Brief synopsis of the readings: The first reading may be unfamiliar as it comes from the Old Testament book of Wisdom. Wisdom, along with several other books comprise something called the “apocryphal” or “deuterocannonical” books; these are books in the Old Testament that Catholics recognize as part of the Bible while Jews and Protestants do not. Here the writer of the book states that death is not God’s doing. God made us to be imperishable “it was the devil’s envy that brought death into the world, as those who are his partners will discover.” Mark’s Gospel recounts a time when Jarius, a temple official, pleaded with Jesus to heal his daughter who was “desperately sick.” While Jesus was on his way to heal her, a woman who had suffered from a hemorrhage for 12 years approached him. Futile attempts over the years at finding healing only made things worse and bankrupted her. Instead of asking for Jesus for healing, she grabbed his cloak in the hopes that this would suffice for her healing. Jesus felt this and demanded to know touched him, and the woman (feeling frightened) admitted it was her. She was immediately healed and Jesus told her that her faith healed her. At this time, others came to tell Jesus that Jarius’ daughter had died. Nevertheless Jesus continued on his journey. On reaching Jarius’ home he commanded the girl to wake up, and she did. Jesus then told her family to give her something to eat.

Many of us believe that we have created a world that attempts to be immune to pain and suffering. And while that’s true, I also think sometimes we’re too willing to be complacent in the face of suffering. Sometimes we believe that our suffering is temporary and it’s just easier to “wait it out” instead of doing something about it. Sometimes we feel that suffering is inevitable and there’s no point in fighting it. But sometimes we feel, incorrectly, that suffering is a test from God who judges us, and even bases our salvation on how we react. Catholics of a certain age will remember the phrase “offer it up.” We were told that when we were suffering (anything from cancer to slamming our finger in a door) we could ask God to offer up our suffering to the poor souls languishing in purgatory, and that God would be impressed with our selflessness.

Times in our lives where we’ve suffered have often led to personal growth and opportunities for compassion, but I’ve never been comfortable with the idea that God sends suffering our way. In my defense I offer this reading from Wisdom.

The author of Wisdom clearly believes that a God of light and truth and immortality does not cause suffering. Granted it would be wonderful to live in a world devoid of suffering, but we don’t. Instead we live in a world where suffering comes from evil but one where God has the final say.

That sense of a God who can and does heal must have often occupied the mind of the woman in the Gospel who suffered from the hemorrhage. This reading requires a note of explanation. The woman with the hemorrhage was not just someone with a persistent nosebleed. She was suffering from something called “menorrhagia,” a condition where the loss of blood was acute enough to cause anemia. Instead of having a regular period she bled nearly constantly. Under Jewish law a woman who is having her period is determined to be unclean and may not be touched by her husband, or anyone else for that matter. A woman with normal periods must refrain from any contact with her husband for seven days after the end of her period. Any spotting resets the clock for another seven days. Clearly this is a woman who has been unclean for twelve years.

We can only imagine how isolating this must have been; it’s not an exaggeration to say that she was bleeding to death. Not only was she unable to even hold her husband’s hand, she wasn’t able to touch anyone. No embraces, no handshakes, no contact at all. It would have been easy for her to just give up, thinking herself cursed by God.

But this was a woman who was not complacent. Unfortunately she endured “long and painful treatment under various doctors, she had spent all she had without being any the better for it, in fact she was getting worse.” We don’t know if “worse” was heavier periods, more exhaustion from the anemia, or greater depression from the growing isolation. In a sense it doesn’t matter. This was a woman in great need of the healing Jesus just promised to Jarius’ daughter.

But this unnamed woman did something remarkable. Going against everything she has been taught she entered the crowd. This unclean woman, this woman who wasn’t supposed to have contact with anyone, does the unthinkable. We can only imagine how the crowd reacted when they spotted her. Anyone she touched would themselves become unclean and we can imagine their anger at seeing her dive into the crowd.

And then she does something astounding. Jarius followed the normal protocol with Jesus: he asks Jesus for healing. He explains that his daughter is gravely ill and asks Jesus to cure her. This woman didn’t follow protocol. She wasn’t supposed to touch anyone and yet she reaches for Jesus. She didn’t ask for healing, she grabbed for it. She didn’t ask for permission. She didn’t enter into a contract with Jesus (“You have faith and I will heal you”). And she didn’t shrink away when Jesus asked who touched him.

And she was healed. For the first time in a dozen years she was suddenly free to be human again, to be something other than an outcast. Her new life can now begin.

Except that Jesus demanded to know who touched him. Should she run away? Will the healing be reversed? What does she say to Jesus? What if he’s angry? What if he wanted her to ask permission? In the depths of her fear, with her voice shaking and her knees trembling, she walks out of the shadows (on so many levels) and tells Jesus it was her. Did Jesus know her ailment? We don’t know, but Jesus knew enough to know that her faith has restored her.

And what of us? Are there parallels for us? Mercifully we no longer consider women “unclean” for half the month. But I think there’s something deeper here. We are all in need of healing and we all ask to be healed. But sometimes asking for God for healing and waiting for it to happen doesn’t give us enough credit.

Sometimes we need to have the courage to grab healing. There’s a very old joke that illustrates this:

There is a man living in his home and his town is being flooded. He is a man of faith and believes that God will save him from drowning. Soon someone drives up in a four wheel drive and offers to rescue him but the man says: “That’s OK, God will save me.” As the water level continues to rise, another man approaches in a boat with the same offer of rescue. Again the man dismisses help by saying that God will provide. As the water level rises the man scrambles to his roof and a helicopter hovers over, again offering to save him. For the third time the man waves them off, believing that God will save him. Eventually he drowns and goes to Heaven. When he sees God the man says: “I thought you were going to save me.” God responds: “What do you want from me? I sent you a jeep, a boat, and a helicopter. You should have gone with one of them.”

Our faith tells us that God both saves and heals. But our faith does not tell us that we are passive observers in this process. We have been given the gift of discernment so that we can participate and cooperate with God. Maybe grabbing salvation means changing jobs or leaving a toxic relationship. Maybe it’s having the courage to dive into a crowd that doesn’t want us there and claim a voice we’re not supposed to have. Maybe it means interrupting a healing “the normal way” and seeking a whole new healing.

And ultimately it’s moving beyond our fear to believe that healing comes from Jesus, even if we catch him by surprise.