The official bowed low, the woman snuck up from behind.
The official begged Jesus to touch his daughter. The woman wanted to touch Jesus herself.
The official’s daughter was dead, and dead is dead. The woman was alive, but her constant bleeding was leaking the life out of her.
Jesus walked after the official. Jesus stopped and turned to the woman.
The official asked on behalf of his daughter. The woman didn’t ask at all but heard Jesus call her, “Daughter.”
Jesus took the official’s daughter by the hand. To the woman, Jesus spoke the word courage.
Where am I dead? Where is life leaking out?
There are parts of my heart’s desire that I can boldly, without hesitation, and in the company of others ask of Jesus. Places that are dead and need Jesus’ touch. Generally acceptable requests for touches of healing and mercy.
And there are parts of my heart that I hide because I am ashamed. I know only Jesus can heal them, but I cannot bring myself to admit them in public. That would be too embarrassing.
Both needs are legitimate. Whether to his face or behind his back, what matters is coming to Jesus for the touch that heals.
I ask, Where am I dead? Where is life leaking out?
It’s easy and important to go public when asking for relief from something that has happened to me, when I am a victim, such as my cancer. In this, I am asking for intervention, a separation from the death that has invaded. It had nothing to do with my character or choices.
Not so easy to bring publicly the healing I need that results from my own leaking blood, the death choices I make that drains the life out of me. An example is my preference for isolation versus community, born of a desire to satisfy my appetite for particular foods, drinks, or mindless activity. It’s embarrassing to admit I’d rather go home, put on my lounge pants, eat pizza and drink wine than share an evening with friends.
Let those questions reverberate within….