Picture a scene with me.
Your beloved daughter has been horribly sick. It has swallowed up every bit of your time, your resources, and your mental energy. And rightly so. She’s your baby girl. She’s your world.
A couple days ago you had a glimmer of hope. You’d heard word of this new treatment that would cure her. One sip of this medicine would cause the darkness of disease to flee and vibrant life would once again course through her precious little veins.
The husband goes to procure this medicine. But it’s too late. She dies before he gets back home. When he comes back–cure in hand–sorrow piles upon sorrow. What good does this do know? It’s presence is almost an insult.
Someone suggests to try the elixir. Maybe it’ll still work…no…that’s ridiculous…that’s insulting…it’s damaging to have such a foolish hope…No tonic can raise the dead…
I’ve shared the story this way to help us enter into the emotion of the moment. It’s the story of Jairus’ little girl. And the potion isn’t some strange brew forged from some rare herb, the “fixer” is the Lord Jesus.
And what happens next in the story is astonishing. It separates him from tonic and tincture. He’s the life giver. He is the source of life itself. And he imparts this life into the little girl.
Pause for a moment.
Feel the hope captivating the room. Drink in the deep wells of joy springing up because your deepest pain encounters life instead of death. Soak up the life in this story.
Euphoria.
Floating on the clouds…dancing on mountaintops…
This is what life with Jesus is like…
Then…thud!
“Y’all should fix her some breakfast!”
Okay, that’s not his exact words. He says “give her something to eat.” But it doesn’t seem to belong here. I’m reading this story and dancing and experiencing the jubilation of life swallowing up death. Why say this?
The gospel writers have a ton of material to cover here. A lifetime of things that Jesus did and said, why do we need this little detail? They could have just left us in the elation. Why let us know that Jesus said, “give her something to eat.”
I think in part it has to do with showing that this is a real and authentic healing. We aren’t talking about ghosts or zombies. Commentaries, if they mention anything at all, tend to focus on that point as well as highlighting Jesus’ love and care for the girl. That’s all well and true, but I want to highlight something else it is doing; namely, thrusting the delightful back into the ordinary. A miraculous encounter with Jesus puts them right back into the everyday rhythms of life.
My spiritual heritage comes from those who took these words from William Carey as their mantra:
Expect great things from God. Attempt great things for God.
It’s beautiful and true and good. After all, we are talking about the raising of a dead girl from death to life. Ephesians 1:19 and 3:20-21 merge to form the heart of Carey’s quote. God is doing great things–and at times extraordinary things.
But they are extraordinary. Most of our life is lived around breakfast and building and braiding and bookkeeping and the occasional mouthwatering barbecue. And this little story is a reminder that Jesus lives there too.
Talitha cumi aren’t the only life giving words of Jesus.
So also is “take and eat”.
The everyday and the miraculous. The beautiful and the boring. Christ is present–and this makes all moments marked with wonder, so long as we too are present to enjoy them.
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