Now there was a woman who had suffered from a haemorrhage for twelve years; after long and painful treatment under various doctors, she had spent all she had without being any the better for it; in fact, she was getting worse. She had heard about Jesus, and she came up through the crowd and touched his cloak from behind, thinking, ‘If I can just touch his clothes, I shall be saved.’
And at once the source of the bleeding dried up, and she felt in herself that she was cured of her complaint. And at once aware of the power that had gone out from him, Jesus turned round in the crowd and said, ‘Who touched my clothes?’ His disciples said to him, ‘You see how the crowd is pressing round you; how can you ask, “Who touched me?”‘ But he continued to look all round to see who had done it. Then the woman came forward, frightened and trembling because she knew what had happened to her, and she fell at his feet and told him the whole truth. ‘My daughter,’ he said, ‘your faith has restored you to health; go in peace and be free of your complaint.’ Mark 5:25-34
Here is a story I love. This un-named woman, who for twelve long years has been excluded from her faith community because her haemorrhaging, hears that Jesus is near. Hope gives her courage to put aside all that she has been told about her unworthiness. Trust in her own innate sense of value whispers at she can do what others have forbidden. Faith propels her through the crowd, unmindful of who else she might be touching. Love of and desire for life abundant move her to reach out and touch Jesus’s robe. She does not wish to distract him from whatever he is doing; she does not want to disturb him or call attention to herself. Just touch his robe. And it works! Glory be! She knew immediately that her body had been healed!
And Jesus knew immediately that power had gone out from him. He asks, “who touched me?” His disciples think he’s crazy — so many people are touching him. Are they too being healed? I think not, for this woman’s touch was somehow different.
This is the crucial part, I think: the woman again takes responsibility for her own life and actions. She steps forward, so afraid and yet so filled with joy at her release. What will the penalty be for all the wrong she has just committed? Defiling so many by coming into the crowd. Touching, and making unclean, this popular Teacher.
Can you not see God’s infinite love in Jesus’s response? “My daughter” he calls her. Not sister, not mother, but daughter — one from your own heart and body, one you protect, nurture, love forever. He then affirms everything she has just done — her hope, trust, faith, love and desire for life. She was right, life abundant can be hers, too. Glory be to God!
[C]haracter — the willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life — is the source from which self-respect springs. Joan Didion, Slouching toward Bethlehem