St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL
Mark 5:21-43
A huge part of being Episcopalian
is that you and I
are “sacramental people.”
What does that mean?
It means that we are the kind of people
who believe that—somehow, someway—
our God is the kind of God
who uses ordinary things
to make extraordinary things happen.
We practice the sacraments—
things like Baptism and Eucharist—
not because we like tradition
or find them to be good symbols.
No, we practice the sacraments
because we believe that in those
holy moments and holy things,
God reliably presses through into our world
and makes Godself known.
To us, the Sacraments
are an “in-breaking,”
a “punching-through” between heaven and earth,
a “holy invasion” of God’s grace into our lives.
Because we are sacramental people,
we believe that
our God is the kind of God
who is still interested in our lives.
Our God is the kind of God
who still shows up.
Our God is the kind of God
who intervenes.
With that in mind,
I want us to look at today’s Gospel lesson
and see what we see
about this God who delights
in intervening in our lives.
Today’s gospel
is a story about healing,
and as you’ve heard me say
about this story before,
this story is a “healing sandwich.”
It begins and ends
with the story of a man name Jairus
whose daughter is dying,
and he wants Jesus
to come and intervene.
But dropped right smack in the middle of it
is the story of a woman
who grabs hold of Jesus while he’s walking
because she, too, wants an intervention.
And out of this whole healing sandwich,
there are three points I want us to think about:
Number one:
God wishes to intervene in our lives,
but we have to be receptive.
Number two:
God does intervene in our lives,
but not always in the way we want him to.
Number three:
Jesus IS the intervention.
* * *
So . . . number one:
we have to be receptive.
Anyone who’s ever been to AA
or any other 12-step program
knows that admitting you need help
really always is the first step.
We human beings—
especially we Americans—
are SO determined
to be so self-reliant,
that we always feel
like everything
is completely up to us.
But scratch the surface
and you soon find out
that none of us know what we’re doing,
all of us are on the edge,
and we all wish someone
would come in, fix it all up,
and make it all better.
That is what grace is for.
But the funny thing about grace
is that while it’s always there
and it’s always free,
you cannot receive it
if you do not want it.
The same is true of things like
healing, forgiveness, and love.
You and I can take a big lesson
from the people in today’s Gospel story.
Both Jairus and the woman with the hemorrhage
have both admitted they cannot deal
with their problems on their own,
so—quite literally—they reach out.
They throw away their self-reliance.
They throw away their pride.
They throw themselves at Jesus.
Honestly, this is how you and I
should come to this rail
every single week.
Not groveling.
Not as sinful supplicants.
But simply as people
who know we need help,
who know where to find it,
and who expect our loving God
to actually show up and care.
And by the way,
notice what Jesus does
when he finally goes inside
to heal Jairus’ daughter.
He looks at all the handwringers
and all the naysayers,
and he puts them outside.
God’s grace is always ready to intervene,
but first . . . we have to be receptive.
* * *
Number two:
God’s interventions
don’t always look
like we hope or think they will.
Think of poor Jairus.
Jairus has come to Jesus ready and receptive
because he knows
Jesus is the only one
who can possibly heal his daughter.
So off they go on their way
to get this done.
And then . . . boom.
While Jesus is walking,
a woman reaches out
and grabs the hem of his garment,
hoping for healing for herself.
You know what this is like for Jesus.
You’ve been pulled
in too many directions at one time.
I have, too.
You also know what it’s like for Jairus,
waiting on others
for something you urgently need.
But Jesus stops everything,
and he gives this women his full attention.
Mark, who wrote this gospel,
says this woman
“told Jesus the whole truth.”
That is Mark’s diplomatic way
of saying,
“She talked for a long time.”
So imagine being Jairus.
Your daughter is dying.
You need Jesus to hurry up
and get over there now.
There is no time for all of this.
They finally do get there.
The little girl has died.
And with sadness and despair,
they think that’s that.
They cannot imagine
that even Jesus
can intervene at this point.
But then he surprises them all.
We look to God
to intervene in our lives,
especially when we come to this rail
for Communion and healing.
But it is not ours
to dictate
what that intervention
will look like.
Sometimes we receive
exactly the healing we hoped for.
Sometimes, instead, we receive
strength, and community, and love, and grace
for the facing of our most difficult hours.
Either way,
God always intervenes;
it just might not always look
the way with think or hope it should.
* * *
Which leads to my last point:
Jesus IS the intervention.
I started by saying
that we are sacramental people.
We are the kind of people who believe
that through the ordinary things
of our ordinary gatherings,
God punches through into our reality
to give us the grace we need.
Otherwise, I’m not sure
why any of us would have bothered
to even show up today.
But the thing you need to know
is that before there was ever any of that . . .
there was Jesus.
Jesus IS God
punching through
into our reality.
Jesus IS God
giving us
the grace we need.
As we see in today’s Gospel story—
and every story in every Gospel—
Jesus IS God
healing our sick
and raising our dead.
Jesus IS the intervention.
Jesus IS the Greatest Sacrament of all,
and on him,
all the other sacraments hang.
So . . .
are you having trouble
making it on your own?
Are you in need of a good intervention?
Of love, healing, and grace?
Well join the club.
We meet here every week.
It helps if you’re open to the possibility,
and it may not look exactly like you hoped it would,
but you can bet your sweet cheeks
that the Lover of your soul
stands ready to show up
and intervene.
Amen.