A young girl, twelve years of age, a beloved daughter, excessively ill. We do not know her name. I used to think that she was not important
enough to name. Perhaps she’s too important to name. She could be me.
Why is she ill? Did
she cause her own illness through her own misdeeds? Did she eat poisonous berries or visit a sick
friend, exposing herself to a dangerous virus?
Or did her mother feed her stew that had been sitting one
day too long, with meat just a bit spoilt?
Was she sent to run an errand through a neighborhood that lacked proper
sanitation?
And
his disciples asked Him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he
would be born blind?” Jesus answered,
“It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents; but it was so that the
works of God might be displayed in him.
And it happened that the young girl died, and she died in a
spectacular manner, having been born at the time a certain woman began having a
bleeding disorder, her death marked the moment of this woman’s cure. Twelve years of a beautiful life in stark
contrast to twelve years of stigma and shunning. One life ending as another is just beginning
again.
This Rabbi, the one that healed the lady, felt power leaving
him as she touched him, expecting relief from her pain simply from her
touch. Was this the power he was using
to keep the child alive? It does not
matter; the power was transferred, the woman was healed, the miracle occurred.
Who
holds power on the hem of their robe?
Who is so careless with such strength that they would allow it to seep
out from their clothing before they could rein it in?
But this Rabbi was
not done for the day; more works of God to be displayed.
He knew the secret that we fail to see, that the veil
between life and death is but momentary and faint, like a nap one might take to
escape the midday heat.
This child, dead in sin, both physically and spiritually,
needed new life.
And it does not matter, when one reaches the critical
moment, where the blame lies. “Who sinned?” What happened in the past is not God’s
primary focus. He is anxious to see how
His works can be displayed in you, through
the events that have occurred.
The world sees our illness-ravaged bodies, our stumbling
blocks; our sin. And they discount us as
“already dead”. They deride our Lord for
suggesting that we can be anything living, that we can come back to life, that
we can make a difference.
But then Jesus steps in, says my name, takes me by the hand,
and says, “Little girl, get up!”
