Hanging By A Thread?

She had to get to him. She didn’t have any other options. There was no “Plan B”.

Her heart was broken. She had been outcast from the people…

Separated, segregated, for far too long.

As the “unhealthy”, the church excluded her. Society rejected her. The people despised her, as if contaminated, infected.

Where else did she have to go?

Not only was she “unclean”; anything she touched was deemed tarnished, unworthy, tainted, foul, unholy.

The people she thought would call her to righteousness, rejected her, scorn her, led the charge to distain her because of her blood disorder.

And don’t we still see this same thing today?

Doctors, medical staff, church leaders, and healing hands, fear what is unknown, not easily able to understand.

And the very people called to bring healing and hope, can wound us with their own inability to do what brings healing.

And so they run, turn, push their back in our face, and cast the most broken away from their eyes.

They lavish their tongues with excuses and blaspheme about what and why, and how they think things really are.

Instead of taking the unknown humbly and with honest uncertainty, they turn away the lost, the broken, the sick…

Or worse yet, turn their backs, becoming mute to the cries, unresponsive to the needs lying all around them.

And then they blame the one needing redemption, instead of bringing them near with promise and possibility, answers and solutions.

She dragged herself on the outskirts of the city. Unable to come near the “holy”, the “clean”.

She must have felt lathargic, anemic. Twelve years bleeding, without any releif or explanation.

Doctors failed.

Local healers, frauds.

Spiritual leaders betrayed her and cast her out of the city.

Who would come to her rescue? Who would touch her? Get near enough to hear her cries?

Did her own family betray her? Her mother? Her father?

Did she have children? A husband?

How could she go twelve years without anyone touching her, stroking her hair? Holding her hand as she wailed in pain, or cruched over in worthless bewilderment?

Who counseled her feelings? Who talked and gave answers? Or even made up some fantastical thinking of why she might be sick?

Did the unanswered questions plague her while she slept?

Did the silence sting so much more than the pain she felt?

But then…she heard His name; the name of the man who did miracles and brought healing.

He was coming through her town. Walking past, near HER.

The crowds were too much. And this time, the people did not part like the Red Sea, as she walked.

For the first time in a dozen years, she felt her arms brush past the flesh of other humans.

She felt almost alive. Like a once zombie, walking dead, now rising with hope from somewhere in her being.

The people ignored their theology. The priests rule of not touching the unclean disappeared in light of the man who was there, just in front of them.

And now, here she was. In the city, near people. Close to Jesus; arms-reach from the power she needed to redeem her from despair.

She could hear his gentle sound. He was not loud or brazen, like self-proclaiming healers. He walked soft and gently. 

She needed closer to this man from Galilee.

As she moved with the crowd, she pressed in with all the child-like strength she could muster.

She was weak, helpless.

This was her only hope.

And I wonder today….

Where is your hope?

Is it in leaders? Political solutions? Government? Doctors? Other people?

Jesus was this woman’s answer. He was her only hope. Her last solution.

Eventually, all else failed. Everyone else betrayed her.

But Him, He was near.

She had to get closer to His presence.

The crowds eyes didn’t turn and scold her.

She welcomed the ignoring with her torn rags, smelly flesh, and layers of dried blood sticking to her sweaty skin.

She thought it facinating that the so-called clean where like magnets to this man. Their “rules” in light of His presence, fled right out the door.

They too, the ones who had hard condemned and scorn her, were pulled to his being…

Drawn to His presence, just like she was.

But on the outside, they looked “clean”. Maybe their wounds were internal?

When the so-called “holy” stand in the presence of the only perfect one, even the “righteous” surrender and fall down at His feet.

And there they were, leaning in, reaching out, begging for just one stroke of the hand of the man that could open blind eyes, feed five-thousand with one tiny lunch from a child.

If He could do that, she had faith…

He could also heal her.

Then, it happened.

She felt it.

A thread from his well-worn cloak, dangled far from the back of Jesus’ robe.

She shoved her hand through the crowd. Stepped on, her hands start bleeding. But, she didn’t care.

She poked her fingers through, knees falling to the ground…

White knuckles grab the edge of His cloak.

She knew, if only she could touch the edge of his garment, she would be made well.

There. In that moment. Nothing else mattered. She had a piece of Jesus.

And then, He turned.

His eyes fixed on her, the one who others had distain for.

His voice gently encouraged, “Take Courage, dear Daughter. Your faith has made you well.”

Like fire, flowing down a waterfall; energy, power, authority, healing, burned inside her bones that instant.

Once dead, she felt alive.

Once groggy and tired, weak and unclear….Her mind now awakened, her spirit surged with an energy she hadn’t felt in years.

She was new, strong, redeemed, unscorn.

She was hanging onto just a thread. But a thread was enough.

And still today, maybe you are searching, seeking for man-made solutions, seen or unseen, to heal your pains or issues.

Don’t shrink or hide, turn away outside the city gates, intimidated by the crowd…

Seek the man like no one else. He can eleviate your pain.

His name is “Jesus”.

Jesus very threads, His very garment has the power to bring life and deliverance, promise and hope…

Power to even the most bound prisoners, slinking around in their chains.

He is not like man, to call us by our sins. He calls us by our name.

He asks us to rise.

He hears the cries of the beggar and the needy.

Won’t you reach for His garment today?

Won’t you better yet, look into His eyes, open His Holy Scripture, and find the promise to every problem at the feet of His mercies?

Some say it’s too simple. Some think it’s impractical.

But I say He’s the hope, the only one who can bring deliverance.

His redeeming mercies are needed, for this world and for our nation.

He is the answer for lives crumbling and the hope of a new tomorrow.

His garment is the thread of promise each of us can cling too.

Have faith. Trust His voice. There is no one He will turn away.

There is power in the name of Jesus.

You will find healing in His cloak…

Reach out. And hang on by His thread.