Approachable--July 2. 2024

Approachable--July 2. 2024

"Now there was a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, ‘If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.’ Immediately her bleeding stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease." [Mark 5:25-29]

Think about this for a moment: for whatever else this woman had heard about Jesus before, she was believed he was approachable.

That is to say, when Mark the storyteller gives us the detail that "she had heard about Jesus," she didn't only hear rumors of Jesus' power--but somehow she knew that Jesus was good.  She had heard that Jesus helped people, likely including the reports that he wasn't like the physicians and snake-oil salesmen she had spent all her money on already. Jesus didn't charge.  Jesus wasn't looking to make a buck.  And apparently, this woman had heard enough to make her think that Jesus wouldn't be upset, or angry, or vindictive, if she reached out to him.

Now, to be sure, there are plenty of reasons she would still be pretty timid about approaching him in public.  There's not only the cultural taboo in an ancient Near Eastern culture about women even speaking with unrelated men in public, but the fact that her medical condition makes her ritually unclean according to The Law (funny how you never hear about anybody wanting to put THOSE laws on monuments in courthouses or posters on classroom walls, isn't it?).  In other words, if she can touch Jesus and be healed without being noticed by anybody else, then nobody will have to know--she can be healed without any more fuss or money she doesn't have, and he can go on his way to help Jairus' daughter.  But if she would have approached him and explained her situation first, that would have meant earning the scorn of everyone she had to touch as she walked through the crowd, because her mere presence brushing up against them would have made them all ritually unclean, too!  So she's got her reasons for being discreet, just in case things go sideways with the crowd.

And yet, for as big a gamble as it is for her to risk going out in public to touch the itinerant rabbi-healer Jesus, you don't get the sense that she's afraid of him.  You get the sense that whatever she has heard about Jesus hasn't turned her away or discouraged her from seeking him out.  There are no rumors that he is stingy with his help or miserly with his compassion.  You don't get the sense that Jesus would tell her, "I'm already helping somebody else, so you'd better go back home wait your turn. I don't help line-jumpers!" To be sure, she is desperate--and desperation does have a way of making us brave enough to be reckless sometimes--but she is nevertheless willing to bet it all on the hope that this Jesus she has heard about will not turn her away.  Everything in her future hangs on the question of whether Jesus is not just powerful enough to help her, but approachable enough to let her get close.

And of course, you know how the story goes.  She takes the risk and reaches out her hand, just in the hope of catching the frayed edge of his cloak with her fingertips--and she is instantly made well.  Jesus will sense what has happened, yes; and he will inquire about who has touched him--and for what purposes--but he doesn't undo the healing simply because the woman didn't take a number.  He is not angry or petty, and he does not accuse her of breaking the rules or skipping in line to get to him.  This woman who was in deep pain and desperation took the risk of showing up in Jesus' presence, knowing full well what the costs could be if she were rejected.  And Jesus did not let her down.  Jesus was worth the risk, apparently.

I wonder whether the same could be said for us, the community of Jesus' followers, now some twenty centuries later.  When wounded people come to our doors, betting everything on the slender hope that we might offer compassion for them, how do we respond?  When people afraid of being treated yet again as outcasts are brave enough to come to worship, do they find a welcome among us--or do they feel ostracized and hurt all over again?  When people who have heard about the goodness of Jesus from the stories come to see his 21st-century disciples, do we live up to the hope for kindness they have placed in us?

I guess the question I'm really asking is whether people would be disappointed when they showed up at church, if they had heard true stories about Jesus and expected to find a compassionate welcome from his followers.  Or, on the flip side, have people seen too many examples of us Respectable Religious Folks being hateful, greedy, petty, and indifferent that they would never even want to learn more about the Jesus we say we worship?  You know that old line of Gandhi's--"I like your Christ; I do not care for your Christians.  Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."  What will people touch if they are brave enough to reach out... at our church doors?

Today maybe it's worth asking what expectations people around us have about Jesus and his community today.  What have people heard about Jesus?  What have people heard about us?  What assumptions have they already formed from what they have seen of Christians in their actual lives?  And, even if we are only able to shape the impressions of just a very few people right around us, what can we do to give people reason to believe that the Christ by whose name we are called is not merely approachable, but abounding in love for them?

Lord Jesus, make us to be faithful witnesses to you, so that others will want to know you more deeply and find healing for their hurts because they have seen glimpses of your love in us.