise and sequential).
For the first few days, though, I missed the action. Luke's stories, while told in chronological order, didn't seem to have the dramatic juxtapositions of Mark's account. Today, though, I got to the story of Jairus and the bleeding woman, a great juxtaposition if there ever was one.
Like Mark, Luke tells of a religious leader, Jairus, who falls at Jesus' feet and begs him to see his ailing daughter. As the crowd excitedly follows Jesus, I imagine it like a movie scene, with dramatic music announcing that something great is about to happen. The throngs can't get enough of this excitement, or of this Jesus, and hang onto Him, knowing that wherever He goes, amazing things are about to happen.
In the midst of this pulsating crowd, a woman slithers her way to the middle, and touches the hem of Jesus' garment. Immediately, she is healed of a mysterious and debilitating blood flow, which she had battled for twelve years and which (I believe) made her ceremonially unclean. She was actually breaking the religious law to be out in public like this, let alone grasping at the clothing of the greatest of religious leaders.
Jesus stops in His tracks, and asks (to those around him) a ridiculous question: "Who touched Me?" Peter, in so many words, says, "Um, Jesus . . . like everyone is touching You right now." The woman cowers in fear. She has been discovered. She is out in the open, where she isn't supposed to be. She has angered Jesus. She has interrupted an urgent emergency call for the healing of a dying girl.
And Jesus treats her so tenderly. She is allowed to tell her whole story, and Jesus sends her away with a word of blessing. It is, for me, one of the more moving accounts of the tenderness of God towards those of us who are unclean, bleeding, and desperate.
As if on cue, a messenger arrives to say they are too late to save the girl. What must Jairus have thought at that moment? I know I would've been furious at this desperate woman for stalling Jesus. Perhaps Jesus anticipated this; he says, "Don't worry; just believe." He arrives at the bed of the sick girl, proclaiming she's not dead, to which the mourners burst into laughter. But Jesus raises her from the dead, and returns her to Jairus. No need to hurry, when you're with Jesus; even death cannot stop Him.
I have never met anyone who was so wonderful a combination of tenderness and authority. I must have Him.
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