Jairus - A Narrative Sermon
02 July 2000

It's funny how easy it is to forget the things that are really important. So seldom do we sense the wonder of the familiar things... the common, everyday things that make life REALLY life. The feel of your very own carpet between your toes; the joy of looking out your own window on a perfect summer day; the freedom to seek and know and worship and speak about your God... perhaps the thing we take most for granted is our family.

Like all of you, I'm sure I would have said "sure, I love my family" if you'd asked me whether I did or not... but it wasn't until I was about to lose my little girl that I really understood how DEEP... how very completely I loved her.

My name is Jairus. I am the head of the synagogue; that means I am the administrator that is responsible for maintaining the building and conducting the services. It is a job that is highly respected and carries with it a great deal of honor, as well as responsibility. It is my job to be sure that the services are appropriate and true to our faith. Many of my colleagues warned me that this new teacher, Jesus of Nazareth, was a dangerous heretic and must be watched and kept away from our doors. It was my JOB to protect my people from false prophets... to test the teachings of any new rabbi with a skeptical ear... to be wary... of Jesus. It was my job as Ruler of the Synagogue. But I am also a father. And my little girl was sick. It appeared clear to me that she was slowly slipping away from me. Nothing we did seemed to help at all. The more people we took her to, the more we were disappointed. And all the while stories kept coming back to me about the wonders that this Jesus had been working. Angry winds and waves were stilled by his mere command. Lepers cured with just a word; evil spirits driven out; withered hands restored to usefulness again; and people once paralyzed now pranced about carrying the stretcher that had once been their prison.

My friends said he was a heretic. His disciples didn't fast... they gathered grain on the Sabbath... he HEALED people on the Sabbath... he even said he could forgive sins. They said that he was dangerous. That he must be silenced. As ruler of the synagogue, it was my job. But, as a father... I was willing to do ANYthing to save my little girl. She was only twelve... on the threshhold of womanhood. So much of life yet to live. So much to do... to love, to laugh, to marry, to have children of her own. When I looked at her face beaded with sweat... lifelessly pale... I knew that I couldn't live with myself if I watched her die and didn't ask for Jesus' help. As a papa, it was my job!

They wouldn't go get him for me. They wanted nothing to do with Him. So I left her... dying... and went for Him myself.

He had just arrived in town and a huge crowd had already gathered around him down by the lake. I pushed and threaded myself through the sea of humanity until... finally... there he was. I fell down before him, partly out of exhaustion, partly out of desperation and I -- the ruler of the synagogue... BEGGED him: "my daughter is dying, please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live." To my relief... an understanding smile lit a spark in his weary face, and he nodded his assent. He would come. Like a swarm of bees the crowd buzzed around him as we walked toward my home. I couldn't help but feel worried that the people were slowing us down... it was taking so long to get home. Would we be in time? Hands were reaching towards us from every direction, brushing by us as we passed through like walking through one of your full-grown corn crops. Pushing, surging masses of people: calling his name... wanting a glimpse.

Suddenly... Jesus stopped. He turned around with a look of puzzlement on his face: "Who touched my clothes," he said. My thoughts echoed those of his disciples: with this crowd of people all around you and YOU want to know who touched you. Are you kidding? My heart sank... at this rate we'll never make it in time. After Jesus looked at the faces gathered around him for a few moments, a woman... looking both embarrassed and terrified.... stepped forward. I recognized her... like me she had visited every healer in the village, tried everything the Talmud had recommended to cure a condition of bleeding that had labelled her unclean and covered her in shame for years. In a moment she was on her knees confessing that she had touched his garment because she knew that if she could just touch him she would be healed of her bleeding. And she said that she felt it happen... just as she had believed... the moment she touched him she knew that she was healed. Begging his forgiveness she wept before him. Taking her tear stained face in his hand he lifted it up towards his and said: "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace, and be freed from your suffering."

No sooner had the words left his mouth... than my friends arrived with the bad news. "Your daughter is dead," they said, "why bother the teacher any more?" My knees practically buckled beneath me... a hollow aching in my chest seemed to threaten to swallow me up. It's too late. Then a hand squeezed my shoulder and I looked into his eyes... and he said, "Don't be afraid; just believe." And somehow, that voice that had stopped the winds and stilled the waves... calmed the storm that raged in me. When we reached my home you could hear the wails of my family and friends from the street... the mourning, which would last until she was buried, had already begun. But Jesus was not deterred. He took only three of his main disciples with us to the house. When he entered he said to those who were crying: "Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep." They thought he was a fool. He had them leave the house and took his disciples and my wife and I into the room where my dear little girl's body was lying. Taking her by the hand, he said, "Little girl, I say to you, get up!" And she did! For the first time in days... she stood right up and began to walk around the room. We couldn't believe it! He told us, you'd better feed this little girl, she's going to be hungry.

My friends would say that she WAS just sleeping. That Jesus had nothing to do with her amazing recovery. He couldn't have... he was a heretic. But I know what I saw. How can a heretic do the things he did? And how can I be the same once I've seen the things I've seen? If He IS God's chosen one... God's own Son; then I've seen the face of God.... and He cares and He smiles and He understands and He brings new life and no matter how tough things may get no matter how people may laugh at me or mistreat me I will always feel His hand on my shoulder and hear His voice stilling the clamoring within me: "Don't be afraid. Just believe." Maybe your friends won't understand. They mock him. They think he's a fool. Your job might tug you in directions that deny who He is... "Don't be afraid. Just believe" And... watch what He does when you do!