"From Tears to Laughter"

July 1, 2012

Gospel Reading:  Mark 5:21-29, 34-43

²¹When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. ²²Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet (descends from a higher place to a lower) ²³and 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." ²⁴So he went with him.

And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. ²⁵Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. ²⁶She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. ²⁷She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, ²⁸for she said, "If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well." ²⁹Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. ^{…. 34}He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease."

³⁵While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader's house to say, "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?" ³⁶But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, "Do not fear, only believe." ³⁷He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. ³⁸When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. ³⁹When he had entered, he said to them, "Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping." ⁴⁰And 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. ⁴¹He took her by the hand and said to her, "Talitha cum," which means, "Little girl, get up!" ⁴²And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. ⁴³He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

SERMON: From Tears to Laughter

I once read this morning’s passage from Mark in the emergency room waiting area of a large hospital in Atlanta.  It was part of what my seminary class called “dislocated exegesis”: good grief, we came up with ridiculous names for things!  That fancy title just means that we were assigned to read a Bible passage in a strange place.  People read on the bus, in restaurants, homeless shelters, and some probably just read in their dorm rooms. 

As I sat in that place where no one really wants to be, I read, “there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years…” and  I looked up.  At that exact moment, someone wheeled by a huge shipment of blood, in a white box with a big red cross on it. 

I suppose I was dislocated: I couldn’t read this passage the same way again.  Suddenly the real, physical, life-draining condition of that nameless woman (only labeled by her disease, “The Hemorrhaging Woman”) stared me in the face, and I could no longer sanitize this story as a simple healing. 

Yes, it is a story of healing, but also of deep desperation.  For, this brazen woman must have been desperate to push her way into that crowd that pressing in on all sides.   Willing to risk it all to be made well, she knew she would make them all unclean as she shoved her way to Jesus.  She was bleeding everywhere.   And in touching the hem of Jesus’ ragged robe, she made him also unclean in the eyes of the religious establishment (who happens to be named Jairus). 

That doesn’t seem to bother Jesus: he tells her that her faith has made her well and that she can go in peace because she is now clean, and he calls her Daughter, restoring her place with her people once again.   It’s curious that we continue to refer to her by her illness instead of the name “Daughter” Jesus gave her.

I wonder how Jairus felt about all this.  He was, after all, the head honcho of the strict synagogue and here came this wild, bleeding woman to interrupt a much more important healing: that of his twelve year old daughter.  Yes, we have two daughters here, one with a loving and desperate father to seek her healing and the other cast off because of her illness and orphaned as “unclean.”  One is twelve years old, far too young to be so sick.  The other has been suffering with her sickness for twelve years, far too long to endure it.

I would imagine that Jairus, sweating in his heavy opulent robe and emotionally ragged, was only thinking of his daughter, which of course any parent would do.  After this interruptive healing, he wanted to drag Jesus away to her bedside, but before they could even take a step, some less-than-compassionate folks from Jairus’ house come.  "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?"  And with those blunt words, Jairus’ whole world crumbles. 

But Jesus never forgot the other daughter.  Telling Jairus to not fear, only believe, he rushes to the house to find it as emotionally explosive as an emergency room: people are weeping and wailing over the loss of such a young girl.  Jesus then asks them the most ridiculous question, “Why are you weeping?  The child is not dead but sleeping.”  And with tears still streaming down their weary faces, they laugh at him.  They laugh with the bitterness of lost life, with sarcasm and derision.  They laugh at Jairus, too, for thinking that this crackpot rule-breaker could possibly heal his daughter.  They laugh because Jesus has given them a target for their grief: himself, just as he gave the first daughter a target for her suffering. 

Jesus puts them out of the room, takes the little girl’s hand and speaks the words she had probably heard every morning of her life, “Little girl, get up.”  And she does.  Everyone is amazed.  And the laughter dies on their lips as she lives. 

This story would be so much easier to digest if Jesus had just done things decently and in good order and first healed the person who was first in line (and most important). Or perhaps if he had formed a committee to deal with the hemorrhaging woman while he himself went on to Jairus’ house.  But Jesus doesn’t fit into how we like to do things: while we have ideas about being on time and late, he doesn’t.  Wherever there are people in need is where he needs to be at that moment, and it’s never too late to make people whole, even after death. 

While we understand economies of limit, where there’s only so much to go around (and if we give it away we won’t have it), he doesn’t see things that way.  His compassion is extravagant and never runs out, even if he has to use a bit of it on someone else on his way to us.  There’s enough grace to go around, and actually, if we really look at our lives, holding onto our gifts tightly doesn’t make them grow: giving them away does. 

While our world is categorized as the “first” and the “third” world, placing worth in numerical terms (with no “second world” to be found: you’re either first or last!), Jesus sees two equal daughters in this story, even if one happens to be from a wealthy, religious family and the other is a poor, shunned outcast. 

Above all of this, I see the heart of this compelling story in that involuntary laughter from the mourners.  The faith that God can and does work in this world, interrupting our sorrows with joy and our hardships with hope is utterly laughable. 

The belief that, in a world of war, wildfires and weariness, every person is a son and daughter in our human family and thus deserves our compassion is hilarious.    The notion that God’s favor turns our structures of wealth and worth upside down, to serve all without limit, is comical. 

Sometimes it is laughter that motivates us to become who we are meant to be.  Perhaps that laughter helped Jesus heal that little girl.  When I was in high school, I was once asked by a trusted teacher what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Without hesitation, I said, “I want to be a missionary.”  And she laughed at me.  (Did I mention she was actually a member of the Presbyterian church I belonged to?)  She responded, through laughter, “Nooo, Whitney, you’re too much of a bleeding heart to do that.”  Huh.  I kinda thought a bleeding heart for others you want to serve was a good thing. 

Her laughter, like the laughter of those grief-stricken folks in our story who could only see the obstacles right in front of them, motivated me to claim new life.  To commit to following my call, never allowing my heart to stop bleeding for people.  I did become a missionary in Northern Ireland.  And I still am a missionary.  We all are. 

Following our comical Savior means that we will at times have to walk the road of rejection that he walked: allowing the suffering of the world to actually touch us, allowing the grief of others to find a place of solace in us.  Even allowing ourselves to be laughed at, as we defy the categories placed upon us and others and seek instead the wholeness of all of our sisters and brothers in this world.  Amen.