Have a Heart
Commentary
Some years ago, a few of my kids and I embarked on a little exercise. I invite you to try it yourself. It will require a piece of paper and a pen or pencil.
First, make a list of the five happiest people you know. These are not fictitious characters or people from history. Rather, think exclusively of people you have known personally. Who are the five happiest people you’ve known?
Second, make a list of the five unhappiest people you’ve known. Not unlucky, not unfortunate, but unhappy. And, again, focus on people you’ve known personally.
Finally, make a list of the five most unselfish people you’ve known. These are the people who are always thinking of others; the ones who gladly (not begrudgingly) do for the people around them. And, once again, your focus should be on people you have known personally.
Now comes the evaluative part. What overlap do you find between the lists? I assume that there is no intersection of list one and list two. The question is whether the people on your third list appear on either of your first two lists.
What we found in our family’s thought experiment was that there was a high degree of coincidence between unselfishness and happiness. No one on our third list appeared on our second list. But we found several individuals appearing on both lists one and three.
That may not surprise us, but at some level it is counterintuitive. After all, one would think -- and so much human behavior indicates that people do think this way -- that the pursuit of one’s own happiness would lead to happiness. Yet it seldom does. Selfishness does not end in true happiness. Ah, but when we focus on doing for others, prioritizing their happiness and welfare, we find in that tremendous satisfaction. The person who has loved all day usually goes home a happy camper.
In this regard, I am reminded of Dr. Seuss’ classic Christmas story, How the Grinch Stole Christmas. When we first meet this imaginary character called the Grinch, we immediately recognize that he is a grouch. He scowls and he hates. He is easily irritated and annoyed. And he is so personally unhappy that he sets out to squelch other characters’ happiness.
In the end, the story of the Grinch is a conversion story. And the pivotal moment, according to Dr. Seuss, was when the Grinch’s undersized heart grew three sizes. Then he delights to give, to celebrate, and to join others in their happiness. He ends as a very happy character.
The Grinch, of course, is a 20th-century Christmas conversion story, but several generations before Dr. Seuss, Charles Dickens wrote a different Christmas conversion story: Ebenezer Scrooge. The contours of his story are very much the same. He begins as miserly, self-interested, and manifestly unhappy. He ends, however, as an almost giddy old man once he opens his heart to loving and being loved.
This Sunday is quite far from the Christmas season, but our three assigned passages for this week all echo the principle that we have endeavored to illustrate. For in each passage, we are prompted to think about what it looks like to have a heart for others.
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27
When Samuel went, at the Lord's direction, to the home of Jesse of Bethlehem, he understood that he was to find the next king of Israel from among Jesse’s sons. There were plenty to choose from, for Jesse was the father of eight boys. The job of king, however, was not an immediate opening. The king named Saul was still on Israel's throne.
When we are first introduced to Saul, we are told that he was “a handsome young man. There was not a man among the people of Israel more handsome than he. From his shoulders upward he was taller than any of the people” (1 Samuel 9:2 ESV). And it seems that the prophet Samuel was favorably impressed by such externals, for when he introduced Saul to the nation, he said to them, “Do you see him whom the LORD has chosen? There is none like him among all the people” (1 Samuel 10:24 ESV).
For as impressive as he may have been on the outside, however, Saul was disappointing in the things that really mattered. He was rigid about issues which should have been flexible, and he was wishy-washy about matters that deserved firmness. But worst of all, he was not reliably and carefully faithful to the Lord.
So it was that the Lord sent Samuel to Bethlehem to anoint the next king. And when he met Eliab, Jesse's oldest son, Samuel thought surely this was the man to be the next king. Evidently Eliab was also physically -- that is, externally -- impressive. And so the Lord needed to correct Samuel’s chronic superficiality. The Lord said to his prophet, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7 ESV).
Now, in our assigned passage from 2 Samuel, we come to the moment that the episode in Bethlehem anticipated. King Saul has been killed in battle, and so it was time for David to assume his God-ordained role as King of Israel. So what does David do when he hears the news of Saul's death?
Remember that the Lord had told Samuel that he doesn't look at the outward appearance; he looks at the heart. And in this compelling moment from the beginning of 2 Samuel, we may get a peek into what the Lord saw clearly. Surely David's response to the news of Saul's death shows us his heart.
David does not rejoice at the demise of the man who had made himself David's enemy and persecutor. He did not gloat in some sense of personal vindication. He did not ambitiously maneuver to assume power.
No; but what did David do? He cried. And he led the people of Israel in crying for their fallen king.
David’s poetic lament is filled with pathos and beauty. He pays heartbroken tribute to Saul and Jonathan together. He eulogizes Saul for his effectiveness as Israel’s leader. And he gives expression to his very personal affection for Jonathan.
Additionally, David is conscious of a larger context. There is personal grief for David, to be sure, but he is keenly sensitive to the fact that this is also a national and international moment. He deeply resists the prospect of celebrating Philistines. We know, in fact, that Israel’s enemy made sport of the corpses of Saul and Jonathan. David, however, is eager to protect the dignity of Israel’s fallen heroes.
And he gives voice, too, to the audience that is Israel. He reminds them of what they had in Saul and Jonathan, and hence what they have lost. Even those who did not know the king and his family personally, therefore, as David did, still had reason to join in a national lament over “the mighty” who had fallen.
Those of us in the ministry, who have seen and heard many a funeral and memorial service, are acquainted with the eulogy that doesn’t seem quite to match the reality of the person who has died. And perhaps we sense something of that in David’s tribute to Saul. We read David’s lament, and we want to flip back a few pages in the story to see if we find any evidence for some of this glory attributed to Saul. Yet at its core, David’s song is perhaps not as much a reflection of Saul’s life as it is of David’s heart at this critical moment. And the Lord looks on the heart!
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
Sometimes the people and places of the Bible can seem quite far removed from the people in our pews. The stories we heard in children’s Sunday School classes made the biblical characters seem quite heroic and idealized. And even the problems that they faced were epic: a sea that needed parting, walls that needed to tumble down, a fiery furnace, a lions’ den, and such. And so our assigned passage from 2 Corinthians may be a refreshing sort of surprise to some of our people. For there is nothing spectacular or miraculous here. Rather, there is a simple request for donations in order that people with ample material resources might assist those in need of material resources.
The folks in need in this case were the Christians back in Jerusalem. In order to assist them, Paul was soliciting contributions from the churches around the Mediterranean. And in our particular passage, we are fortunate to overhear his appeal to the Christians in Corinth.
Paul’s starting place is brilliant: he notes that the Corinthians “excel in everything.” It is a commendation which gives birth to a challenge. If they are excellent in so many things, they ought also to be excellent in this!
Interestingly, Paul is careful to distinguish his challenge from a command. As he notes later, the Lord loves a cheerful giver, not one who gives begrudgingly or under compulsion (2 Corinthians 9:7). His line of reasoning here is also reminiscent of what he writes to Philemon. For in that circumstance, too, Paul is eager that his addressee should do the right thing from his heart so that the apostle does not have to resort to insisting or giving orders.
Meanwhile, Paul’s next bit of reasoning reminds us of what he writes to the Philippians about having the same mindset that was in Christ Jesus (Philippians 2:1-8). Inasmuch as he chose the path of humility and self-sacrifice, the Philippians were encouraged to follow his example. And so, here, the Corinthians are similarly reminded of Jesus’ example and urged to live accordingly. Christ, Paul explains, made himself poor in order to enrich others. His example, then, becomes the compelling rationale for Christian giving.
This is a point that deserves some serious consideration. Our natural tendency, you see, is to make need-meeting transactions an entirely horizontal transaction. That is to say, one human being gives to another in response to that other’s need. But Paul is raising our sights. Our chief motivation is not the need of others but the example of Christ. The Apostle John wrote that we love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19), and Paul’s reasoning with the Corinthians is a concrete example of that principle.
Finally, Paul reminds his audience of their ability to do for others. That is, of course, a privilege. Each time I find that I am able to assist someone physically with something that they can’t do by themselves, I realize that it’s a blessing to be strong and able enough to do what they have needed me to do. And surely the same is true when it comes to finances. The Corinthians had the ability to help, and that is not a burden but a blessing.
Mark 5:21-43
When I was a young man in the ministry, I often paced the floor on Saturday nights wondering what I should preach. Nothing seemed like a sermon to me. Now, at the other end of my professional life, I have a quite different experience. Now I see that there is no end to what I should preach. And in the specific case of our assigned Gospel lection for this week, I find myself seeing multiple sermons rather than just one coming from this marvelous text. With that in mind, let me share a variety of brief observations, hopeful that one or several might prove fruitful for you as you prepare to preach this passage.
First, we observe the dramatic beauty of this unusual episode in which two needs are brought to Jesus simultaneously. When the gospels report to us specific miracles or healings, they are typically stand-alone events. Or when the gospels report multiple healings, they are grouped together under phrases like “he healed many in that place” or “he healed all who were brought to him.” But here in Mark 5, we are told about two distinct, individual miracles, yet they overlap. Indeed, from the point of view of Jairus, they might even have seemed to be in competition with each other.
A symmetry in the two needs is immediately apparent: Jairus’ ailing daughter is twelve years old, and the woman with the issue of blood has been ailing for twelve years. The common number, however, serves to highlight a critical difference between the two needs: the one is urgent while the other is chronic. Jairus, on the one hand, is looking for an ambulance that will be able to hurry unimpeded to his house. The woman, by contrast, has been in and out of doctors’ offices for more than a decade.
That compelling distinction between the two needs must have been the source of unspeakable frustration to Jairus. While every ticking second felt like the difference between in-time and too-late for Jairus, he must have wondered why this woman had to jump in line ahead of his daughter. And why did Jesus allow the urgent procession to be stopped?
Perhaps we relate to Jairus’ impatience. And perhaps, too, we recognize from personal experience what no doubt became a part of Jairus’ testimony: namely, that it’s never too late for Jesus and we can trust his timing. If he is unperturbed, we should be, as well.
It is noteworthy that both types of need are brought to Jesus, and both types of need are met by Jesus. Consider your church’s prayer list, and chances are you’ll find both types represented there. Some are marked by a great sense of urgency. Others have perhaps been on the list for years. But Mark 5 tells us we are right to bring both to the Lord.
Speaking of bringing our needs to the Lord, it may be worth mentioning that the woman had taken her needs elsewhere before this saving moment. I am not knocking the medical profession of that day, much less our own. Yet we recognize from scripture a larger principle. “Some trust in chariots and some in horses,” the psalmist declares, “but we trust in the name of the LORD our God” [Psalm 20:7 ESV].
Finally, the juxtaposition of these two needs also demonstrates the gracious versatility of our Lord. See how different the level of faith of these two individuals was. For Jairus, he believed that he needed Jesus to come to his home in order to heal his daughter. For the woman with the issue of blood, by contrast, she was persuaded that Jesus’ volition was not even necessary. In a remarkable affirmation of faith, she believed that she could simply touch him -- no, touch even what he was wearing -- and that would be sufficient for her healing. These were very different faith expectations, and both persons received the healing they sought. It is a testament to how graciously the Lord works with us where we are.
Application
In his second letter to the Corinthians, one of the Apostle Paul’s agenda items was the need of those who were struggling financially in Jerusalem and Judea. Jerusalem, of course, was the mother church for early Christianity. And while perhaps only a small minority of the Gentile believers around the Mediterranean knew Jerusalem personally, it was clear to them that they were branches which had grown out of that trunk and depended spiritually on those roots.
No doubt the Corinthians had needs and concerns of their own. We catch a glimpse of some of them from the 29 chapters of correspondence that we have. And we all know that it is an easy thing -- indeed, a quite natural thing -- to become preoccupied with one’s own needs and concerns. What is going on with me can occupy all of my attention, affording nothing leftover to attend to the needs and concerns of others.
The Apostle Paul urged and challenged the Christians in Corinth to have a heart for others.
In our Old Testament lection, meanwhile, we observe a profound example of a man who did have a heart for others. Specifically, we read David’s heartfelt song of lament over the deaths of Saul and Jonathan. It is a beautiful and poignant expression of grief.
Now in a vacuum, one might not recognize the full beauty of David’s heart in this moment. After all, we reckon that it is natural to feel and to express grief when someone we know has passed. But given the context, as noted above, David’s grief is remarkable.
King Saul had made himself the mortal enemy of David. He marshaled the forces available to him as Israel’s king and set out in relentless pursuit of David, who lived for some considerable period of time as a fugitive. David had been led to believe by the prophet Samuel that he would one day occupy Israel’s palace; but for months, and perhaps years, he was occupying Israel’s caves, hiding from a king gone mad.
Against that backdrop, David’s lament sounds that much more profound. His example is a challenge to you and me. Are we willing to have a heart for the person who opposes us, who misunderstands us, who misrepresents us, and who means us harm?
Finally, Jesus is the example par excellence of having a heart for others. We see that demonstrated from beginning to end of the gospels. And it is surely illustrated in the brief excerpt from Mark that is assigned to us from this week.
The story of these two healings is notable first because of Jesus’ power. Yet upon closer examination, we are struck also by his love. First, he is asked to stop whatever he was doing and leave wherever he was in order to move with urgency to Jairus’ house. Then he is interrupted in the midst of that mission by yet another person with a need. And in the midst of that moment, we are given a subtle glimpse of a larger reality. When Jesus sensed that his power had been tapped by the bleeding woman’s faith, he asked who had touched him. And Peter replied with some astonishment, “You see the crowd pressing around you.” Peter wondered how one particular touch could be discerned when so many, many were touching him. And that observation by Peter helps us to see the reality of Jesus’ daily life: crowds of people pressing in on him. The story of our Gospel lection is about just a few people’s needs and how Jesus healed them. But in the midst of that story, we are reminded that it was not just a few people: it was a multitude, always a multitude, that was pressing on Jesus. And he met all their needs.
In our fallenness, it is natural for us to turn inward. And if we believe the lie of our natural instincts, we will devote all our energies to meeting our own needs and pleasing ourselves. That seems to be the key to personal happiness and satisfaction. But the instruction and examples of scripture, along with the testimony of our best experiences, tells us that we are happiest when we have a heart for others.
Alternative Application(s)
Mark 5:21-43 — “A Little Knowledge”
Human beings have a strange relationship with knowledge.
On the one hand, it seems that we gain knowledge in a way that no other creatures do. Our species, for example, accumulates knowledge. What we know in the 21st century is built and dependent upon what our parents and grandparents learned in the 20th century, which in turn was forged by what their ancestors had learned in the 19th century, and so on. But we see no evidence that squirrels or sharks, birds or bison, have passed down knowledge from generation to generation. I can’t prove it, but my hunch is that the robin in my backyard doesn’t know substantially more or different than a robin in Benjamin Franklin’s backyard.
Moreover, human beings demonstrate an interest in and capacity for a tremendous breadth of knowledge. While most creatures know what is necessary for them to survive, we know so much more and other than that. Admittedly, the bored or frustrated school child may hearken for a more elemental approach to learning -- “When am I ever going to use this?!” -- yet still we press on to acquaint ourselves with all sorts of beyond-the-basics knowledge. And, quite apart from whatever subject we didn’t like in school, most of us even indulge ourselves in a good deal of “useless” knowledge.
Our relationship to knowledge takes a turn for the worse, however, when we think we know things that we do not. Again, I’m not sure that any other members of the animal kingdom suffer from this particular vulnerability. But from a young age, we human beings show a propensity to thinking that we know “better.” Better than who? Better than peers and better than parents. Better than bosses, better than coaches, players, and umpires, better than elected officials, and on and on. And where it becomes truly hazardous, of course, is when we get to thinking that we know better than God.
Scripture is replete with examples of the phenomenon, including a sober detail in our Gospel lection.
Jairus had the good sense to seek out Jesus in order to get healing for his little girl. As we noted above, the urgent journey back to where the girl lay sick must have been an anxious and frustrating one. And, as we know, the whole scene must have collapsed into heartbreak for Jairus when the news arrived that his daughter had died.
Jesus reassures Jairus, and they continue their walk to Jairus’ home. Upon arrival, they discover that the mourning over the little girl had already begun. When Jesus tried to reassure them, however, they would have none of it. On the contrary, they laughed at Jesus’ suggestion that the girl was not dead. And why? Because they knew better.
They had been there, after all, and he had not. They knew she was dead. And so his uninformed diagnosis seemed to them quite absurd. In response, Jesus put them out, and so they did not personally get to witness the beauty of what Jesus did next.
How often have the people of God scoffed at his offers or his promises because “they knew better”? Sarah knew better than to believe that a ninety-year-old woman could have a baby. The children of Israel knew better than to believe that they could defeat the inhabitants of the promised land. The assistant to the king in Elisha’s day knew better than to believe that a starving city would, twenty-four hours later, be flush with food. The disciples knew better than to believe that a multitude could be fed with a sack lunch. And on and on.
We like to say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Well, whether little or much, our knowledge is a tragically dangerous thing when we think we know better than God.
First, make a list of the five happiest people you know. These are not fictitious characters or people from history. Rather, think exclusively of people you have known personally. Who are the five happiest people you’ve known?
Second, make a list of the five unhappiest people you’ve known. Not unlucky, not unfortunate, but unhappy. And, again, focus on people you’ve known personally.
Finally, make a list of the five most unselfish people you’ve known. These are the people who are always thinking of others; the ones who gladly (not begrudgingly) do for the people around them. And, once again, your focus should be on people you have known personally.
Now comes the evaluative part. What overlap do you find between the lists? I assume that there is no intersection of list one and list two. The question is whether the people on your third list appear on either of your first two lists.
What we found in our family’s thought experiment was that there was a high degree of coincidence between unselfishness and happiness. No one on our third list appeared on our second list. But we found several individuals appearing on both lists one and three.
That may not surprise us, but at some level it is counterintuitive. After all, one would think -- and so much human behavior indicates that people do think this way -- that the pursuit of one’s own happiness would lead to happiness. Yet it seldom does. Selfishness does not end in true happiness. Ah, but when we focus on doing for others, prioritizing their happiness and welfare, we find in that tremendous satisfaction. The person who has loved all day usually goes home a happy camper.
In this regard, I am reminded of Dr. Seuss’ classic Christmas story, How the Grinch Stole Christmas. When we first meet this imaginary character called the Grinch, we immediately recognize that he is a grouch. He scowls and he hates. He is easily irritated and annoyed. And he is so personally unhappy that he sets out to squelch other characters’ happiness.
In the end, the story of the Grinch is a conversion story. And the pivotal moment, according to Dr. Seuss, was when the Grinch’s undersized heart grew three sizes. Then he delights to give, to celebrate, and to join others in their happiness. He ends as a very happy character.
The Grinch, of course, is a 20th-century Christmas conversion story, but several generations before Dr. Seuss, Charles Dickens wrote a different Christmas conversion story: Ebenezer Scrooge. The contours of his story are very much the same. He begins as miserly, self-interested, and manifestly unhappy. He ends, however, as an almost giddy old man once he opens his heart to loving and being loved.
This Sunday is quite far from the Christmas season, but our three assigned passages for this week all echo the principle that we have endeavored to illustrate. For in each passage, we are prompted to think about what it looks like to have a heart for others.
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27
When Samuel went, at the Lord's direction, to the home of Jesse of Bethlehem, he understood that he was to find the next king of Israel from among Jesse’s sons. There were plenty to choose from, for Jesse was the father of eight boys. The job of king, however, was not an immediate opening. The king named Saul was still on Israel's throne.
When we are first introduced to Saul, we are told that he was “a handsome young man. There was not a man among the people of Israel more handsome than he. From his shoulders upward he was taller than any of the people” (1 Samuel 9:2 ESV). And it seems that the prophet Samuel was favorably impressed by such externals, for when he introduced Saul to the nation, he said to them, “Do you see him whom the LORD has chosen? There is none like him among all the people” (1 Samuel 10:24 ESV).
For as impressive as he may have been on the outside, however, Saul was disappointing in the things that really mattered. He was rigid about issues which should have been flexible, and he was wishy-washy about matters that deserved firmness. But worst of all, he was not reliably and carefully faithful to the Lord.
So it was that the Lord sent Samuel to Bethlehem to anoint the next king. And when he met Eliab, Jesse's oldest son, Samuel thought surely this was the man to be the next king. Evidently Eliab was also physically -- that is, externally -- impressive. And so the Lord needed to correct Samuel’s chronic superficiality. The Lord said to his prophet, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7 ESV).
Now, in our assigned passage from 2 Samuel, we come to the moment that the episode in Bethlehem anticipated. King Saul has been killed in battle, and so it was time for David to assume his God-ordained role as King of Israel. So what does David do when he hears the news of Saul's death?
Remember that the Lord had told Samuel that he doesn't look at the outward appearance; he looks at the heart. And in this compelling moment from the beginning of 2 Samuel, we may get a peek into what the Lord saw clearly. Surely David's response to the news of Saul's death shows us his heart.
David does not rejoice at the demise of the man who had made himself David's enemy and persecutor. He did not gloat in some sense of personal vindication. He did not ambitiously maneuver to assume power.
No; but what did David do? He cried. And he led the people of Israel in crying for their fallen king.
David’s poetic lament is filled with pathos and beauty. He pays heartbroken tribute to Saul and Jonathan together. He eulogizes Saul for his effectiveness as Israel’s leader. And he gives expression to his very personal affection for Jonathan.
Additionally, David is conscious of a larger context. There is personal grief for David, to be sure, but he is keenly sensitive to the fact that this is also a national and international moment. He deeply resists the prospect of celebrating Philistines. We know, in fact, that Israel’s enemy made sport of the corpses of Saul and Jonathan. David, however, is eager to protect the dignity of Israel’s fallen heroes.
And he gives voice, too, to the audience that is Israel. He reminds them of what they had in Saul and Jonathan, and hence what they have lost. Even those who did not know the king and his family personally, therefore, as David did, still had reason to join in a national lament over “the mighty” who had fallen.
Those of us in the ministry, who have seen and heard many a funeral and memorial service, are acquainted with the eulogy that doesn’t seem quite to match the reality of the person who has died. And perhaps we sense something of that in David’s tribute to Saul. We read David’s lament, and we want to flip back a few pages in the story to see if we find any evidence for some of this glory attributed to Saul. Yet at its core, David’s song is perhaps not as much a reflection of Saul’s life as it is of David’s heart at this critical moment. And the Lord looks on the heart!
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
Sometimes the people and places of the Bible can seem quite far removed from the people in our pews. The stories we heard in children’s Sunday School classes made the biblical characters seem quite heroic and idealized. And even the problems that they faced were epic: a sea that needed parting, walls that needed to tumble down, a fiery furnace, a lions’ den, and such. And so our assigned passage from 2 Corinthians may be a refreshing sort of surprise to some of our people. For there is nothing spectacular or miraculous here. Rather, there is a simple request for donations in order that people with ample material resources might assist those in need of material resources.
The folks in need in this case were the Christians back in Jerusalem. In order to assist them, Paul was soliciting contributions from the churches around the Mediterranean. And in our particular passage, we are fortunate to overhear his appeal to the Christians in Corinth.
Paul’s starting place is brilliant: he notes that the Corinthians “excel in everything.” It is a commendation which gives birth to a challenge. If they are excellent in so many things, they ought also to be excellent in this!
Interestingly, Paul is careful to distinguish his challenge from a command. As he notes later, the Lord loves a cheerful giver, not one who gives begrudgingly or under compulsion (2 Corinthians 9:7). His line of reasoning here is also reminiscent of what he writes to Philemon. For in that circumstance, too, Paul is eager that his addressee should do the right thing from his heart so that the apostle does not have to resort to insisting or giving orders.
Meanwhile, Paul’s next bit of reasoning reminds us of what he writes to the Philippians about having the same mindset that was in Christ Jesus (Philippians 2:1-8). Inasmuch as he chose the path of humility and self-sacrifice, the Philippians were encouraged to follow his example. And so, here, the Corinthians are similarly reminded of Jesus’ example and urged to live accordingly. Christ, Paul explains, made himself poor in order to enrich others. His example, then, becomes the compelling rationale for Christian giving.
This is a point that deserves some serious consideration. Our natural tendency, you see, is to make need-meeting transactions an entirely horizontal transaction. That is to say, one human being gives to another in response to that other’s need. But Paul is raising our sights. Our chief motivation is not the need of others but the example of Christ. The Apostle John wrote that we love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19), and Paul’s reasoning with the Corinthians is a concrete example of that principle.
Finally, Paul reminds his audience of their ability to do for others. That is, of course, a privilege. Each time I find that I am able to assist someone physically with something that they can’t do by themselves, I realize that it’s a blessing to be strong and able enough to do what they have needed me to do. And surely the same is true when it comes to finances. The Corinthians had the ability to help, and that is not a burden but a blessing.
Mark 5:21-43
When I was a young man in the ministry, I often paced the floor on Saturday nights wondering what I should preach. Nothing seemed like a sermon to me. Now, at the other end of my professional life, I have a quite different experience. Now I see that there is no end to what I should preach. And in the specific case of our assigned Gospel lection for this week, I find myself seeing multiple sermons rather than just one coming from this marvelous text. With that in mind, let me share a variety of brief observations, hopeful that one or several might prove fruitful for you as you prepare to preach this passage.
First, we observe the dramatic beauty of this unusual episode in which two needs are brought to Jesus simultaneously. When the gospels report to us specific miracles or healings, they are typically stand-alone events. Or when the gospels report multiple healings, they are grouped together under phrases like “he healed many in that place” or “he healed all who were brought to him.” But here in Mark 5, we are told about two distinct, individual miracles, yet they overlap. Indeed, from the point of view of Jairus, they might even have seemed to be in competition with each other.
A symmetry in the two needs is immediately apparent: Jairus’ ailing daughter is twelve years old, and the woman with the issue of blood has been ailing for twelve years. The common number, however, serves to highlight a critical difference between the two needs: the one is urgent while the other is chronic. Jairus, on the one hand, is looking for an ambulance that will be able to hurry unimpeded to his house. The woman, by contrast, has been in and out of doctors’ offices for more than a decade.
That compelling distinction between the two needs must have been the source of unspeakable frustration to Jairus. While every ticking second felt like the difference between in-time and too-late for Jairus, he must have wondered why this woman had to jump in line ahead of his daughter. And why did Jesus allow the urgent procession to be stopped?
Perhaps we relate to Jairus’ impatience. And perhaps, too, we recognize from personal experience what no doubt became a part of Jairus’ testimony: namely, that it’s never too late for Jesus and we can trust his timing. If he is unperturbed, we should be, as well.
It is noteworthy that both types of need are brought to Jesus, and both types of need are met by Jesus. Consider your church’s prayer list, and chances are you’ll find both types represented there. Some are marked by a great sense of urgency. Others have perhaps been on the list for years. But Mark 5 tells us we are right to bring both to the Lord.
Speaking of bringing our needs to the Lord, it may be worth mentioning that the woman had taken her needs elsewhere before this saving moment. I am not knocking the medical profession of that day, much less our own. Yet we recognize from scripture a larger principle. “Some trust in chariots and some in horses,” the psalmist declares, “but we trust in the name of the LORD our God” [Psalm 20:7 ESV].
Finally, the juxtaposition of these two needs also demonstrates the gracious versatility of our Lord. See how different the level of faith of these two individuals was. For Jairus, he believed that he needed Jesus to come to his home in order to heal his daughter. For the woman with the issue of blood, by contrast, she was persuaded that Jesus’ volition was not even necessary. In a remarkable affirmation of faith, she believed that she could simply touch him -- no, touch even what he was wearing -- and that would be sufficient for her healing. These were very different faith expectations, and both persons received the healing they sought. It is a testament to how graciously the Lord works with us where we are.
Application
In his second letter to the Corinthians, one of the Apostle Paul’s agenda items was the need of those who were struggling financially in Jerusalem and Judea. Jerusalem, of course, was the mother church for early Christianity. And while perhaps only a small minority of the Gentile believers around the Mediterranean knew Jerusalem personally, it was clear to them that they were branches which had grown out of that trunk and depended spiritually on those roots.
No doubt the Corinthians had needs and concerns of their own. We catch a glimpse of some of them from the 29 chapters of correspondence that we have. And we all know that it is an easy thing -- indeed, a quite natural thing -- to become preoccupied with one’s own needs and concerns. What is going on with me can occupy all of my attention, affording nothing leftover to attend to the needs and concerns of others.
The Apostle Paul urged and challenged the Christians in Corinth to have a heart for others.
In our Old Testament lection, meanwhile, we observe a profound example of a man who did have a heart for others. Specifically, we read David’s heartfelt song of lament over the deaths of Saul and Jonathan. It is a beautiful and poignant expression of grief.
Now in a vacuum, one might not recognize the full beauty of David’s heart in this moment. After all, we reckon that it is natural to feel and to express grief when someone we know has passed. But given the context, as noted above, David’s grief is remarkable.
King Saul had made himself the mortal enemy of David. He marshaled the forces available to him as Israel’s king and set out in relentless pursuit of David, who lived for some considerable period of time as a fugitive. David had been led to believe by the prophet Samuel that he would one day occupy Israel’s palace; but for months, and perhaps years, he was occupying Israel’s caves, hiding from a king gone mad.
Against that backdrop, David’s lament sounds that much more profound. His example is a challenge to you and me. Are we willing to have a heart for the person who opposes us, who misunderstands us, who misrepresents us, and who means us harm?
Finally, Jesus is the example par excellence of having a heart for others. We see that demonstrated from beginning to end of the gospels. And it is surely illustrated in the brief excerpt from Mark that is assigned to us from this week.
The story of these two healings is notable first because of Jesus’ power. Yet upon closer examination, we are struck also by his love. First, he is asked to stop whatever he was doing and leave wherever he was in order to move with urgency to Jairus’ house. Then he is interrupted in the midst of that mission by yet another person with a need. And in the midst of that moment, we are given a subtle glimpse of a larger reality. When Jesus sensed that his power had been tapped by the bleeding woman’s faith, he asked who had touched him. And Peter replied with some astonishment, “You see the crowd pressing around you.” Peter wondered how one particular touch could be discerned when so many, many were touching him. And that observation by Peter helps us to see the reality of Jesus’ daily life: crowds of people pressing in on him. The story of our Gospel lection is about just a few people’s needs and how Jesus healed them. But in the midst of that story, we are reminded that it was not just a few people: it was a multitude, always a multitude, that was pressing on Jesus. And he met all their needs.
In our fallenness, it is natural for us to turn inward. And if we believe the lie of our natural instincts, we will devote all our energies to meeting our own needs and pleasing ourselves. That seems to be the key to personal happiness and satisfaction. But the instruction and examples of scripture, along with the testimony of our best experiences, tells us that we are happiest when we have a heart for others.
Alternative Application(s)
Mark 5:21-43 — “A Little Knowledge”
Human beings have a strange relationship with knowledge.
On the one hand, it seems that we gain knowledge in a way that no other creatures do. Our species, for example, accumulates knowledge. What we know in the 21st century is built and dependent upon what our parents and grandparents learned in the 20th century, which in turn was forged by what their ancestors had learned in the 19th century, and so on. But we see no evidence that squirrels or sharks, birds or bison, have passed down knowledge from generation to generation. I can’t prove it, but my hunch is that the robin in my backyard doesn’t know substantially more or different than a robin in Benjamin Franklin’s backyard.
Moreover, human beings demonstrate an interest in and capacity for a tremendous breadth of knowledge. While most creatures know what is necessary for them to survive, we know so much more and other than that. Admittedly, the bored or frustrated school child may hearken for a more elemental approach to learning -- “When am I ever going to use this?!” -- yet still we press on to acquaint ourselves with all sorts of beyond-the-basics knowledge. And, quite apart from whatever subject we didn’t like in school, most of us even indulge ourselves in a good deal of “useless” knowledge.
Our relationship to knowledge takes a turn for the worse, however, when we think we know things that we do not. Again, I’m not sure that any other members of the animal kingdom suffer from this particular vulnerability. But from a young age, we human beings show a propensity to thinking that we know “better.” Better than who? Better than peers and better than parents. Better than bosses, better than coaches, players, and umpires, better than elected officials, and on and on. And where it becomes truly hazardous, of course, is when we get to thinking that we know better than God.
Scripture is replete with examples of the phenomenon, including a sober detail in our Gospel lection.
Jairus had the good sense to seek out Jesus in order to get healing for his little girl. As we noted above, the urgent journey back to where the girl lay sick must have been an anxious and frustrating one. And, as we know, the whole scene must have collapsed into heartbreak for Jairus when the news arrived that his daughter had died.
Jesus reassures Jairus, and they continue their walk to Jairus’ home. Upon arrival, they discover that the mourning over the little girl had already begun. When Jesus tried to reassure them, however, they would have none of it. On the contrary, they laughed at Jesus’ suggestion that the girl was not dead. And why? Because they knew better.
They had been there, after all, and he had not. They knew she was dead. And so his uninformed diagnosis seemed to them quite absurd. In response, Jesus put them out, and so they did not personally get to witness the beauty of what Jesus did next.
How often have the people of God scoffed at his offers or his promises because “they knew better”? Sarah knew better than to believe that a ninety-year-old woman could have a baby. The children of Israel knew better than to believe that they could defeat the inhabitants of the promised land. The assistant to the king in Elisha’s day knew better than to believe that a starving city would, twenty-four hours later, be flush with food. The disciples knew better than to believe that a multitude could be fed with a sack lunch. And on and on.
We like to say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Well, whether little or much, our knowledge is a tragically dangerous thing when we think we know better than God.
