Pentecost 6, 7/1/18: Jesus on the Loose

Sermon for Pentecost 6, 7/1/18                     Mark 5:21-43                                 Jesus on the Loose

                                                                                           

At first hearing, the two incidents in this sandwich story may seem unrelated. They are about very different people:

·      a man of status and dignity (a leader of the synagogue, Jairus), who is desperate over his daughter’s grave illness and resorts to pleading at Jesus’ feet.

·      a woman (unnamed) who has been bleeding for 12 years, out of money and endurance. She’s become an outcast. Her life is spent, and most would write her off. 

But the stories have details in common. The little girl raised to life was 12 years old (a tiny detail Mark adds at the end of that storyline). And the woman with the bleeding has been sick for 12 years. And we catch that there is more going on here than two random stories stuck together. There are other connections: both of those needing healing are women, faith needed in both stories, touch important, both petitioners kneel, in both stories bystanders are annoyed.

            Who gets undivided attention from Jesus? The woman who catches him in the crowd. And if the events really did happen the way Mark tells them—Jesus heading toward Jairus’ house but interrupted by this encounter—wouldn’t Jairus have worried? I wonder if he was thinking, ‘while Jesus is wasting his time on that woman, my daughter is dying by the second. What if he runs out of power?’ I feel for Jairus, especially when his friends come to say no need to hurry now; it’s too late.

Why does Mark choose to sandwich these stories together? Why cause us anxiety as readers and risk people getting the wrong impression of Jesus’ care and concern? Why not simply finish one story and then tell the other? What is the point of the sandwich? Where’s the beef? 

Remember the Wendy’s commercial from the 1980s, with three old women sitting in a fast food hamburger joint examining a sandwich. “That’s a really big bun,” one comments. “A big, fluffy bun,” another adds as she removes the top. And then the tiniest little old lady glimpses the tiny hamburger patty and growls, “Where’s the beef?”         

For my money, the beef in THIS sandwich is NOT the bleeding woman, the synagogue leader Jairus or his dying daughter. They draw us into the story with their faith and the desperation of their two situations. We want to stand up for that woman, and to cheer when Jesus takes Jairus’ daughter by the hand and says, “Little girl, get up.” But these stories are the big fluffy bun. The center of this sandwich—wht  gives it fullness and flavor, the beef—that’s Jesus. And there’s plenty of it!

He is more than a faith healer, more than a magician or charismatic teacher. He is God on two legs, God on the loose. And ONE of him—whether you get to him after he’s been pursued by anxious crowds for days or in the moment he has felt power go out from him to a bleeding woman—one of HIM is always more than enough—for everyone.  

Maybe Mark wants us to see something about priorities, too. Remember who gets Jesus’ immediate and unswerving attention in this sandwich story. It’s not the important person—he has to wait. No, it’s pretty clear that status and title (‘leader of the synagogue’) don’t make a hill of beans of difference in when or whether you get attention from Jesus. Neither do gender, or age, or ancient purity laws.

Jesus makes the first last and the last first. Later in Mark’s Gospel, he will tell his slow-to-learn disciples: the one who would be first among you must be your servant. It was his way of living among us: choosing the poor, the leper, the one possessed by demons, the blind, and the hungry over the ones on top. 

We SAY Jesus is our model. When faced with decisions we ask ourselves, “What would Jesus do?” We already know the answer: help the helpless, stand up for the powerless, feed the hungry, work through our system of government to care for families and children, no matter their country of origin. And when our system won’t bend, work tirelessly for change. All that we are called to do—YES?

But this story has something else to teach us, a little gem of truth that is tied up in what Jesus says to the weary, bleeding woman who touches his cloak. Remember what he calls her? Daughter, he calls her daughter: “Daughter, your faith has made you well.” 

Recently I was digging through some boxes and came across pictures from my wedding. The picture I love most is the one with my father and me standing together, grinning, with our heads turned slightly toward each other. And I can clearly see in my face my father’s face. He is long gone, more than 20 years. But he lives on in my face, in my long fingers and flat feet. He was as outgoing with strangers as Pastor Brook, and though I am not so much, the pieces of my dad that live in me provide a strong compass for direction and purpose in my life. I will forever be his ‘daughter.’ 

In giving the bleeding woman a name—daughter—no doubt a surprise to bystanders, Jesus immediately claimed her as family. He gave her the gift of community and affirmed her as genuine kin of the Son of God. In her face his face was reflected.

Friends, in that very same way, Jesus calls each of us ‘daughter’ or ‘son.’ When we look at one another, do we see his face? When we watch one another at work, do we see his hands and feet? 

He’s loose in the world, surely beyond this place, too. He’s out there, occupying hearts and hands and faces we don’t yet know and quite a few, I suspect, that you and I would not consider first-place contenders for the Kingdom of God. Even when we forget, Jesus remembers—the first will be last and the last first. His goal is to draw them all to him, all the daughters and sons.

So why do we worry about who deserves our help, our food, our time, our money and our attention? Why do we calculate so carefully how much and whom to forgive? They are our family. If Jesus is really on the loose in us and countless others, members of our family, what will it take to live into his generosity and abundance? Can we let him change our game plan for life?

Can we let the Jesus in us make us bold enough to give freely, without worry about who deserves what, or which causes inside or outside of church are worthy of support? Spending our time, money, hands, and voices on behalf of justice and fairness for all—that takes so much energy. Can we trust that with Jesus in us, we’ll have all we need? Can we trust that when we stretch ourselves God will surprise us with abundance—in Wendy’s language, a bigger burger than we can imagine?  

Where’s the beef? It’s Christ in us, folks, big as life…..Don’t you think it’s time to chow down? 

Amen.