Ok, so there’s a lot going on here in Mark 5. It would be helpful to reread the passage in part 1 to fully grasp this, because I’ll be walking through it step by step. What we ultimately find in this passage is two-fold: who Jesus is and what he came to do. The person and work of Jesus.
At an aerial view we see Jesus interacting in two situations. At first, Jairus, anxious and frenetic, begs Jesus to attend to his young daughter who is at the point of death. Jesus complies, and a great crowd follows him. Now, it is very apparent that Jairus’ daughter is closer to death with every second. At this point, the second interaction interrupts the first. As Jesus is on his way to Jairus’ house, a woman in the crowd reaches out and touches his garment.
As verses 25-26 state, this woman suffered much for 12 years from an unnatural discharge of blood. Here’s where ancient Jewish cultural context comes into play. On account of this woman’s condition, she was considered ceremonially unclean. She was not permitted to enter the temple section reserved for women, nor was she permitted to even be in public without blatantly announcing that she was, indeed, unclean. After all, no one wanted to be associated with a woman like this in fear of becoming unclean themselves. She was the epitome of a social pariah in the time and culture that Jesus entered into.
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| Sunset over the Sea of Galilee |
Why should Jesus even stop?! The little girl is dying! Keep moving right? But no, he stops. At this point the entire crowd would think he’s crazy. He risks the life of Jairus’ little girl to simply find out who touched him within a huge crowd? But that’s exactly it—she touched him, and she was immediately healed. According to law, by touching Jesus’ garment, she technically renders him ceremonially unclean. By stopping, Jesus knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s taking this opportunity, knowing he will eventually save Jairus’ daughter, to completely flip the culture on its head. Jesus is taking the opportunity to send a thunderous message throughout the entire region that he is unlike anyone they had ever seen before.
Jesus turns and asks who touched him. He knew who touched him. It was because of his knowledge of who touched him that he asked! As soon as the woman came forward from the crowd, the rest of the followers were outraged. How could she, a ceremonially unclean woman, touch Jesus, this emerging spiritual leader (as far as they knew)? This was a massive offense! The crowd would expect Jesus to be revolted at this point. But he’s not. He’s unlike anyone they have ever seen before. He’s unlike anyone we have ever seen before.
Instead, Jesus accepts her, welcomes her, interacts with her, something she wouldn’t have experienced from anyone in twelve years. This interaction climaxes with Jesus’ radical statement of, “Daughter, your faith has made you well.” Why’s he bringing faith into it? Well, because Jesus is Immanuel, God with us. By noting the woman’s faith, Jesus is implying that her physical healing was an indication of the much deeper healing of sin.
So, we see now a little more of the person and work of Jesus in this first interaction. By healing the woman of her spiritual disease, we see that Jesus’ offering of grace, forgiveness, mercy, and healing is infinitely greater than our capabilities of sickness through sin. And in a culture that demands perfection, Jesus welcomes us in the midst of our inevitable imperfection.
Immediately after—the text actually says, “while he was still speaking”—it is reported that Jairus’ daughter is already dead. It seems as if Jesus’ pit stop has cost Jairus the life of his little girl. Yet, Jesus, overhearing the news responds, “Do not fear, only believe.” Jesus enters the house. People are weeping and wailing loudly. But Jesus comes in, completely calm and composed, and says, “The child is not dead but sleeping.” Wait, what? I mean dead is dead right? The people crying seem to think so too. They confirmed the child’s death. They laughed at Jesus’ assessment. Why would Jesus say she’s merely asleep? The answer is in what Jesus does next.
He sits beside the girl and says, “Talitha koum.” Talitha can be translated to “little girl,” as you see in the text, but we lose some of the meaning there. As Tim Keller mentions in his book Kings Cross, “talitha” is more of a term of endearment, a pet name. Like a father or mother waking their child up for school in the morning. Another translation for talitha could be “honey.” The second word Jesus says is koum, which means “arise.” Jesus says, “honey, its time to get up.” And she does.
Here we see another action that would render Jesus ceremonially unclean in that culture—touching a dead person. Yet, instead of the death of the girl being transmitted to Jesus, the life of Jesus is transmitted to the girl. Ultimately, Jesus conquering death over this little girl foreshadows his own experience with death at the cross.
Keller comments on Jesus’ own experience overcoming death. “Jesus is saying by his actions, ‘if I have you by the hand, death is nothing but sleep.’ There’s nothing more frightening for a little child than to lose the hand of the parent in a crowd or in the dark, but that is nothing compared to Jesus’ loss. He lost his Father’s hand to the cross. He went into the tomb so that we could be raised out of it. He lost hold of his Father’s hand so we could know that once he has us by the hand, he will never, ever, forsake us.”
Through Mark 5, we see the grace-laden picture of the person and work of Jesus. We see his person—the Son of God, patient, sovereign, confident, healing, sacrificial. And we see glimpses of his work—staring the most dominant, relentless, inexorable enemy of the human race—death—in the face, and overcoming it. This is ultimately displayed at the cross, where Jesus, perfectly clean and acceptable in the eyes of the Father, absorbed our ultimate uncleanliness—death, so that his perfection may be imputed to the filthiest of sinners. You and me. Because of Jesus, we are perfect in the sight of our gracious Father, and welcomed into eternal, everlasting peace in his presence. Arise, for you are merely asleep.
"He suffers with you. He is as tender in his affections to you as ever he was; that he might be moved to pity you, he is willing to suffer, as it were, one place to be left naked, and to be flesh still, on which he may be wounded with your miseries, that so he might be your merciful high priest. 
