The Good, the Bad, and the Better
The Gospel Lesson this week was Matthew 9:18-26. You'll find parallels versions of these same events in Mark 5 and Luke 8. This incident is one of those strange cases, in fact, where Mark goes into more detail than Matthew. Usually Mark gives us the Cliff's Notes, so to speak, while Matthew and Luke dig into the detail. John does his own thing, so he records miracles no other Evangelist does, and ignores miracles the others record in detail. One thing I noticed as we heard the sermon yesterday is how Jesus' miracles in these two cases interrupt otherwise normal responses to grief and distress.
The woman with the flow of blood was suffering from long-term bleeding which would have made her ritually impure. Going into the crowd was a risk, which was probably why she didn't speak to Jesus until he spoke to her. Most ritual impurity was temporary and could be addressed by washing and waiting. There is a whole section of Leviticus detailing how basic human processes impact ritual purity. However, her situation would have made a temporary condition permanent. Ritual impurity was also communicable, so I think it's safe to infer people probably would have avoided her. They avoided lepers for a similar reason.
American culture doesn't usually worry about ritual purity or impurity in the way Orthodox Jews do, or the way some Christians in Africa do, so the suffering which had discombobulated her life might not make a lot of sense to us. On the other hand, women and girls who can't afford hygiene products when "Aunt Flo" comes to call may find going out in public uncomfortable, if not impossible. I'm glad our Mission Center in Conroe puts together feminine hygiene kits, in addition to their flood buckets and basic supply kits, so the ladies who receive them do not have the burden of what some folks call "period poverty" on top of everything else.
Jesus also interrupts an otherwise normal process of mourning when he goes with the synagogue leader. I think "the synagogue leader" is a mouthful, so I'm going to call him "Mr. Cohen." Every culture mourns differently. The flute players and the mourners were there as a public expression of grief over the synagogue's leaders' loss. Some Asian cultures, including Middle Eastern cultures, are very expressive about their joys and griefs. In a sense, they were validating the Cohen family's private grief through communal, ritual mourning, and doing so over a little girl. We don't know whether Mr. and Mrs. Cohen had other children, or whether the girl who died was their only child. Life was precarious, so it wouldn't surprise me to learn they had already lost one or two other children in infancy or later childhood, either to illness or injury. The Cohens might have been preparing to bury their future, so speak. Even if that weren't the case, losing any child is devastating. Having other kids still living could not possibly have made up for losing this young girl. (As an aside, if you're sitting with someone in their grief, please do your best never to start a sentence with, "At least . . . ," because it probably isn't going anywhere helpful.) The mourners were doing Paul would later tell the Romans to do, "Weep with those who weep," within the context of their culture. Other cultures might sit shiva, or organize a wake, or deliver a never-ending supply of casseroles. Weeping with those who weep is the essence of mourning. We validate people's grief and loss when we mourn with the bereaved.
Jesus steps into that situation, in which people are generally doing their best with an awful situation. He says something preposterous, "She's only sleeping," so of course the crowd laughs at Him. I don't think Mr. and Mrs. Cohen were laughing. I think they were probably too tired and devastated, and clinging to hope this Galilean might have some of "the spirit and power of Elijah," so speak. He sends the crowd of mourners away. When we're grieving, sometimes we need folks to mourn with us and sometimes we need those same folks to give us some space. Watching a child come back to life has to be as much of a shock as watching that child die, so I expect they needed space.
There are places in the Gospels where Jesus interrupts what shouldn't be happening, like when He cleansed the Temple, or when he does things scandalous things like eating with "sinners." (He also went to dinner parties thrown by Pharisees, so I think His basic policy was to accept the gift of hospitality from whoever offered it.) Here, however, Jesus transforms circumstances in which people are already doing their best with bad situations. The Cohens were grieving with their community's support. The woman with the flow of blood saw her chance while Jesus was on the way to the Cohen's house to turn their world right-side up again. She might have hoped to go unnoticed and to be healed quietly. She could go see a priest later about being restored to purity and re-admitted to worship in the synagogue and at the Temple. Instead, Jesus saw her, spoke to her, and restored her.
The woman with the flow of blood was suffering from long-term bleeding which would have made her ritually impure. Going into the crowd was a risk, which was probably why she didn't speak to Jesus until he spoke to her. Most ritual impurity was temporary and could be addressed by washing and waiting. There is a whole section of Leviticus detailing how basic human processes impact ritual purity. However, her situation would have made a temporary condition permanent. Ritual impurity was also communicable, so I think it's safe to infer people probably would have avoided her. They avoided lepers for a similar reason.
American culture doesn't usually worry about ritual purity or impurity in the way Orthodox Jews do, or the way some Christians in Africa do, so the suffering which had discombobulated her life might not make a lot of sense to us. On the other hand, women and girls who can't afford hygiene products when "Aunt Flo" comes to call may find going out in public uncomfortable, if not impossible. I'm glad our Mission Center in Conroe puts together feminine hygiene kits, in addition to their flood buckets and basic supply kits, so the ladies who receive them do not have the burden of what some folks call "period poverty" on top of everything else.
Jesus also interrupts an otherwise normal process of mourning when he goes with the synagogue leader. I think "the synagogue leader" is a mouthful, so I'm going to call him "Mr. Cohen." Every culture mourns differently. The flute players and the mourners were there as a public expression of grief over the synagogue's leaders' loss. Some Asian cultures, including Middle Eastern cultures, are very expressive about their joys and griefs. In a sense, they were validating the Cohen family's private grief through communal, ritual mourning, and doing so over a little girl. We don't know whether Mr. and Mrs. Cohen had other children, or whether the girl who died was their only child. Life was precarious, so it wouldn't surprise me to learn they had already lost one or two other children in infancy or later childhood, either to illness or injury. The Cohens might have been preparing to bury their future, so speak. Even if that weren't the case, losing any child is devastating. Having other kids still living could not possibly have made up for losing this young girl. (As an aside, if you're sitting with someone in their grief, please do your best never to start a sentence with, "At least . . . ," because it probably isn't going anywhere helpful.) The mourners were doing Paul would later tell the Romans to do, "Weep with those who weep," within the context of their culture. Other cultures might sit shiva, or organize a wake, or deliver a never-ending supply of casseroles. Weeping with those who weep is the essence of mourning. We validate people's grief and loss when we mourn with the bereaved.
Jesus steps into that situation, in which people are generally doing their best with an awful situation. He says something preposterous, "She's only sleeping," so of course the crowd laughs at Him. I don't think Mr. and Mrs. Cohen were laughing. I think they were probably too tired and devastated, and clinging to hope this Galilean might have some of "the spirit and power of Elijah," so speak. He sends the crowd of mourners away. When we're grieving, sometimes we need folks to mourn with us and sometimes we need those same folks to give us some space. Watching a child come back to life has to be as much of a shock as watching that child die, so I expect they needed space.
There are places in the Gospels where Jesus interrupts what shouldn't be happening, like when He cleansed the Temple, or when he does things scandalous things like eating with "sinners." (He also went to dinner parties thrown by Pharisees, so I think His basic policy was to accept the gift of hospitality from whoever offered it.) Here, however, Jesus transforms circumstances in which people are already doing their best with bad situations. The Cohens were grieving with their community's support. The woman with the flow of blood saw her chance while Jesus was on the way to the Cohen's house to turn their world right-side up again. She might have hoped to go unnoticed and to be healed quietly. She could go see a priest later about being restored to purity and re-admitted to worship in the synagogue and at the Temple. Instead, Jesus saw her, spoke to her, and restored her.
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