It 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, 鈥淲ho touched my clothes?鈥�, when that person was surrounded by hundreds of people.
And as if that wasn鈥檛 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.
鈥淣o, she鈥檚 not,鈥� came the leader鈥檚 response. 鈥淪he鈥檚 just sleeping.鈥�
Words like 鈥渄enial to the max鈥� 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. 聽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 that Jesus was the Christ, that鈥檚 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 twelve years, Jesus acknowledged her touch, turned and then assured her of her healing. To the parents of the child he gave instruction 鈥渢o give her something to eat鈥�.
鈥淏ut the very hairs of your head are all numbered鈥� (Matthew 10:30)
Yours and mine!
