Long and frequent travels – to England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, Ireland, back to Italy, then off to the Middle East – marked the past week. But even in a hectic week, there was still time for some reflection.
As a brother priest thoughtfully drove me to the airport (the same airport from which he had picked me up at midnight the night before), the topic of conversation turned to that Sunday’s Gospel.
Recalling the incident with Jairus and the ill woman, the priest expressed his opinion that Jairus was a man lacking in faith. When I asked about his reasoning, he replied that Jairus had asked Jesus to come to his house. Had the man really had faith, the priest concluded, he would have just asked Jesus to heal his daughter from a distance.
A hasty conclusion
In my most pastorally sensitive voice, I replied that I did not think it was the case that Jairus was a man lacking in faith. I had two reasons for thinking this.
First, Jairus was a synagogue official. By approaching Jesus, and asking for His help and healing, Jairus was taking a great risk.
We know from the Scriptures that the scribes and Pharisees were no fans of Christ. By asking Jesus for a favor, Jairus was going against the official narrative and the status quo. By simply approaching and begging Jesus, Jairus risked losing his authority, his prestige, and his position. Yet Jairus was willing to lose everything for the sake of the one thing that mattered most to him: his daughter.
An important detail
The second reason is much more subtle: we see Jairus’ faith as he tells Christ how to heal his daughter, namely, by laying His hands on her. He tells Christ: “Please, come lay your hands on her that she may get well and live” (Mk 5:23).
Paying close attention to these words, Saint Peter Chrysologus offers a beautiful reflection as he writes (sermon 33.3):
“Those who are sick do not lay down the conditions of how they are to be cured. They only want to be made well. But this man was a ruler of the synagogue, and versed in the law. He had surely read that while God created all other things by his word, man had been created by the hand of God. He trusted therefore in God that his daughter would be re-created, and restored to life by that same hand which, he knew, had created her. . . . He who laid hands on her to form her from nothing, once more lays hands upon her to reform her from what had perished.”
In other words, in requesting that Jesus lay His hands on his daughter, Jairus is recognizing that Christ is God, and that He can restore His daughter just as He created the first man.
Judge not
This discussion led me to reflect on how easy it is for us to judge, and how very easy it is for us to be wrong in our judgments. It is true that some actions are always wrong, and that when someone sins against us, Christ tells us to “go and tell him his fault between you and him alone” (Mt 18:15).
However, what we cannot know, and what we often assume that we do know, are the motives and intentions of others. I learned this lesson recently at my parish in Italy when I heard that a certain couple would be giving a talk to engaged couples on holiness in married life.
Given that I did not always see the couple for Sunday Mass, I was somewhat surprised at the choice. Fortunately, I have made enough mistakes to know that I shouldn’t express my opinions out loud. I simply remarked that it would certainly be an excellent talk. The coordinator eagerly agreed.
“How often do you get to have a missionary couple that goes to provide medical attention to the poor and dying in sub-Saharan Africa throughout the year come and speak of their experience as a married couple?” he asked.
With that, I understood why this couple wasn’t always at Sunday mass, at least not at my parish. The husband and wife cared for people who were dying many weeks out of the year. And they did so in war zones and areas of conflict.
It’s very easy to judge; it’s much more difficult to be right in your judgement.
The Key
Perhaps the Gospel for the 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time holds the key to keeping our judgments in order. The key is not with Jairus, but rather with the anonymous sickly woman who encounters Christ.
In all things, we might consider the woman to be the opposite of Jairus. Jairus had power, prestige, and authority within the community and society. The community, however, shunned the woman.
Jairus also had money and this woman had nothing. And Jairus was a religious leader while this woman was perpetually in a state of impurity according to the Jewish law. However, the woman takes the risk of reaching out and touching Jesus. We know the result:
“Jesus, aware at once that power had gone out from him, turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who has touched my clothes?” But his disciples said to Jesus, “You see how the crowd is pressing upon you, and yet you ask, ‘Who touched me?’” (Mk 5:30-31).
I can just imagine the indignation of the apostles: why would Jesus ask them about one solitary figure in the crowd? Doesn’t He see the nameless mass of people, the sea of humanity? What does one person in the crowd matter? For Jesus, it matters a great deal.
The Sick Woman
For Jesus, there is no “nameless mass” or “sea of humanity.” All Christ sees are individuals, and this is because He is the good shepherd who knows His sheep individually and calls them by name.
For Jesus, no one, no matter how forgotten or rejected, is nameless. This is the point that Jesus makes with the woman. After hearing her story, Jesus replies: “Daughter, your faith has saved you. Go in peace and be cured of your affliction” (Mk 5:34). He calls her daughter: that is her fundamental and undeniable identity. She is a beloved child of God, despite whatever she has done, whatever she has suffered, in spite of anything and everything.
For us and our daily living
There are so many things that we simply don’t know about others and their struggles. However, when we bear in mind the fact that everyone is a beloved son or daughter of God, it should change the way we view them, and for the better. In this, we have an excellent guide in Saint Therese of Lisieux, who saw in Christ’s love the model for her own:
“How did Jesus love His disciples and why did He love them? Ah! it was not their natural qualities that could have attracted Him, since there was between Him and them an infinite distance. He was knowledge, Eternal Wisdom, while they were poor ignorant fishermen filled with earthly thoughts. And still Jesus called them his friends, His brothers. He desires to see them reign with Him in the kingdom of His Father, and to open that kingdom to them He wills to die on the cross, for He said: “Greater love than this no man has than that he lay down his life for his friends.”
“Dear Mother, when meditating upon these words of Jesus, I understood how imperfect was my love for my Sisters. I saw I didn’t love them as God loves them. Ah! I understand now that charity consists in bearing with the faults of others, in not being surprised at their weakness, in being edified by the smallest acts of virtue we see them practice” (St. Therese of Lisieux “Story of a Soul,” pg. 250).
The good in others
Indeed, sometimes we are so quick to judge, that we miss the “smallest acts of virtue” in others. We leave no room for people to surprise us with their goodness.
Even the most distant and prodigal child still resembles his or her parents, and so, rather than judge all the ways that they fall short, perhaps we should look out for the similarities, and embrace their good qualities.
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Author: Fr. Nathaniel Dreyer
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