I walked into the house, sighed, and slunk to the floor. I had just come back from the temple and was again feeling discouraged. How many times had I prayed for healing? Almost every day for the last... Well, I guess it would be about twelve years. My friends all thought it was a waste of time. If God was going to heal me, wouldn’t He have done it twelve years ago? Or ten? Or five? How long is too long to be praying to a deaf or indifferent god? Sometimes, I was tempted to agree with them. It never seemed to do any good. Nothing ever changed, well at least nothing for the good. Ten years ago, my husband left me. That was a change. He demanded a divorce, citing that I must have committed some terrible sin and this illness was God’s punishment. Since I apparently refused to make atonement for my sins, he did not want to be married to an unclean woman. I can’t say that I blamed him. If I were a man, I wouldn’t want to be married to me either. I never could give him children, and although we sacrificed regularly, just like the others, I must have done something terrible I’m not even aware of to lose favor in the eyes of God.
Sometimes, it’s almost easier without him. At least I could live inside my home (my husband wanted nothing to do with it when he left me), and I didn’t have to worry about defiling anyone with my presence. At first, it was very difficult, finding a way to earn money and run a household. But my friends found me jobs sewing or washing clothes for Gentiles. They would even slip me an extra loaf of bread every now and then when things got difficult. I’m not sure where I would be without them. They sustained me throughout the last several years. But now I almost see them as more of a burden. I don’t want to live my life as a bitter old woman, resenting and rejecting God for His righteousness and actions. If I sinned in His eyes and deserved this punishment, then I deserved it. And if He chooses to never heal me from this, then it is still more than I deserve, because I am a sinner, a worm in the eyes of my holy and just God.
I managed to find some fish that day. A Gentile fisherman sold it to me. I’ve had to get over my distaste for Gentiles, because it seems that they’re the only ones who are still willing to tolerate my presence. They don’t like me, by any means, but a few have taken pity on my and seen fit to help me. I’m not even allowed in the temple anymore, other than in the court of the Gentiles. Even there, I get dirty looks by others walking through to the innermost parts of the temple. I do my best to ignore them, but it still hurts to see people who were once my friends regard me with disdain as if my mere existence offends them. My husband’s new wife has given him five children, and I often see her walking by me, a smug look of superiority on her face. I guess she’s earned that right. I suppose most people have that right. After all, their sins are still kept in secret. Mine are quite obvious for all to see.
I sat, eating the fish and the last of the loaves of bread I had made from this morning, silently contemplating all of these things. When I finished with my meal, I got up and changed my rags. I would definitely need to do laundry soon, but would have to wait until night to get water and wash in private. No one wants to share washing water with someone like me. Until then, I’ll just clean. I swept the ashes from around the fire, started another loaf of bread that I would bake tomorrow morning, and swept the dust from out of my house. I was just about to head down to the water when I heard something going on outside.
I tried looking out without leaving the house - staying inside and hidden is something I do well. But the crowd was so thickly lining the street that I couldn’t see a thing. My friend Ruth was a part of the crowd, and I spotted her nearby. She told me that a teacher, a rabbi was coming through town. I recognized his name. Others had told stories of him and his teachings. But it was the rumors that I had paid more attention to. Supposedly he had been casting out demons, healing the sick, and performing miracles everywhere he went. Many people were speculating as to the importance of this man. Surely he was a man of God. But some were guessing that he could be the Prophet - the one who paved the way for the Messiah!
I couldn’t see anything from where I was, so I went to the roof of my house to see more. In the distance, far down the street, I saw a large crowd, moving very slowly in the direction of my home. I knew that at the center of that crowd must be the Teacher. I had seen crowds like this before - people around here were so desperate for someone to believe in that they would often flock around the next big thing - the man who said what they wanted to hear or did what they wanted to see. Momentarily, the crowd parted and I saw that an old man had fallen amid the swarms of people around the Teacher. Then another man, younger, stooped down to help him up. This man had such a kind way about him with the older man. He gently helped him to his feet, spoke to him for a moment, and then continued on his way. At that moment I knew that this man was the Teacher. People had spoken of his extraordinary kindness, and it seemed from my brief observation that this must be true. Most rabbis wouldn’t think twice about an elderly man on the side of the road. This man stopped to help him!
My mind began to race in several different directions at once, but the pervading thought was this: “If all that people say about this teacher is true, then he is truly anointed by God. Maybe God would hear his prayers for my healing!” I had to try. I feared that another unproductive day of praying at the temple would break me and I would soon have to face the fact that God had left me to myself and would never heal me. I quickly ran downstairs, only to discover that the crowd had grown in front of my house, in anticipation of the Teacher’s passing. I could tell he was getting closer by the growing frenzy in the masses that surrounded me. The group was thick, but I knew that I must find a way through to make it to the Teacher. I just knew that he could help me, and my confidence in this grew by the moment.
I tried pushing my way through, but the others were too strong. I was quickly shoved to the ground and ignored. My hands were stepped on, and I was afraid that I might be trampled to death before I ever got to see him. I began to crawl, not sure which way I was going, only sure of my need to get out of the suffocating hoard that now threatened my life. I emerged and gleefully realized that I was in the front of the pack now! I may, after all, have a chance to meet the Teacher! I attempted to stand, but thought that kneeling would be safer for the moment. As he neared our location, I felt a strange sense of peace come over me. Even though the people around me were working themselves up to a panic in anticipation of the Teacher’s arrival, when I looked at him and his way, I felt nothing but peace. There was something very special and wonderful about this man.
As the Teacher drew nearer, I realized my mistake in remaining on my knees. It seemed that the entire crowd around me was pushing against me, threatening to trample me - and finish the job they attempted earlier! I began to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me, a sinner!” hoping he would hear me above the roar. If he did hear, he gave no indication, as he walked right by, never giving me a second glance. I panicked. All of my hope had been built on this one man, and I would never know if he could help me or not if I never even got to speak with him! Then the thought crossed my mind - as simple and as desperate as any I’ve had - If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed. I had heard of miracles like this before, and yet I’d never truly believed that they could happen for me, so I’m not sure where the thought came from. It was, however, the only chance I had. As he passed, I quickly reached out and touched the hem of his cloak, hoping that no one noticed that I had defiled the teacher - hoping especially that he didn’t notice, or I was sure to be swiftly punished.
In the moment that I touched the cloak, I felt something wonderful within me, like a bolt of lightning joyously shooting through my body, tingling my fingers and toes and reigniting my senses like they had never been awakened before. My eyes had never seen until now. My mouth had never tasted until now, and my ears had never heard until now. Everything was perfectly clear, beautiful, and completely wonderful. Immediately I knew that I had been healed! I could feel the blood inside of me cease its flow, and the suffering that I had been enslaved to for twelve years was no longer a part of me. My body was whole, and I was whole! I had never been more complete, nor would I ever be more complete than I was at that very moment. I also realized, with amazing clarity, that the man whose garments I touched was no ordinary man. An ordinary man heals, but only God himself restores in this way! This man was the Messiah himself! I was beside myself with joy, not sure whether to laugh, cry, or scream with excitement.
All of this took place instantaneously, and lasted for only a brief moment, because before I knew it, the Teacher had stopped. He looked around for a moment and asked, “Who touched my clothes?” My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. He knew! Somehow, he knew that I had touched him and defiled him! Of course he knew, he was the Messiah, he knew all things. I would now go down in history as the one who defiled the Messiah. I would be the most hated, most despicable woman in all the stories, passed down from generation to generation. Was it worth it? Was my selfish desire for my own relief of suffering worth defiling the Messiah? Of course not, how could I have been so self-absorbed and stupid? I would surely pay for this. He might even revoke the healing and afflict me with even worse suffering. I would deserve it, too, because he was righteous and I am none but a lowly, unclean woman.
His disciples seemed shocked that he could have felt anyone touch him, especially when the crowd was pressing in on him from all sides. But he and I both knew that this had been special. His power had healed me, and that could not go unnoticed. Jesus seemed determined to discover who it was who had touched him, and I was sure he would not move on until I confessed my sin, so I did the only thing I could. I crawled through the dirt until I found myself at his feet, shaking and crying, begging him for forgiveness. When I had finished explaining what had happened, something I was not ready for occurred - he knelt down in front of me, placed his hand beneath my chin, and lifted my dirt-smudged, teary face so my eyes would meet his gaze. Within those eyes, I saw the world. I saw a love so fierce and so terrible it would fight to the death, yet so gentle and kind it would keep you safe from evil always. I saw myself in his eyes, not as an unclean, selfish woman, but as one who could rest in that love. One who could rest in the embrace of this man. One who was passionately loved. I didn’t understand all that I saw, and yet it all seemed to make sense, even in my lack of knowledge. And as I looked into his eyes, I could see that he was looking into mine. I knew that he was looking at my past, my failures, my heart. He saw the years and years I had faithfully prayed to God. He saw my hurt, he saw my pain, he saw me.
My fear was immediately dispelled, and to my amazement, Jesus said to me, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” I shall never forget those words. They will remain upon my heart until my dying day. Though life should throw its arrows at me, though the evil one should rip me to shreds, those words can never be taken from me.
Our encounter lasted no more than 3 minutes, and yet it changed my life forever. And that is something I’ve learned about God. True encounters with the Almighty will leave a mark on you that none can wipe away. But the biggest lesson I learned that afternoon - the one that I come back to on a daily basis, the one that sustains me through the good times and the bad - is this: He loves me! He really really loves me!
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