I wrote this post last summer for my friend Christy who was finding it hard to believe. I repost it today for another friend, who is finding it as equally hard to trust and believe Papa in this season of his life…for J.

There are times in our lives when we can move mountains, when our faith is so strong and big and mighty that we face Everest in the same way we face an ant hill on a stroll through the forest: with one big “stomp” and smother of the shoe! But then there are days and weeks (years?) when even mustard seeds frighten us to death, sending us to the sweet comfort of the refuge that is our bed.

At the end of the year last year I was in such a state. My life and identity were in shambles. I had lost a second job after being kicked out of ministry and was questioning my existence and reason for being on this earth. And to top it off, I rear-ended a guy three days before Christmas AND spent the holiday alone away from my family. Talk about the depths of despair!

And though I was exceedingly provided for beyond what I could have asked or imagined, I had super trouble having faith in a hopeful, prosperous and good future; it was very hard for me to see through the chaos of the moment and dream of a land flowing with milk and honey.

But a passage which brought great comfort was Luke 8. An amazing story of Jesus’ compassion, kindness and power is displayed and provided me with the glimmer of Hope I needed to make it to another day, let alone another year. Here is that beautiful story:

Now when Jesus returned, a crowd welcomed him, for they were all expecting him. Then a man named Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue, came and fell at Jesus’ feet, pleading with him to come to his house because his only daughter, a girl of about twelve, was dying.

As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, and she had spent all she had on doctors but no one could heal her. She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

When they all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.”
But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me.”

Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet. In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. Then he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”
While Jesus was still speaking, someone came from the house of Jairus, the synagogue ruler. “Your daughter is dead,” he said. “Don’t bother the teacher any more.”

Hearing this, Jesus said to Jairus, “Don’t be afraid; just believe, and she will be healed.”

When he arrived at the house of Jairus, he did not let anyone go in with him except Peter, John and James, and the child’s father and mother. Meanwhile, all the people were wailing and mourning for her. “Stop wailing,” Jesus said. “She is not dead but asleep.”

They laughed at him, knowing that she was dead. But he took her by the hand and said, “My child, get up!” Her spirit returned, and at once she stood up. Then Jesus told them to give her something to eat. Her parents were astonished, but he ordered them not to tell anyone what had happened.

My concern in this post is not to focus on the story of the woman, though there is much to talk about here, too. My marvel is in the story of Jarius, a synagogue leader and father who came to Jesus with great expectations only to have them crushed, and later restored.

At the beginning of this narrative, you see a man who is a part of a system that was diametrically opposed to Jesus and His “yoke” or teaching. Jesus was the competition and a threat to the power structures of the Judean religious order. The rulers of this religious system tried everything in their power to discredit and take him out, efforts which later culminated in Jesus’ fake “trial” and crucifixion.

But in the midst of Jarius’ personal chaos, his powerful and political persuasions vanished. Instead, he came to Jesus and postured himself in a humble, respectful position by pleading with Jesus on the dusty, grimy ground at his feet. He knew deep down who Jesus was and what he could do, and neither his title as ruler nor association with the Jewish elite stopped him from seeking Jesus’ help and power.

And what of this chaos? The story says Jarius’ 12 year-old daughter was dying. So here is a powerful, religious elite who comes to Jesus not as synagogue ruler, but as a father; the role Jarius wears is a father beset by stress and worry and pain and fear and sorrow over the potential of his little girl being taken from him by disease and death.

I find it interesting that there is never any dialogue in the story for the first part. Now maybe there was an exchange of words, but the narrative shows Jesus sort of continuing about his business (what ever that was at the time) and moseying on through the crowd without really dropping anything or (immediately) coming to his aid.

How many times does it feel the same for us? I remember sobbing in bed one night in December and feeling like the darkness was positively going to engulf me, all the while hearing nary a word from my supposed Redeemer and Rock! And I get the feeling that was maybe how Jarius might have felt. I get the sense that he is humbling himself, maybe he’s all dudied up in his synagogian ruler outfit, complete with robes and jewelry, and stooping down before Jesus begging him to rush to the rescue of his dying little princess. And Jesus maybe hears him and acknowledges him, and probably shows some sorrow for his situation, but continues on his way without the rush or concern that the immediacy of the situation deserved.

And then he stops to investigate a woman who has been hemorging for years. As Jesus is walking through the crowd, this woman believes in who Jesus is and what he can do, and so she reasons that even if she just touches the threads on his garment she will be healed. And she is. And Jesus stops to see what happened.

I can only imaging what Jarius is thinking here. The disciples think he’s weird for asking “who touched me” since they were wading through a Red Sea of a crowd. And here is Jarius, who I get a sense is almost dragging Jesus along to get him to see his daughter and tend to his chaos, and Jesus just stops to seek out the person who touched him in a sea of people! I’d be pretty frustrated if I were him. At this point I’d be pacing and mumbling under my breath and wringing my hands and almost trying to push Jesus along with my thoughts to get him to tend to MY chaos RIGHT NOW!

Then as Jesus is talking with the woman, one of Jarius’ aids comes to bring an update on his daughter’s condition: death. “She died while Jesus was taking his own sweet time and asking silly questions. My little princess is gone and the one person who could have done something is just standing here in the middle of the market street having a conversation with a bloody peasant instead of rushing to my house to tend to my chaos!”

Then Jesus breaks through the darkness with these words:

“Do not fear, just believe.”

Jesus grabs Jarius’ shoulders, looks him in the face and tells him, with the same voice and authority that calmed the Sea of Galillee and summoned a dead Lazarus back into this reality, to not fear what has just happened in the moment, but rather continue in the same belief that brought him to his feet in the first place. “Jarius, do not be afraid, just believe, continue believing that I am capable and willing to heal your daughter and it will be so.”

Jesus finally goes with Jarius to his home. When he get’s there people are wailing and mourning at the loss of this girl. Jesus’ reply? “Stop it!” But I don’t imaging it as a callous, heartless response, but rather a truth-infused response, because then he says, “She is not dead but simply asleep.” Sometimes we need the grieving Jesus that we find at the house of Lazarus, and sometimes we need the truthful Jesus to tell us that it’s going to be OK, it isn’t as bad as you think, and the moment isn’t even what you think it is. Jesus steps in and (re)defines the situation for these people by breathing truth into their moment of despair and sorrow: “there isn’t death here, simply life waiting to be reawakened through my word and my power.”

The people’s response? Laughter and doubt. Typical isn’t it? I know it was for me in my “dark night of soul.” Even when Jesus reminded me of the words he breathed into me (“seminary”) after I was kicked out of ministry, even when it was confirmed through other people and circumstances, even when Jesus reminded me countless times in silence and solitude that he was drawing me into a season of training and preparation, I laughed and doubted.

But that doubt didn’t stop Jesus from working and moving in Jarius’ moment. Even when the crowd lacked faith, and maybe even when Jarius’ faith was as runny as chicken broth, Jesus cried, “My child, get up!” Come back to life, my child, wake from your slumber, run back to the arms of your daddy and mommy, for I am the Giver of Life, I restore what has been lost.

And that’s what Jesus is saying to you, too.

Even beyond Jesus’ powerful words of instruction to not fear, but instead “faith,” these words “My child, get up” are even more powerful because it opens wide Jesus’ intensions toward us.

So, my friend, when you are in the depths of despair, when your soul is dark in the blankness of the night as you drift through the valley of the shadow of death, may you not fear. When you claw at the blankness and try and grasp faith, only to find it whistling through your fingers, may you believe that mustard seeds still move mountains and may you rejoice even in the piddley one that roles around in your palm. And when you feel the creepy claws of Death gripping you to the point of suffocation, may you rest in the knowledge that Jesus is the Giver of Life and He WILL call out to you, by name, and speak “arise, my Daughter, arise my Son, to new Life!”

-jeremy