Scripture: Mark 5:21-24
When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live." So he went with him.
Reflection Questions:
Have you been in the place where you have desired healing with all your being? Did it come? What is it like for you when healing doesn’t come as you hoped? How does this affect your relationship with God?
Five-minute Story:
A bonus of the C.P.E. (Clinical Pastoral Education) program at University Medical Center in Newark, New Jersey was that students got to do a day ride along with the mobile command unit. Back in the early 1990s, this unit consisted of a police officer who drove around the city in a Suburban outfitted with the latest and best high tech gear and equipment. His job was to assist first responders and to serve as a liaison with the community. A lifelong resident of Newark, this guy knew not only the geography of the city but also the people, the neighborhoods, the tensions, and the challenges of a city that were still suffering racial inequality and injustice.
I was glad for my outing. Although I had gone to Newark for four years of college, I didn't know the city well. Like a mouse in a maze, I knew the path I traveled between home and school but that was it. Driving in the mobile command with someone who knew the city like the back of his hand was eye-opening. I saw neighborhoods that I didn't know existed. Newark, like all cities, has a pulse and a rhythm. That day, I was dancing to a different tune.
A few emergency dispatches interrupted the sightseeing tour. With the skill of someone well versed in their profession, my guide responded to the barking radio. One such response was to a housing project. It was an old, multi-story apartment building that bore witness to previous generations failed hopes to provide adequate housing for the city's poor. We raced through the street to meet the paramedics sent to care for an older man in crises.
The scene that remains in my memory is dismal. I can't recall if there was no elevator or if it just wasn't working. We walked up numerous flights of stairs. The hallways were worn and damaged. Although it was a bright afternoon outside, the atmosphere inside was gloomy and dreary. It helped prepare me for what I was to encounter.
In a dark, small, and unkempt apartment, the paramedics were already busy at work. A white cotton bed sheet wrapped an old man on a stretcher. He seemed incoherent. Dehydration. Looking at him, you could see where the water left wrinkles on his frail body. If he made it to the hospital, they would pump restorative fluids into him. His life was in the balance.
My guide suggested that we give the paramedics room as they prepared to take the man down the stairs. Even though we left, I couldn't get the image out of my mind. It haunted me. A dehydrated man all alone in his apartment. Somebody must have called the ambulance, but no one was around.
I never did find out what happened to him. So well did I learn my role as an observer that I forgot to be compassionate. I saw a lonely man’s need and didn’t open my heart wide enough to follow up and visit him. The baptismal waters receded a little within me and I was the one who became a little dehydrated in spirit.