The Power to be Brought Low and Raise Up
Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
When the time comes for me to talk about Jesus’s ‘miracles’ in my courses, I always get a little bit uncomfortable—every semester, every time, despite having taught on the subject for almost ten years now. Or if people ask me, I’ll hem and haw, generally just saying ‘it’s complicated’. It’s one of the main reasons I don’t tell people that I’m a theologian; especially if I’m going to be sitting next to someone on a plane for eight hours. The gospel writer, Mark, on the other hand, loves miracles—he can hardly get enough of them, it seems.
Our world today is, for the most part, very scientifically and rationally minded, so it can be difficult for us to wrap our heads around the idea of the miraculous. People will ridicule religious people precisely for the reason of purportedly believing in miracles: ‘how gullible, or stupid, or wilfully ignorant do you have to be to believe that stuff?’ So you might imagine it is a fairly thankless task, trying to explain miracles. Nonetheless, the gospel reading today has, not one, but two.
As a matter of logic, it is more responsible to say that it is possible for miracles to happen, than to say that miracles are impossible. As much as science has come to know and continues to discover about the natural world, science, just as a sheer statement of fact, has not yet come to know everything about everything. Further, any good scientist knows that there are phenomena for which there is no definite or exact explanation.
Miraculous occurrences are not just limited to Jesus and his disciples, but are said to happen even in our own time. There have been many canonisations in the past few years, most of which requiring at least two miracles be verified as legitimate. One of the most frequent miracles performed by Jesus was the exorcism of demons; today there around 50 Catholic exorcists in the United States alone, who apparently are quite busy. I do not think I have ever seen a miracle, maybe someday. The only ‘exorcism’ I’ve seen is the one performed at every Catholic baptism, which a lot of people don’t even notice. But, I suppose it is possible for these things to happen, and rationally I cannot rule it out.
In my experience most of the people I have met who do believe in miracles have no real explanation as to why, they ‘just do’. There are also those who are very devout, but believe everything about Jesus ‘except the miracles part’. However, scripture scholars remind us: miracles are not only included, but prominently featured, in every gospel. This is referred to as ‘multiple attestation’, and it means that it really has to be taken seriously as something Jesus actually did. So we might have to adjust our scepticism, at least allowing that although we don’t necessarily understand the miraculous, miracles are possible.
The gospels do not use the term ‘miracle’, which actually just means something that causes great wonder, but use the word ‘δυνάμεις’ (dynameis), meaning ‘powerful or mighty act’, ‘ἔργα’(erga), ‘works’, or ‘σημεια’ (semeia), ‘signs’. And they are signs, according to the prophetic tradition, that the Reign of God is at hand: the lame walk, the blind see, the dead are raised, the captives are set free, and the poor have abundance. These are not performed by Jesus to convince people of his divinity, but to demonstrate the Reign of God is indeed at hand, and that God’s power can transform those who have faith. The gospel writers are actually very careful in how they phrase these events, using specific grammar, indicating that this is God’s power, enacted in and through Jesus. It is primarily important that the person receiving the powerful act has great faith. Where the people do not have faith in Jesus, he is not able to perform these signs.
Mark, in the context of his community, was concerned that members, as well as those first hearing of Jesus’s powerful works, would misunderstand their significance. The Gentiles were not familiar with the idea of the messiah, or Christ, and could easily mistake Jesus for a more common cultural figure of superstition they called the ‘divine man’, who had special powers. This is actually why, as we heard, Jesus frequently tells the people not to tell anyone what he did: ‘He gave strict orders that no one should know this’. He also only allows Peter, James, and John,—the same inner circle of disciples who witness the transfiguration—to join him and the parents of the girl. These are just two examples of the theme that is often referred to as ‘messianic secret’. Further, in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus only allows people to refer to him as the messiah once he has been beaten, humiliated, and crucified. Otherwise, they would misunderstand that this messiah does not simply perform mighty deeds, but also is the suffering servant, who becomes the lowest of the low.
This contrast between the powerful, and the poor, suffering, and humiliated, has a strong presence in today’s readings. Jesus is approached by a powerful, rather wealthy man—Jairus, the chief elder of the synagogue (ἀρχισυναγώγων) who brings himself low, throwing himself at Jesus’s feet and begging him earnestly to help. Jesus agrees to help, but then the bleeding woman touches his garment. Despite the urgency expressed by Jairus, he stops to seek out the woman who touched him.
The misery of this poor woman is difficult to imagine. Aside from the obvious discomfort of the medical condition, she would have been ‘unclean’, no one being allowed to touch her, including her husband, who would have been able to legally divorce her for having this condition, leaving her destitute, having to spend what little money she had on treatments that only made things worse. Incidentally, she also would have been shunned by the synagogue for her impurity. Thus, twelve years of horrible suffering and humiliation. The reason she has to grab at his cloak is because she’s not even supposed to be in that crowd of people pressing in on Jesus; she did not want to draw attention to herself. Jesus took the time to look for the woman, and approaches her, calling her ‘Daughter’, which I don’t think he calls anyone else in Mark’s Gospel. Her medical condition has been healed through Jesus, and now he wants to address her social affliction: ‘Daughter, your faith has saved you. Go in peace and be cured of your affliction’. Jesus is probably the first person to even talk to her in these twelve lonely years, except perhaps to tell her to get away. He addresses her so warmly, re-establishing social wellness. In the Greek there is a sense of being made whole again, not just physically, but in every sense.
Having taken his time with the healed woman, with no sense of urgency, he and Jairus, who is probably feeling bewildered and increasingly hopeless, are informed that they are too late, the girl has already died. Jesus simply says, ‘Don’t worry, have faith.’ If you imagine yourself in Jairus’s position, which is what Mark wants us to do: this is the worst nightmare of any parent; being told your child is dead.
The phrase Jesus uses to bring the girl back to life is preserved in the Greek and the English text: Talitha coum, which is Aramaic, the language Jesus spoke. The actual words, spoken by the Word made flesh. There is something rather remarkable about that, I think. Here, the Word, who spoke all life, all creation, into existence, speaks those words, restoring life to the little girl. She is said to be twelve years old, which indicates that Mark wants us to compare the two powerful acts, recalling that the woman had been bleeding for twelve years; aside from twelve also being in Jewish culture a completion number, and thus highly significant.
As I already noted, the poor woman is treated with tremendous respect, even given some priority. Jairus had expressed great urgency, ‘My daughter is at the point of death’, barely hanging on to life, yet Jesus seems to be taking his time. The woman, it says, tells the whole truth, which presumably would have taken a few moments. Adding dramatic tension, the people tell Jesus and Jairus when they approach that they are too late, the girl is already dead. I have heard people suggest, to make it more believable, I suppose, that she might not have actually been dead, but possibly in something like a coma. However, this was a culture in which people knew quite a bit about death; it was all too familiar, you might say, unlike most peoples’ rather distant or sanitised understanding today. The girl is dead. She is so dead that when Jesus says that she is just sleeping, the entire group of people burst out laughing at him, and the Greek indicates something like ‘they began laughing him to scorn’. Jesus was also ridiculed by his disciples when they were being mobbed by a crowd and he asked who had touched him; basically responding: ‘are you crazy?’ Mark is indicating to those in his community, as well as us, that in doing God’s work we may be met with great incredulity, mockery, scorn, shame, but that it is imperative that we continue in that work without letting it dampen the great power and strength we have in God. God calls us to use our gifts for those in need of them, continuing with faith in our empowerment by the Holy Spirit.
A similar theme is found in Paul’s letter, where he is chastising the more powerful or wealthy in the community for not properly respecting the poorer members of the community. The wealthier members of community in Corinth have a tendency to think mostly about having been saved by Christ, seeing it almost as an excuse to enjoy life and luxury, making it like heaven here, for themselves, while neglecting the needs of the poor. In a way they are so punch drunk with Easter joy that they forget that they are called to emulate Jesus’s life and ministry, humbling themselves as servants of God, willing to take up their cross. We know that as they would celebrate the Lord’s Supper together, the agape, or eucharist, the people with more means would bring extravagant foods, trying to impress one another; also beginning before the poorer members could arrive due to the extent of their day of labour. When the poorer members would arrive with meagre food or no food at all it would be very conspicuous, embarrassing, and exclusionary. They are supposed to share generously with each other in a truly inclusive, festive meal, in remembrance of the festive meals Jesus had in his table ministry. These festive meals would have good food and wine, great conviviality, celebrating life, and the company would be very mixed—tax collectors, public sinners, people of ill repute, as well as people of status and power.
Of the kinds of mighty acts that Jesus carried out, one that is generally not considered by biblical scholars as a miracle, is his table ministry. There are healings, exorcisms, resuscitations, and so-called nature miracles. Much of the time when we focus on the ‘miraculous’ quality and struggle with its reality, we tend to think of Jesus as being very drastically different than ourselves. We might say: ‘I can’t perform miracles, I’m not God, I don’t have those kinds of powers’. However, the point is for us to emulate Jesus. Do human beings heal, even resuscitate, others? Yes. People devote themselves, with their gifts, to being a nurse, or physician, or someone who develops vaccines, or cancer treatments, out of a love and care for their fellow human beings—wanting to heal. There are other kinds of healing as well, such as we see from social workers, mental health professions, educators. Any of us who have done these things, I’m sure, can testify to how some very real healing took place; people felt loved, cared for, as though they have been restored, transformed, perhaps given a new chance at life.
This also happens when we break bread and share in a festive meal with others, laughing, sharing our stories, food, wine, camaraderie, which becomes celebratory. And perhaps some of our guests might not have had a decent meal in some time, or anyone to eat with; someone might not have laughed in a while and feels deep gratitude to do so again; someone might feel included, who has mostly only felt excluded and alienated. Is there not also healing here, too? We sometimes underestimate our actions, and so our ability to bring true healing to others, even in gestures or work that would not seem a burden; on the contrary, we are likely to feel gratitude and a deep connection with those we share our gifts and what we have, for they have shared with us what is most precious—the gift of their own divine spark of life. I see in actions like this, or experiences like this we probably have experienced, something just as miraculous as any healing accomplished by Jesus. The signs of the Reign of God being at hand are indeed made present in our own actions, whether we realise it or not. These are the deeds we are meant to carry out. It is not a magic trick. It is a matter of allowing God to work through us, to bring healing love to others. Especially when we reach out to those in need; including the excluded or marginalised, celebrating our common humanity, can bestow a gift of vision: learning to love and be loved, see and be seen, in a way closer to how God sees and loves.
We offer up our service to others, then, in the Eucharistic sacrifice, which in turn nourishes us and commissions us to continue the loving service that helps those whose lives we benefit see, concretely, that indeed the Reign of God’s love is at hand. Augustine said once in a sermon (sermo 12), with reference to Jesus noticing the touch of the woman in need despite the pressing of the crowd: ‘Flesh presses; faith touches’. We gather together not simply as a crowd, but to reach out in faith and touch Jesus, that we might be made well, strong, and true. We go out into the world, having been filled with the bread of life and wine of compassion, not simply to join the masses, like a mindless mob, pressed into the flow by consumer culture, pushed along by pressures that cause us to succumb to fear, but as persons who in having ‘put on Christ’, are driven by faith, moving deliberately toward those most in need, bringing the healing touch of Christ.