Sermon - Pentecost 4 

June 28^th  

Lamentations 3:22-33; Psalm 30; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43

In some forms of modern Judaism, there is a reluctance to count people. In some groups, when looking at the number at worship, rather than giving a plain number such as 87, a Bible verse is given with the words of the verse equaling the number in worship. One reason for this reluctance to count comes from the fact that through the years, Jews were counted when being persecuted. The most visible form of this "counting" was when Jews had numbers tattooed on their arms in the German Death Camps. There is a hesitance to count people because it implies that some people count while others do not. In the case of the Holocaust, the count meant that they did not count as humans.

  Since the Holocaust, among some Jewish groups, human life is seen as too valuable to be counted, quantified, rationed, or numbered. Each person is to be seen in light of his or her biography rather than the numbers that can be assigned to someone. Instead of looking at what a person earns, it is more important to look at what a person's work means to him. Rather than looking at how many children a mother has, it is more important to hear what being a mother is like for her.

  The demographics of a person generally state who is inside and outside, important or unimportant. Biography tells us who the person is and ignores the categories we construct to exclude or include.

  In what we have read in today's Gospel, some people would count while others would not. In Jesus' day, the leader of the synagogue would have counted while the woman suffering from hemorrhages would not have counted.

  The leader of the synagogue would have status, prestige, and his opinion would matter. The woman would have been unclean and to touch her or brush against her would defile oneself.

  One of the things happening in this Gospel is that Jesus shows that in his eyes everyone counts. The leader of the synagogue throws himself at the feet of Jesus, as he pleads for Jesus to heal his little girl. At that moment, all that matters to Jairus, the synagogue leader, is that his daughter is sick and he wants her to be well again. His status, dignity, and power are helpless before the power of her sickness. The things that made him "count" or matter in his community are blank and meaningless at that moment.

  Jesus begins to walk to go see the girl, and the crowds are pushing in on him. A woman who has suffered for twelve years comes to him just so that she can touch the hem of his robe. She is one who does not count in the society of the day. She is unclean. Still in her desperation, she moves forward and touches Jesus' robe. She does not care at that moment about the restrictions placed upon her. She does not care that for her to do such a thing is a violation of the standards of the time. All she knows is that Jesus can heal her and restore her life. She touches and she is healed.

  When Jesus asks who touched him, the woman comes in fear and falls before him telling him all that happened. This woman knows that she does not count for much in her culture. She knows that she has crossed the boundary set by the standards of the day. However, in Jesus' eyes she counts. She is everything. There is no distinction. She is a child of God, and she has been made whole.

  Within a few lines, we have the contrast of a man of prestige and a woman who would have counted for nothing. Both are valuable in Jesus' eyes. Both have worth. They are children of God and the distinctions people make means are nothing when they are before Jesus.

  Jesus arrives at the home of the leader of the synagogue. When he is told the girl is dead, and he says he will raise her, the people laugh. To them this man is a fool. He cannot bring life to what is dead. However, Jesus raises the girl. He will not be constrained by the categories this world imposes. He is greater than the distinctions we make. The girl is raised from the dead, and Jesus sees to it that she is fed.

  We think that so many things can save us, but only Christ can actually bring us life. We can flaunt the things we think set us apart; but, before the power of this world and the power of Christ, those things are nothing.

  This week Michael Jackson died and Farah Fawcett died on the same day. As the news cycle endlessly obsessed on the chaotic lives of these two people, I saw the unnoticed story of a nine-year-old Chicago girl whom gang members shot to death as she washed her dog on her grandmother's front steps. She died the same day, but there was no endless footage of the girl. There was no recalling of her life. To the news people and the world, she did not count. However, in Christ's eyes, and in his kingdom, she is everything. To Christ the money, ratings, and fame do not matter. He upholds what we ignore. That is good news for us. His cross and forgiveness do what we cannot: give life to the dead, give grace to what is graceless, and acclaim to what we ignore. Amen.