Who Touched My Garments


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Poor, Jairus! His daughter was dying. His child who he had quieted after nightmares, and carried on his shoulders to the marketplace, and who he had served and protected with all the tender devotion of a Father was struggling to draw another ragged breath. He stood there feeling helpless. Terribly helpless.

When he had left her bedside, she had looked as though she might die at any moment. Her limp hair had been plastered against her sweaty brow. He needed a miracle, and so he had left her to seek out a worker of miracles. Abandoning all pretense and dignity he ran through the streets. Then as he rounded a corner, he came out onto a scene of pure bedlam. The itinerant rabbi and miracle worker that he had come in search of, Jesus, was surrounded by a throng of people all clamoring for his attention. Some wanted a word with Jesus, or a question answered. Many wanted healing from all kinds of illnesses. Standing aloof to one side were a gaggle of Pharisees. Some of them were known to Jairus who was the ruler of the local synagogue. His heart fell. He had hoped to catch Jesus at a quiet moment and, in privacy, make an urgent, heartfelt appeal on behalf of his daughter. He had been practicing his words in a miserable, desperate loop since leaving her bedside, but now he realized that whatever he said to the Rabbi would have to be shouted above the crowds, mingled and competing with the appeals of others. In a moment, however, all of the fierce, parental love that a Daddy can have for his little girl welled up within him, and he began shouldering his way through the crowds toward Jesus. He would do what he could.

What happened next was kind of a blur. Somehow, against all odds, he caught Jesus’ attention, and in a jumbled torrent of words (He forgot his carefully constructed script.) he begged Jesus to come quickly and to save his little girl. “We have to hurry!” he had said. Amazingly, Jesus consented and began following him. They moved with purpose, but perhaps not as fast as Jairus would have liked. It seemed improper to ask the rabbi to run, but Jairus wished he would. Like a lead blocker, Jairus had been out in front clearing the way. His voice bellowed like a siren, imploring everyone to make way for them. At that very moment, however, Jesus stopped. “Who touched my garments?” He asked.

Oh, the look on Jairus’ face!

His disciples seemed to share a measure of Jairus’ own annoyance at this strange question. They pointed out the great throng of people crowding against Jesus and wondered aloud that Jesus would ask who had touched him. “We really do need to hurry!” Jairus butted in, but Jesus’ feet were planted like a stubborn mule. Jairus felt a strange impulse to pull at His clothes or whip him to get him moving again. His daughter! Didn’t Jesus understand? Jesus kept asking “Who touched me?”