She had an “issue.“
I have mine. You have yours.
Hers was blood. Ours are other things—blacks and blues and hues of all manner of issues. Regardless of their color, they still bleed red. And if not tended to by the Healer, they will continue their hemorrhage toward eventual destruction.
I know. I suffer with an “issue” right now. And in the midst of my flowing pain, I walked a story tonight that spoke a tender portion of healing truth over my wounds.
The stage?
None other than the Vacation Bible School drama room.
The story?
The woman with the “issue” of blood.
The actors?
Me and Jesus, where the only “issue” that mattered was the one going on within my heart.
In all my decades of doing VBS, no other night has been more profound than this one. Somewhere in the middle of narrating the drama and acting as the lead participant, God dealt with my heart in pure measure. I told the children about my issue of bleeding. About my unclean status and poverty of soul. About my shame and embarrassment over a wound that refused to find its healing. About the man named Jesus who was rumored to be a healer…a water walker…a feeder of 5000.
About how I wished for his notice. His touch. His time and his healing. About the crowds and about a man named Jairus whose needs rated higher than mine. About my diminishing expectations for a miracle as I watched this Jesus pass me by.
He did pass me by, and then I did something I thought I would never have the courage to do.
I reached. I took hold of the hem of his garment. Some call this “him” Preacher Billy. But in that moment, the robe that I held in my hands belonged to Jesus. I gripped tightly, even as the word in the original Greek, haptomai, indicates (“to fasten oneself to; adhere to, cling to.”).
This was no casual hold. This was a grasping of the divine, believing that with the hold comes healing.
Tears poured down my cheeks as I clung to the hem of my husband’s dressing. Children were stunned. Some chuckled, perhaps thinking I had played my part to the tee. The older children—those adults who have come to VBS this week to offer their willing participation as chaperones—well, they knew better. They know me better. Kingdom work was at hand. If not in the hearts of the children, then certainly in the heart of this grown woman.
And for a few brief moments, I caught a glimpse of an eternal teaching that is meant for each one of us tonight. It comes in the form of question. A divine invitation for all of God’s children to join him in sacred dialogue.
Who touched me?
These three simple words hold the answer for our healing. Jesus’ question embodies his theology of faith…of believing that what is required for our wholeness resides at the end of our arms.
Our grasp.
Our healing from Jesus comes with initiative. With our asking. With our faith-filled approach to the Son of God, even when the current chaos competes for his attention. With our crawling, if need be, to get to his feet. With the thrust of a hand through the tangle of robes, believing that a garment’s edge is more than enough to garner the favor and blessing of God.
Who touched me?
The who in Jesus’ question is each one of us. The me in the question is him. And the word in between—touched—is the bridge that connects all things temporal to the eternal healing of heaven.
We must be willing to reach in order to receive. As Oswald Chamber so eloquently states, “Our reach must exceed our grasp.” We’ve got to move beyond our tight-fisted clenching and our childish thinking that keeps us on the sidelines self medicating our wounds because the reach seems too risky. Too vulnerable. Too trusting for an “issue” that has become our constant shadow. Maybe for years. Maybe even for twelve. Perhaps, even for more than we care to number.
We’ve grown accustomed to our constant until we no longer believe in the prospect of change. Our faith is buried deeply beneath our wounds so that when Jesus passes by for the grasping, he rarely garners our notice.
Let it not be so, my friends. Let us never get so caught up in our pain that we fail to see our Jesus when he walks our way. Let’s not wait for our faith to be big before we reach. Let’s reach now…even in our little. Let’s strip away the intrigue and the mystery of our need, and let’s take hold of his hem while we can. Even when bloody and barren and broken, let us boldly stretch these arms through the pressing of the crowds so that we, too, can know the power of a Father’s healing touch.
Who touched me?
How would you answer? How long has it been since you activated your faith by stretching forth your hand and taking hold of Him…even when it was hard and heavy and seemingly hopeless? Your answer to Christ’s question embodies your theology of faith.
You will never be able to respond to his inquiry until you have actually touched him, tasted him, and held the power of his resurrecting grace as your own.
Being able to answer the question requires a previous action on your part. And with that action, dear ones, you hold the keys to the kingdom. You hold the living Christ as your own.
I’ve held Him tonight. I want the same for you, and so I pray…
Give us the strength, Father, for the reach. We struggle with our many issues, and our faith seems small and unwilling to move past our wounding. Come to us Jesus. Bring your hem close enough for our touch. Tend to our wounds and speak healing to our hurts. And when it feels too hard and the heaviness threatens to keep us in a corner, give us the boldness of our sister from so long ago who had faith enough to believe and who had courage enough to grasp. I long for a grasping faith, Lord. Grow me toward this sacred end. Amen.
Copyright © August 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.
