Let’s say a reporter from the Trib was doing interviews with random people on the street and asked them, Who is Michael Jordan? Basketball player. Who is Anthony Fauci? Doctor. Who is Meryl Streep? Actor. These individuals are many other things besides that one word answer but a singular characteristic defines them in the popular mind. Let’s say a reporter for the Jerusalem Times in first century Galilee was doing such an interview and asked, “Who is Jesus of Nazareth?” The answer would in all likelihood be, “Healer.” Jesus was much more than that – teacher, rabbi, carpenter, son of Mary, speaker of parables, gatherer of disciples, friend of sinners – but his healing of the blind, the lame, the crippled, the lepers would have gotten most notice by the general public. We should be aware of the fact that in those days people would not have necessarily considered his healing power as miraculous. The strict separating line we draw between a miracle and the natural processes did not exist in the time of Jesus. All healing whether from taking some medicine or the laying on of hands would have been attributed to God. Jesus being thought of as a healer was a recognition that God worked through him but in a way not all that dissimilar to others being restored to health.
The image of Jesus as healer has reverberated throughout the history of the Church. Shrines and saints have continued to bring healing ministry to those in need. Priests visit the sick with the sacrament of healing. We lift up by name those who need healing in prayer. For Father Tolten to be named a saint we need a healing miracle. Perhaps, though, instead of thinking in terms of natural healing as contrasted with supernatural healing we need to get back to the Biblical understanding that all healing comes from God. Whether it’s the latest radiation therapy or a visit to Lourdes, healing is always a divine gift. I’m sure you’ve heard the old joke about the man trapped by a flood — but sent away the four wheel drive, then then boat, and then the helicopter sent to rescue him with the line: Don’t worry about me. I trust that God will save me. When the flood claimed his life he complained to God at the pearly gates: “You said you were going to save me.” To which God answered, “I send a truck, a boat and a helicopter to save you. What more could I do?” The way the Bible sees it, the surgeon’s hand are the instruments of God’s healing power at work. The vaccine against the coronavirus is God’s healing power at work. The blood pressure medicine is God’s healing power at work. The readings for this Sunday help us to learn how the Bible sees things.
Today’s gospel is something of a healing sandwich — two slices of Jairus’ daughter surrounding the story of the woman with a hemorrhage. What the two stories have in common is the theme of faith. Jesus told the woman, “Your faith has saved you” and he told Jairus, the sick girl’s father, “Do not be afraid, just have faith.” Notice that was not what those seeking a healing were counting on. The woman thought “If I but touch his clothes, I shall be cured.” Jairus said, “Come lay your hands on her that she may get well.” They thought it was the touch that produced the cure. Jesus told them it was not the touch but the faith that mattered. Jesus was not like a genii in a lamp that if you rubbed the right way you got your wishes granted. He was someone who wanted a relationship, a connection of faith with others. A touch without any faith wouldn’t have done any good at all.
However! Mark tells the story of Jesus, the healer, in such a way that we know the touch matters. Certainly the faith is most important, but the touch, as an expression of faith, makes a difference. Because the afflicted woman had faith, she fought her way through the crowds to touch the garment. Because Jairus had faith, he braved the ridicule of those weeping and wailing to ask Jesus to touch his daughter. So what the gospel asks of us this Sunday is to have faith — but to have a faith that is willing to risk a touch. If a touch without faith is useless, faith that doesn’t express itself in a touch is an empty shell. Touchless faith is a theory, an idea, a code of ethics — but it doesn’t connect us with Jesus. As Catholics we have learned that faith needs to express itself in concrete ways: in bread and wine, in water and oil, and, yes, in the laying on of hands. At St. James one of the most difficult aspects of the pandemic was that we couldn’t touch each other, we couldn’t give the kiss of peace, couldn’t hug, we couldn’t reach out to extend a warm hospitable welcome. We have found that we need a touching faith.
But a faith that touches is costly, is difficult, is risky. It makes demands on us. Maybe that’s why Jesus warns us that the enemy of faith is not doubt but fear. No fear, only faith, Jesus says. We fear a touching faith because once we take faith seriously everything is different. We’re afraid to trust that Jesus will give us the happiness we seek if we obey the commandments — so we try create our own happiness. We’re afraid of the demands that Jesus will insist upon — forgiving those who have hurt us, caring for the needs of the unfortunate, giving up “me” time in service to others. We’re afraid to learn that it’s not about me — my comfort, my ambition, my desires, my success — it’s about God. The afflicted woman and the troubled father were desperate enough to risk a touching faith. Are we?
