named and known.

The woman with the issue of blood - that’s how we know her. Not as Mary, or Deborah, or Kiera, or Cherie, or Demetria. We identify her by her problem. I am pretty much a feminist, and my studies of the Bible - Old and New Testament - are usually marked by the lack of the names of women. It is so infrequent that one of my favorite podcasts (shout out to the Bible Binge) blasts a reggae horn every time they come across a name of a woman in scripture. You may wonder if I’m bitter or irreparably wounded, but I’m not. Whenever I come across a nameless woman, I’ve started applying the name Jesus gave this woman to her, because I truly believe that’s how He sees them.

If you’re wondering about this story, let me paint you a picture. This woman in Mark 5 was literally defined by her problem. We don’t have any specifics on what her issue is, but most scholars agree that it was probably related to her menstrual cycle. This woman would have been bound to Jewish law, and as a byproduct she was considered unclean. If you are looking for a detailed overview of Jewish rules concerning blood; I’m not an expert, but I can refer you to Leviticus. A woman who was on her cycle was considered unclean, anything she touched was considered unclean, any furniture she sat on was considered to be unclean. The only natural result was that for twelve years, this woman was an outcast in her community. She probably would have been deprived of physical touch, cut off from temple, cut off from anything she held dear. Not only that, but she was out of money. Doctors had taken all that she had. So what was left? Nothing at all.

I can only imagine this woman, how lonely she must have felt each day. I remember seasons of loneliness in my life, where I was allowed to touch and be around others I loved, but it is unlikely she had that privilege. She had lost everything, including her hope. Her male protection would have come from her father’s household, but her family isn’t mentioned at all. There was no way to earn money for an unclean person, except to beg. What I’m sure started as a life full of hope was reduced to empty promises and a certain death.

But Jesus.

So many stories could be defined that way, I think - but Jesus. When He came to town, imagine the crowd that must have followed Him. The miracle worker, the possible son of God… could it be true? I’m sure she heard rumors of Him, of all He had done for others. Maybe He had healed someone she knew, even. When the crowd came by where she stood, loud and overwhelming, I can only imagine her world was silent. She was on the outside once again - close to hope, but so far away. Jesus wouldn’t notice her, He was on the way to Jairus’s home. Tabitha, his little one, was ill. I am sure Jairus was urging Jesus on as quickly as possible - had he dared to grab Jesus’ hand and pull Him forward, I have no doubt that he would have. Over to the side stood the woman. As the crowd kicked up dust, she had a thought. What if she could touch Jesus - no, not touch Him, but touch His robe? That should be enough. She could be healed if she just touched the bottom of his robe, where no one would notice. She was already invisible to all of these people - if she could stay that way for just a little longer, she could be free.

I can just imagine her slipping through the crowd. She would have to crawl, and quickly. She would have to be fast. Was this His robe? No, wrong color. Once she spots it, she reaches forward to grab the very edge, covered in dirt and grime from the day. As the fabric catches between her fingers, she releases a quiet breath of a prayer. Let this one last thing work.

As quickly as she grabs it, she lets go. The crowd moves forward slightly and stops. She hears ahead of her, “Who touched me?” It was Jesus. How could He have felt me grab His robe? What does He want? Will He punish me? As the disciples look around, they remind Him of the great crowd, and that one of them must be the person who brushed against Him. Jesus stood quietly, waiting. The Woman walked forward, contrite with her admonition. “It was me - I touched your robe.” I imagine she told Jesus about how she had been sick for so long, that she was without any other option but Him. She had heard of how He healed the sick, and she thought maybe that could be for her, too. I can imagine Jairus, trying to not call out to Jesus, glancing toward the direction of his home, and bouncing on the balls of his feet - ready to drag Jesus toward his little girl.

Jesus stopped for this nameless Woman. He didn’t have to stop for her, the work was complete. Verse 29 tells us that when the Woman touched Him, she was immediately healed from her constant bleeding. No one had really seen this Woman for twelve years. She had been co-existing next to all of these people, but remained unseen. How do I know? We look over anyone unpleasant, anyone that smells, anyone who is handicapped or outside of our normal. We don’t know how to fix it or how to be truly kind without pity, so we just look past them. That’s how I know the Woman was unseen - she would have had to inform anyone who touched her that they too were unclean because they had associated with her. We avoid people just for not having a bath for a while - imagine not being able to go to temple for touching someone’s hand. Imagine someone looking right past you for twelve years. Imagine having lost every resource and place of refuge. This was the Woman.

So when Jesus stopped her, I can feel her anxiety, because it would have been mine. What happens now? Will I be punished, because now I am seen? No - instead, Jesus, full of love and compassion does the one thing no one else has done for so long. He sees her and He names her. “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

Daughter, free from suffering. Mental, physical and emotional suffering - depression, anxiety, and internal hemorrhaging. Loneliness and separation from faith. Over in an instant, because He saw her. So, now I replace the nameless ones with Daughter. Because even if their names have gone unseen through the records of time, I know He saw them. I know He sees me, and He sees you. He calls you Son or Daughter, beloved one. Will you come forward to respond when He calls you? Will you choose freedom over anonymity?

Today, I deeply hope that you feel seen, loved and known, just as you are. That’s how He sees you. He calls you forward, not to shame you or punish you, but you bring you into the family. No longer an outcast, no longer broken, but free. Named and known.