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I love this passage for many reasons, including the unnamed, hemorrhaging woman’s bravery and faith, as well as Jesus’ acute awareness and compassion. In today’s harried and hurried world, I appreciate Christ’s example of the gift of time and acknowledgement (even while on his way to help a deathly ill child) of others, especially those often overlooked or shunned by society. Most of all, I love the illustration of the healing power of touch.
This was one of the first passages on which I preached. I was doing chaplaincy training at Greenville Memorial Hospital that summer, and I was scheduled to preach for the first time at my hometown church, located an hour away from the hospital. I had decided that the sermon was going to be about “the power of touch.”
A lady from my hometown church ended up in the hospital a few weeks before the sermon was scheduled. I had not met Carolyn before, but I got to know her and her family well over those intense weeks. Carolyn had fallen and hit her head while having a leisurely afternoon in Highlands. Once she was in the hospital, a multitude of other medical issues compiled, including sepsis. Her husband and son drove over and visited her every day, and I would pray with them. Carolyn was weak, but conscious. Over time, it began to be apparent that she likely would not go home and that death was imminent. It was absolutely heartbreaking.
When I would pray with her, I would offer to hold her hands. Every single time, even as she became physically weaker and weaker, she would slowly and laboriously bring her hands out from under the covers in order to hold hands. Although too weak to communicate by speaking, she would squeeze my hands as we prayed. It was evident that the power of touch in Jesus’ name was unspeakably meaningful to all of us in the room. One Friday I told Carolyn and her family that I was going to use her faith and strength as a sermon illustration of the power of touch on Sunday. Her family told me they planned to come to the service. And then I received the devastating news that she died that Saturday.
As I was preaching the day after her death, I looked up in the balcony, and there sat her husband and son. I was surprised they were there and was overwhelmed with emotion. When we embraced after the service, once again the power of touch in Jesus’ name was evident.
I’ve never forgotten this story of compassionate Jesus and the brave woman, Carolyn’s strength and faith, and the healing power—even when only spiritual—of touch in the name of Jesus.
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