t was enough to make a dozen or more grown men groan, and groan they did. Not only did they groan, they questioned the very sanity of anyone who would ask the question, “Who touched my clothes?”, when that person was surrounded by hundreds of people.
And as if that wasn’t enough, a request to visit a dying child was next on the agenda for that day. Continuing their journey, the group finally reached the home of a high-placed religious leader. They were met at the door by mourners who announced that there was no need to come in for the girl was already dead.
“No, she’s not,” came the leader’s response. “She’s just sleeping.”
Words like “denial to the max” or insanity came immediately to mind. In fact, any tears of sorrow were replaced with laughs of scorn. That was before his words were proven true and the mourners, no longer mockers, reeled with amazement.
Yes, there probably were many who touched His clothes in the course of following Him through the streets of the city, but only one took hold of His robe as an act of faith that He would meet her need. The child had died but now she lived. Those two acts alone are enough to baffle the mind and for some, to discard the stories as mere fables.
But as much as I believe Jesus was the Christ, that’s not what caught my attention this week. It was the tender care shown the individuals involved. To the woman who was healed after suffering for 12 years, Jesus acknowledged her touch, turned and then assured her of her healing. To the parents of the child he gave instruction “to give her something to eat”.
“But the very hairs of your head are all numbered” (Matthew 10:30)
Yours and mine!
