The Woman and the Crowd
The woman slunk through the crowd, knowing full well her uncleanliness made her a pariah. What if a neighbor noticed and raised a ruckus? What if she brushed against someone else, passing her uncleanliness on to unsuspecting spectators in the jostling crowd.
Physician after physician had prescribed their questionable remedies. Eat this. Don’t eat that. Purge your heart of unrepented sins and offer sacrifices in the temple. Nothing helped. If only she could quietly reach out and touch the hem of the Healer’s robe.
She knew her place, but wanted desperately to feel healing power. Jesus cared about everyone, it seemed. Even now he spoke with a wealthy man who desperately wanted healing for his daughter. A man who loved children and treated women with respect wouldn’t mind helping a sick woman like her.
Surely, he wouldn’t notice. There! He turned to walk away with the man, and she reached forward and clasped the hem of his robe for a butterfly second. Instantly, strength coursed through her.
The twelve-year fog lifted. She stumbled back, shocked that no one around her had felt the jolt of power she’d experienced. Freedom! Maybe not.
“Who touched me?” Jesus stopped and his voice rang out over the crowd.
She could hear his disciples muttering amongst themselves, and gently chiding Jesus, “Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.”
But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; I know power has gone out from me.”
Confessing to a Crowd
When the brain-fog lifted, so did the black clouds of disappointment, withered dreams, and hollow hopes. Courage coursed through her. She stumbled forward, this time in eagerness. She poured out her story without shame or remorse in front of the now silent crowd.
Men stroked their beards and gazed skyward. She could feel their condemnation as she spoke of issues only women have. Sandals shuffled, kicking up dirt where she lay at Jesus’ feet. But the dust of a million sandals couldn’t make her feel dirty. Never again would she feel less than, unclean, or ostracized.
The condemnation and censure of the learned and sophisticated didn’t dampen the good news that coursed through her veins. Jesus didn’t just offer physical healing—he wanted to hear her story, too. And in asking for her story, he healed the deepest wounds of all.
He listened. His feet didn’t shuffle, and he didn’t tug his beard in impatience. He took the time to hear her story—all of it. Then he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”Jesus wants to hear your story, too. Never be afraid to tell him. #story Click To Tweet
Jesus wants to hear your story, too. He knows it already, but he wants you to tell him because he knows the power of story to heal. Maybe he’ll even encourage you to share it with a friend…or a crowd of strangers.
What would you tell him?
(You can read the woman’s story in Luke 8:40-48)