And [behold] there comes one of the rulers of the synagogue, by name Jairus, and seeing him, falls down at his feet;
Jesus has just crossed back over the lake, and a crowd forms around Him on the shore. Into that crowd steps a ruler of the synagogue. He does what no man of his standing would do: he falls at the feet of a travelling teacher.
The word "ruler" names an office in the local Jewish assembly. The same word appears in other passages.
A ruler of the synagogue. Mark 5:22, 35, 36, 38; Luke 8:49; Luke 13:14; Acts 13:15; Acts 18:8, 17. In the last two passages the Authorised Version has "chief ruler," but the Greek is the same.
What makes his coming remarkable is the group he belonged to.
In the events told earlier in this Gospel, the leading person was one of the common people. Notice that in this episode he was not. Jairus, the man asking, had social and religious standing. More than that, he came from the very class that actively opposed Jesus... Here then the Lord's mercy to the ruler shows that He is rich towards all who call upon Him.
A man his own town honoured now knelt in public.
Jairus came to Jesus in his distress and showed Him reverence by falling at His feet. That mark of respect was all the more striking from a man of local standing, as a ruler of the synagogue was.
Matthew records the same act as worship. (Where the older translation says "worshipped Him," the ESV reads "knelt before him.")
Like the leper whose case we have already looked at, Jairus worshipped the Lord Jesus when he came to Him: "behold, there came a certain ruler, and worshipped Him" (Matt. 9:18). Jairus asked for something only God could give. He knew this, and so he brought his request to the Lord Jesus.
Sorrow at home, not theology, moved his feet. The Lord's answer to that appeal becomes an invitation to anyone carrying grief.
He went to the house of Jairus at the earnest request of the sorrowing father... It was faith, so to speak, laying hold of the heart of Christ, and constraining Him to answer its appeal. It was the heart of Christ delighting to meet the need of one who was casting his burden of sorrow on Him in complete confidence. What comfort! And what encouragement to every poor burdened soul — burdened with whatever grief or anguish! Such a soul may come to Christ and draw out the sympathy and help of His unfailing, endless grace and love. Truly all such will find that He has a heart for every sorrow.
His faith was real, but limited. One writer measures it against the Roman officer in Matthew 8.
He did not have the faith of the Gentile centurion of Matthew 8:8-10, but thought the Lord had to come to his home to heal the young girl. The Lord graciously went with him.
One writer finds meaning in his name as well as his office.
Jair, "the enlightener," as ruler of the synagogue, may show us by both name and position the failure and the power of law. The law had said, "Do this, and you will live," but life, as he admits, is only in the hands of Jesus, to whom the conviction of his extremity brings him... It is the right effect of law when we are shut up by it in this way to the faith of Jesus.
One writer sees a picture of Israel in the story.
In the incident that follows, the dying child — do we not see in it a picture of the moral condition of the nation when the Lord was present? But just as at the end of the story the Lord raised the child from death, so, when He returns to earth, He will revive the nation. Meanwhile we learn, from the story of the woman, that wherever there are people who have faith in Christ, they will receive the blessing.
- Rank kneels. Jairus held office in the very class that opposed Jesus. Yet he went down at His feet — proof that Christ "is rich towards all who call upon Him."
- Need brings. His dying child carried him there, not his position. Faith laid hold of the heart of Christ, and that heart delighted to answer.
- Feet mean worship. He asked for what only God could give, and his posture matched his request.
- Law sends. "The enlightener," keeper of the law, found that the law could command life but not give it — so it shut him up to Jesus.
- Life comes. The dying girl pictures the nation as the Lord found it. He raised her, and He will revive them when He returns. Meanwhile everyone who has faith in Him is blessed.
and he besought him much, saying, My little daughter is at extremity; [I pray] that thou shouldest come and lay thy hands upon her so that she may be healed, and may live.
Jairus leads a synagogue, and his twelve-year-old daughter is dying. His few words say a great deal about prayer: whom he asks, what he asks for, and how much he expects.
Mark keeps the exact word the father used for his child. One writer tries hard to get it into English.
Jairus came to the Lord using a pet form of the word 'daughter' — 'thugatrion'. We find this word in only two places in the New Testament, and both are in Mark. It was Mark, more than any other, who tells us the tiny detail of some special word or look. How can we translate it? I do not know, for in English we have no pet form of 'daughter'. The translators have done their very best: 'little daughter', or 'young daughter', or 'dear daughter.' But I am sure it does not tell half the story... She was twelve years old, but to the broken-hearted father she was still his 'wee girlie'.
Jairus held office in the synagogue, where Jews met to hear and study the law of Moses. One writer finds meaning in both his name and his post.
Jair means "the enlightener." As ruler of the synagogue, his name and his position may show us both the failure and the power of law. The law had said, "Do this, and you will live." But life, as he admits, is only in the hands of Jesus. What brings him to Jesus is the conviction that he is at the end of all help. Faith springs out of his daughter's need... This is the right effect of law: it shuts us up in this way to the faith of Jesus.
Jairus asks for hands laid on his child. One writer weighs what that touch could and could not do.
This act carried love and sympathy, but not necessarily the power of cure. That power went with His word and will. We see this in the cases where He sent out His word and healed, even at a distance. This distinction is always important to notice. Many still give first place to a formal act of this kind, performed by people who claim, without any right, to act for the Lord in it.
Jairus asks Jesus to come to the house. A centurion, an officer in the Roman army, had believed a word alone was enough.
He owns the claim of faith, however feeble it may be. The centurion knew that a word would be enough. But this Jewish ruler, thinking as a Jew naturally would, wants the Lord to come to his house and lay His hand on his daughter so that she might live. He tied the Lord's personal presence to the blessing his sick child was to receive. We Gentiles, though, walk by faith, and not by sight.
One writer looks at what this asking did to the heart of Christ.
It was faith, so to speak, laying hold of the heart of Christ, and constraining Him to answer its appeal. It was the heart of Christ delighting to meet the need of one who in all confidence was casting his burden of sorrow upon Him. What comfort! What encouragement for every poor burdened soul, burdened with whatever grief or anguish! Such a soul may come to Christ and draw out the sympathy and help of His unfailing and endless grace and love. All who come will find that He has a heart for every sorrow.
One writer explains why the Gospel accounts do not word this the same way.
In Matthew 9:18 Jairus speaks of his daughter as already dead. He was perplexed whether to speak of her as gone or not. The story is drawn from life.
Jairus asked for healing before death came. Death came first.
In his affliction Jairus found his resource in an appeal to the Lord. The Lord heard him, yet did not stop the disaster, though Jairus no doubt expected Him to, with more or less faith. Circumstances combined to hinder, and the Lord did not change them. Yet Jairus' appeal did not fall on deaf ears. The answer came with a fullness of power that went beyond the father's faith, and the girl came back to life.
One writer sees the whole story as a picture of God's dealing with His people.
Before He actually reaches the scene of mercy, the one He came to help is already dead, and, to all human thinking, hopeless. The deliverance lies wholly in the power of resurrection, and the deliverance in that day will be wholly so. Such is the mind and journey of the Lord: the deliverance of the daughter of His people, those He visited in His mercy.
- Need asks. His office in the synagogue could not keep his girl alive. Helplessness drove him to Christ.
- Love asks. "My little daughter" is a father's pet word, kept only by Mark — the Gospel that records the small look and the small word.
- Faith asks small. He wanted a hand laid on her. The hand carried sympathy; the healing power went with Christ's word.
- Delay tests. The Lord did not remove the circumstances that hindered, and the child died.
- Grace answers big. The answer came with power beyond the father's faith. That is the pattern of what Christ will yet do for a people already dead.
And he went with him, and a large crowd followed him and pressed on him.
A father has just begged Jesus to save his dying daughter. The answer comes in four words: He went with him. What follows is a walk through a pressing crowd, and the crowd is part of the lesson.
The verse records no speech, only movement. Jesus goes where the sorrow is. One writer puts that step in the darkest valley a person can walk:
There is no valley experience beyond the reach of the love of God. The Psalmist could say, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me." So in the darkest valley of all, where we meet the strongest enemy, we have more than the endless blessings of our God. We have His actual presence with us. In Mark 5 we see Jairus passing through such a valley, and the verse says, "And he went with him." Later the shadow deepened and his daughter died. What comfort the precious words of Christ must have brought to his grieving heart: "Do not fear, only believe."
The moment could not have been worse, and He went anyway:
The timing was anything but convenient. The Lord had just faced another emergency, a matter of life and death. Jairus, a ruler of a synagogue, had begged Him to come and heal his daughter, who was on her deathbed. The Lord — despite the crowds, and despite all that He would find at the house of Jairus — had decided to go with him. This little sentence is as moving as it is comforting: "And he went with him."
A great crowd came too. They followed Him and pressed against Him. One writer looks closely at who those people were:
The expectation of a miracle had brought a crowd around the Lord for a moment... It was for the most part an idle crowd, just the sort that would before long be shouting, "Away with Him! Away with Him! Crucify Him!" There is no hint of anything better in them. Their thronging and pressing on Him was no good sign, but the opposite. If they "followed Him," it was outside interest, not love or reverence for Him. No power went out of Him for those who pressed on Him, whatever need they had. They had no real dealing with Him at all.
Physical nearness to Christ proved nothing then, and religious nearness proves nothing now:
Since "a great crowd followed Him and thronged about Him," it might look as though believing followers surrounded the Lord. In the same way today it might seem, as we see religious buildings crowded with professed worshippers of Christ... that there is a vast host of believers in Christ. Indeed, men judge that way... But does this mean that all are true believers in the Lord Jesus? That all have personal faith in Christ? Sadly, no! There is still the great throng of outward profession. And still the Lord distinguishes those who have personal faith in Himself, for we read, "The Lord knows those who are His."
The crowd did more than fill the road. It stood between needy people and Christ:
The crowd that surrounded Jesus cared little for Him. They knew nothing of His person and work. The mass of people acted as a hindrance to a helpless person, convicted of sin, who was coming to Jesus. So it is now. Who are the great hinderers of the gospel in our day? Are they not those who make a religious profession without a living acquaintance with Christ Himself?
Yet the crowd stops no one who feels their need of Him:
Many thronged Jesus that day, when only one in faith touched His clothes. Need of Him drew that poor sufferer to the Saviour, and so it is in our times too; need draws us to Jesus.
Some commentators see a wider picture here. The dying girl stands for the nation of Israel:
In real events the Lord gives us pictures of His dealings in deliverance. We have the daughter of Jairus, who lay dying, and here is a picture of Israel. The Lord was going to heal Israel, who was just like one dying, but on the way the people throng Him. What He came to do, He did. The world crowded Him while He was on the way to heal the sick "daughter of my people". Whoever could touch Him by faith received healing, as the activities of grace went out from Him.
- He went — the verse answers a father's plea with movement, not words. Christ walks into the valley with the one who asks Him.
- He went knowing — the crowd, and all He would find at the house, did not change His decision to go.
- They went too — a great crowd followed Him. But outside interest is not faith, and no power went out of Him to them.
- Throngs still form — crowded buildings and Christian labels are the same throng today. The Lord still knows those who are truly His.
- One got through — the crowd that hinders a careless person never stops real need. Need still draws us to Jesus.
And a certain woman who had had a flux of blood twelve years,
A woman ill for twelve years is in the crowd as Jesus walks to the house of a dying girl. Mark's short line about her raises the questions the story answers: why record the exact length of her suffering, what this illness did to her life, and what those years had taught her.
The number is not filler. Commentators read the twelve years as the measure of a case that had run out of hope.
She had been ill for twelve years. She had "suffered much," had "spent all that she had," was "no better," but "rather grew worse." Twelve is the number that speaks of completeness in matters of human administration. Here it was complete misery. Every human resource had proved to be a source of bitter disappointment, not of healing.
The trouble was not only weakness. Under the law of Moses her condition made her unclean. Whatever she touched became unclean too. That cut her off from ordinary life for twelve years.
Her hopeless situation is a telling picture of a sinner. It is not so much a picture of blindness (being unable to see God's glory) or lameness (being unable to come to Him). It is a picture of someone who is not only unclean but a source of continuous defilement (see Lev. 15:19ff.). It also shows how unable human means are to deal with the problem of sin.
Her uncleanness makes what she did remarkable. One writer draws out what she must have believed before she reached out her hand:
How great her trial and her sorrow must have been during the twelve years of her uncleanness. Her faith was greater still, and so was the witness she gave to the holy Person of our Lord. Everything that touched such an unclean person became unclean. She believed both that her touch could not make Christ unclean, for He is holy, and that His power could heal her.
The next verse tells us she had been through many doctors and had nothing left. Writers treat that detail as the necessary background to the verse before it — a long illness that had exhausted every option.
Here, too, man was unavailing. Instead of finding relief from those most skilled, "she had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and had found no advantage from it, but had rather grown worse." What a picture of human woe, and how common!
The timing of her hearing about Jesus is worth noticing. Help arrived exactly when nothing else was left.
She had spent her last coin. She had made her last effort to get help and health from man. Her moment of poverty and hopeless gloom had arrived. Just then the Healer of diseases and the Friend of the friendless came within her reach.
Faith starts with a felt sense of need and helplessness. But it does not stop there — it sees who Jesus is, and it makes a person humble.
Faith is conscious of need, and of our own helplessness to meet that need. But faith does more: it sees something of the excellence of the Person of Jesus. It sees that in Him there is grace and power to meet the need. Faith also makes a person humble. The needy soul is ready to take the lowly place... We do not have to do some great thing to secure the blessing; that would only feed our pride. Instead we are made willing to be nothing and to give Christ all the glory. The power is in Christ, not in the faith. The touch of faith secures the blessing by putting us in touch with the One in whom is all the merit.
Some commentators see a wider picture here. This healing interrupts a journey to a dying child, and they read the two events together.
The daughter of Jairus pictures the condition of Israel at the Lord's return. Christ was on His way to heal the nation. But while He was on His way, this poor woman came to Him. For twelve years she had suffered from a discharge of blood, and she had come to the end of every resource, in herself and in others, after searching for a cure and finding none. She comes to Christ in the energy of faith, and at once gets relief... The present period, therefore, like the woman with the discharge of blood, comes between His mission to Israel and His actual restoration of the nation to life.
- Twelve years. The number marks a case tested to the limit and lost — every human remedy tried and used up.
- Unclean. Her illness was not just weakness. By the law she made others unclean, so writers read her disease as a picture of sin.
- Bankrupt. Doctors took her money and left her worse; the moment her last resource ran out was the moment she heard of Jesus.
- Touched. Faith knows its own helplessness and sees power in Christ. It is willing to be nothing, because the healing is in Him, not in the touch.
- Meanwhile. Christ heals her while He is on His way elsewhere. Commentators read her as a picture of faith blessed now, before the nation is restored.
and had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent everything she had and had found no advantage from it, but had rather got worse,
Before this woman ever reaches Jesus, Mark records twelve years of treatment that failed. The verse counts the cost: her money spent, her suffering increased, her illness worse than when it started.
The number of years is part of the message.
She had been ill for twelve years. She had "suffered much," had "spent all that she had," and "was no better but rather grew worse." Twelve is the number that speaks of completeness in human affairs. Here it was complete misery. Every human resource turned out to be a source of bitter disappointment, not of healing. The result was complete poverty, for she had "spent all that she had."
Each new doctor raised her hopes. Only Mark tells us how it all ended.
She had asked many doctors for advice (v. 26). Each new doctor brought a fresh glimmer of hope, and each hope soon died. All these visits cost a great deal, and brought no relief, let alone a cure. One of the things only Mark tells us is that her condition grew worse. On top of that, the search had used up all her money.
Her illness was more than a physical problem. Under the law of Moses, a woman in her condition was unclean. She also made unclean whatever she touched.
Her hopeless situation is a telling illustration of a sinner. The picture is not so much blindness (unable to see God's glory) or lameness (unable to come to Him). It is of someone who is not only unclean but a constant source of defilement (see Lev. 15:19ff.). It also shows that human means cannot deal with the problem of sin. The statement that she had "suffered" many things from many physicians brings this out.
One writer sees in the slow loss of blood a picture of life draining away from us all.
"An issue of blood twelve years." A slow, steady, unchecked draining of the life away. At first you do not grasp how dreadful it is. But it makes itself felt as time goes on. It drains the brightness from everything the eye looks on. It steals away all strength of enjoyment, until the shadow of death lies everywhere, life is hard labour, and everything under the sun is empty.
Verse 26 is not filler. One writer marks it as the second step in her faith.
Secondly, she was not only conscious of her need. She also saw how hopeless her case was, as far as her own efforts and the skill of man could go.
Another writer calls her case a common one, then sets her own words beside it.
Here, too, man was no help. She looked for relief from the most skilled, and instead "suffered much under many physicians… and was no better but rather grew worse." What a picture of human woe, and how common! She said that if she only touched His clothes she would be healed — and she was right, as faith always is.
Her poverty is not the end of the story. The timing is.
When the woman with the issue of blood (Mark 5:26) had spent "all" on physicians, she was ready to despair. Instead of getting better she grew worse. It was then she heard of Jesus. She had spent her last coin. She had made her last effort to get help and health from man. Her moment of poverty and hopeless gloom had come. Just then the Healer of diseases and the Friend of the friendless came within her reach… and she was healed of her disease without paying a penny.
One writer turns her story on the reader.
This is just the case for Jesus. Perhaps you have found out that you are a poor weak sinner, needing salvation and unable to save yourself. Incompetent spiritual physicians prescribe their remedies: good resolutions, a changed life, giving to the poor, attending church services, keeping religious rules, prayers, tears, and even punishing your own body. In spite of them all, you cannot do better than follow her footsteps.
- Spent. Twelve years marks completeness: complete misery and complete poverty. Every human help was tried, and every one disappointed.
- Suffered. She suffered under the physicians. Each new doctor raised her hopes and dashed them, at real cost.
- Worse. Only Mark records that she got worse. Her disease pictures a person who is not just weak but unclean and defiling — and human means cannot touch the problem of sin.
- Heard. The end of her own effort was the beginning of her hearing about Jesus — her last coin spent, the Healer within reach.
- Whole. What twelve years and all her money could not buy, one touch of faith received free. And faith, as one writer says, is always right about Him.
having heard concerning Jesus, came in the crowd behind and touched his clothes;
Jesus is on His way to raise a dying girl, and a crowd presses in on Him. One woman there has bled for twelve years, and she reaches from behind for the edge of His clothes — what had she heard that made a touch seem enough?
The verse turns on a report reaching her ears. One writer presses the exact wording of it:
She heard of Jesus; it does not say she heard about Jesus, but she heard of Jesus. It was the Person that came before her mind, the report of the Person reached her, and she resolved in herself that she would go to Him.
Most people in Galilee heard the same report and did nothing with it:
News of what the Prophet of Nazareth said and did had spread through Galilee, but it had little effect on most people. Isaiah might well ask, looking ahead in prophecy to this time, "Who has believed what he has heard from us?" But this woman believed the report. And because she believed it, the strength of the arm of the LORD for healing was revealed to her and in her (Isa. 53:1).
Everything was against her. He was already on His way to a dying child, and the crowd blocked any proper meeting.
There are usually difficulties and obstructions of some sort in the way of a needy person seeking the aid of the Saviour. But obstacles only quicken and strengthen faith. And it was so in this case. A formal meeting with the Teacher was not possible in the circumstances, so surely something less would do. She believed that His power was so full that the slightest contact with Him would be enough for her recovery.
Why would touching a piece of cloth do anything? One writer traces her thinking back to the sacrifices of the law:
She knew the rule of the law of Moses. When a sacrifice was brought to the LORD for an unclean Israelite, the offerer laid his hands on the animal. It was then accepted in his place. In some way beyond explaining, the value and effect of the sacrifice passed to the one who touched it. So she decided to touch Jesus, so that the healing power so full in Him might pass to her.
She reaches for the outer edge of His clothing, not for His face. One writer reads that low aim as part of what faith is.
Faith is not only conscious of need, and of our own helplessness to meet the need, but it perceives something of the excellency of the Person of Jesus — it sees that in Him there is grace and power to meet the need. And faith makes a person humble. The needy soul is ready to take the lowly place, as the woman did. We do not have to do some great thing to secure the blessing — that would only feed our pride. We are made willing to be nothing and to give Christ all the glory. The power is in Christ, not in the faith. The touch of faith secures the blessing by putting us in touch with the One in whom all the merit lies.
The garment itself carried an edge, or fringe, and one writer sees meaning in it:
I must get into personal contact with Him, I must touch Him, even at the very edge of His clothes, the hem of His garment, the fringe of blue which they wore. In His case it was a fringe of blue, without question: He was the Man from heaven, the heavenly Man.
Many people pressed against Him that day. Only one touch was the touch of faith.
The crowd was so great that many could not help touching the Lord (Luke 8:45). But He knows everything, and He was not likely to confuse the touch of faith with the rude push of a curious crowd. He makes the same distinction today. Great numbers of people crowd into "places of worship" for all kinds of reasons. Among them are true hearts who seek Him in humble faith.
She received her healing in secret, but she could not keep it secret. One writer draws out what that means for anyone who has received from Christ.
Unknown to anyone in the crowd, she went behind and touched the hem of His garment. Her cure was instant. She had received from Him; now she must acknowledge it. In secret she got it; openly she must confess it. Is it not the same now? If we have received an even greater blessing, life and salvation, and that at the cost of His atoning death, should we not openly confess it?
- Heard. The report about Jesus reached many in Galilee; she was the one who believed it, and the report set her feet moving.
- Came. Obstacles did not stop her. The crowd and His urgent errand only strengthened her faith.
- Touched. She took the lowly place and reached for the edge of His clothing. The power lay in Christ, not in the faith.
- Singled out. A crowd pressed Him and got nothing. One touch of faith drew healing, and He still tells the two apart.
- Confessed. She took the blessing in secret; she had to own it in the open. The same duty rests on everyone who has received life and salvation from Him.
for she said, If I shall touch but his clothes I shall be healed.
A woman had bled for twelve years, spent all her money on doctors, and only grown worse. While Jesus was on His way to another emergency, she kept telling herself that one touch of His clothes would be enough.
Her resolve was not her first move but her last. She had tried every other source of help before she settled on Him. One writer sees the same pattern in people looking for salvation today.
For twelve years she had been looking for health from Jewish doctors, and it came to nothing. Why did she not go sooner to the great Healer of all? Sadly, she is a picture of people in our own day who look everywhere and to everyone for salvation rather than to the Son of God... Once the woman saw that her only hope lay in the Lord Jesus, she made her plan to match. What wonderful faith! She had gained such confidence in Him that she believed one touch of the fringe of His robe, with its blue ribbon (Numbers 15:37-41), would be enough to heal her completely.
The word she used is the ordinary New Testament word for "save," used here in the wider sense of rescue. Tracing it across the Gospels shows how naturally healing and salvation share one vocabulary.
It is worth noticing the word sozo. In the New Testament it usually means "save." Here it carries its general sense of rescue, and it covers the healing of this woman in all three accounts: Matthew 9:21-22; Mark 5:28, 34; Luke 8:48... In these places the Greek word appears in English as "made whole," or "healed."
She asked for nothing impressive — only contact with the edge of His clothing. That smallness is the point, because a great deed would have fed her pride instead of emptying it.
Faith makes a person humble. The needy soul is ready to take the low place and to say, like the woman, "If I can only touch the edge of His clothes, I will be healed." We do not have to do some great thing to secure the blessing. That would only feed our pride. Instead we are made willing to be nothing and to give Christ all the glory. The power is in Christ, not in the faith. The touch of faith secures the blessing by putting us in contact with the One who holds all the merit.
Her theology was thin. Her aim was not.
Faith is always sure of the Saviour. It may know very little about itself and very little about Him, but it never doubts in Whom the power lies. Much still has to be learned and corrected, but faith goes straight to its object.
A proper interview was impossible — the crowd was thick and Jesus was already on an urgent errand for Jairus. So she scaled her request down rather than dropping it, reasoning from something she already knew about sacrifice.
A needy person who seeks help from the Saviour usually meets difficulties and obstacles of some kind. But obstacles only wake faith up and make it stronger... She knew the rule God gave through Moses: when someone brought a sacrifice to the Lord for an unclean Israelite, the one who brought it laid his hands on the animal, and God accepted it in the man's place. In some way no one can explain, the worth and power of the sacrifice passed to the man who touched it. So she decided to touch Jesus, so that the healing power that filled Him would pass to her.
Under the law her condition made her ceremonially unclean, and whatever she touched became unclean too. Her plan therefore assumed two things at once about Him.
Her trial and sorrow during those twelve years of uncleanness must have been great. Her faith was greater still, and so was the witness she gave to the holy Person of our Lord. Everything that touched a person as unclean as she was became unclean too. She believed both that her touch could not make Christ unclean, for He is holy, and that His power could heal her.
The exchange ran the other way:
Instead of uncleanness passing into Him by the touch, power went out from Him to drive off the power of death and wipe out the stain.
She hoped to take the blessing and slip away unnoticed. He stopped the crowd instead, and commentators read that as deliberate kindness rather than exposure.
He is not content to let the one who has received the blessing slip away in silence. He brings the believer into His own presence to tell Him the whole truth. He delights to have us tell Him everything, with no distance and nothing held back between Himself and His own.
- Emptied — twelve years, many doctors and all her money left her worse than before. Only then did she reach for His clothes.
- Small — she asked for one touch. No great deed is needed, because the power is in Christ, not in the strength of our faith.
- Pressed — obstacles stood in her way, and they only woke her faith up and made it stronger.
- Reversed — her touch could not make Him unclean. His power went out and healed her.
- Confessed — He would not let the cure stay a secret. He brought her into His presence to tell Him everything.
And immediately her fountain of blood was dried up, and she knew in her body that she was cured from the scourge.
Twelve years of doctors had produced nothing; one touch settled the matter in a moment. Commentators press how unlike the cure was to every treatment she had paid for.
Notice how the Lord's healing set itself apart from all others. It was no lengthy process. He did not put this woman under a course of treatment, as some interpreters of His dealings with the soul would make Him do in that case. No, it was immediate healing. "Immediately the flow of blood dried up." How blessed this is! How sure that His way in saving the soul is exactly the same. "Son, your sins are forgiven" were His first words to the paralysed man. "Your faith has saved you," to many another. Nowhere did He put those who came to Him through a trial period to get their sins forgiven and to find peace with God.
Mark does not say her bleeding eased. The word behind "flow" means a spring that never stops running, and older translations render it "fountain of blood."
maqor, πηγή: 'source, perpetual spring.' It is translated 'spring' in Proverbs 25:26 and Hosea 13:15. It is used for the 'fountain of blood' in Mark 5:29, the 'fountain of life' in Psalm 36:9, and the 'fountain of living waters' in Jeremiah 2:13 and Revelation 21:6.
The second word, the one behind "disease," is rarer still. Its background is grimmer than the English suggests.
Plague is an uncommon word in the New Testament. Luke's Gospel uses it for the works Jesus did in front of the two disciples John the Baptist sent to Him from prison. Luke writes, "In that hour he healed many people of diseases and plagues and evil spirits" (Luke 7:21). The word is also twice applied by Mark to the disease of the woman suffering from a flow of blood (Mark 5:29, 34). The word itself means a whip. It probably covered the more severe illnesses people wanted relief from.
Her faith settled two things before she ever reached out.
All that came in touch with such an unclean person became unclean. She believed both that her touch could not make Christ unclean, for He is holy, and that His power could heal her.
One writer describes what happened when defilement met Him.
Jesus is the only One who was ever here who could not be defiled. Instead of pollution getting into Him through the touch, power went out of Him to dismiss the power of death and blot out the stain.
She asked for nothing more than the edge of His clothing, and got everything. That smallness is treated as part of the lesson, not an accident of the story.
The needy soul is ready to take the lowly place and to say, like the woman, "If I touch even his garments, I will be made well." We do not have to do some great thing to secure the blessing. That would only feed our pride. Instead we are made willing to be nothing and to give Christ all the glory. The power is in Christ, not in the faith. The touch of faith secures the blessing by putting us in touch with the One who holds all the merit.
The order in the verse is exact: the flow stopped, and then she felt it. Reversing that order is the mistake many make.
First faith, then feeling; "she felt in her body." "Ah," says someone who reads this, "that's what I am waiting for. I want to feel that I am healed." But notice, she did not wait to feel. She touched, sure that the touch brought healing with it. How much more should you come to Him now, sure that you are received. He says, "whoever comes to me I will never cast out." Come to Him saying, "I know You receive me," and you will find feeling to be the result of faith.
Her feelings were accurate. They were still not what the Lord wanted her resting on, and so He called her out of the crowd.
A few minutes before, she had "felt in her body that she was healed." Then she confessed, "knowing what had happened to her." This was very good, but it was not quite enough. Suppose the Lord had let her go away holding only these nice "feelings" and this "knowledge" of what had been "done in her." She would have been open to many a doubt and fear in the days to come. Every small ache would have raised the fear that her old trouble was back. As it was, she got His definite word, "Be healed of your disease." That settled it. His word was far more reliable than her feelings.
- Immediately. No course of treatment, no trial period — the cure was complete the moment faith touched Him.
- The fountain. The word means a spring that never stops. The source itself dried up.
- The scourge. Mark's rare word pictures a disease that lashed her like a whip, and it stopped in a moment.
- The direction. Uncleanness did not travel into Him; power travelled out of Him. The merit was in Christ, never in her touch.
- The order. Faith, then feeling — and feeling is still not the resting place, which is why He would not let her go without His word.
And immediately Jesus, knowing in himself the power that had gone out of him, turning round in the crowd said, Who has touched my clothes?
A sick woman reaches through the crowd, touches the clothes of Jesus, and is healed at once. Two questions follow: what went out of Him, and why did He ask a question He already knew the answer to?
Older English Bibles say "virtue" here, which today sounds like moral goodness. A plainer word is closer to the sense:
In Mark 5:30, instead of "virtue," read "power."
So where did that power sit, and what set it going?
Luke 8:46 and 6:19: it is the power to heal which resided in Christ, and became effective when the touch of faith was there.
Mark says the knowledge rose inside Him, not from anything He saw or was told:
The perfect knowledge of Jesus comes to light. He knew that power had gone out of Him, and that the touch had fallen on His clothes. He asked the question, but He knew the answer; for He looked round to see "her" that had done it.
Power did not leave Him the way water leaves a tap:
He knew that power had gone out of Him. He knew it as He knew the unspoken thoughts of the Pharisees and scribes, and as He knew all things. His service was not a blind, mechanical handing out of merciful power. The power truly went out from Him, but blended with it were love and interest and compassion.
Everyone near Him was in contact with Him. Not every contact was the same:
But Jesus distinguished between the touch of faith and the jostle of idle curiosity. It has been said, "Flesh presses; faith touches." The crowd came to hear or see some new thing, driven by the common craze for novelty… But the woman's touch was of a different order. The contact of her finger expressed a deeply felt need for God's mercy to step in on her behalf. It also expressed her confidence that the mercy she needed was there for her in the person of Jesus. She could find it nowhere else in this sad and disappointing world.
Why did only her touch count?
His question also showed that many had been touching Him in various ways, yet no other touch had drawn any power from Him. Why was this? Because, of all the touches, hers was the only one that sprang out of a consciousness of need, and faith. When these two things are present the touch is always effective.
She had her cure and could have slipped away with it:
Why did the Lord bring about this situation? We can be quite sure it was not to embarrass her but to bless her. Had the Lord simply let her go, she would have felt her act was unauthorised and her healing a stolen blessing. She would also have missed the chance to really meet and get to know her benefactor. The Lord wanted her not only to be healed but to know that He had blessed her, willingly and permanently. He did not want her to go away without hearing His words, "go in peace." Her safety was not to rest on her feelings, but on His word.
There was a further blessing beyond the healing, and confession was the way to it:
It was not that He could not have named her, but that He wanted to give her the opportunity to confess the truth. How little she knew the grace that filled Him! For she came frightened and trembling, aware of what had been done to her. She fell down before Him and told Him all the truth. How little she knew that this was the condition of her better blessing!
A gift received in secret still calls for an answer:
She had received from Him; now she must acknowledge it. In secret she got it; openly she must confess it… Note the accuracy of our writer. "Who was it that touched me?" we read in Luke. "Who touched my garments?" is the question asked in Mark.
- Need — hers was the touch of someone who knew she was helpless. The crowd pressed Him without that, and received nothing.
- Touch — the power lived in Christ, and it acted the moment faith made contact. The power was His, not something in her fingers.
- Power — read "virtue" here as "power." It went out from Him mixed with love and compassion, never as a blind machine.
- Knowledge — He knew inside Himself what had happened. His question was looking for her, not for facts.
- Peace — He would not let her leave feeling she had stolen a blessing. He drew her out to confess, then sent her away resting on His word, not her feelings.
And his disciples said to him, Thou seest the crowd pressing on thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?
Power has just gone out from Jesus, and He asks who touched His clothes. To the disciples the question makes no sense. In a crowd that size, everyone is touching Him. Their reply shows the gap between standing near Jesus and the one touch He noticed.
One writer answers the disciples by pointing to what Jesus knew.
She is sure she has touched Him, even though it was only the edge of His clothes, because the sense of healing came at once. And He knew He had been touched, and by whom. Yes, Jesus knows whether you have come to Him in simple faith or not... The disciples speak of the crowd, but it is no use. The crowd had pressed around Him but had not "touched" Him; faith alone did that.
The crowd and the woman touched the same person. What set them apart was not nearness but what drove them.
But Jesus distinguished between the touch of faith and the jostle of idle curiosity. Someone has said, "Flesh presses; faith touches." The multitude were there to hear or see some new thing... But the touch of the woman was of a different order. Her finger touching Him expressed a deeply felt need for Jehovah's mercy to step in for her. It also expressed her confidence that this mercy was there for her in the person of Jesus, and nowhere else in this sad and disappointing world.
If He already knew who touched Him, why ask? One writer says the question was for her sake, not for His information.
The disciples, as so often, misunderstood. Peter and the rest talked about the crowds pressing in on Him. But the Lord alone knew in the highest way that a certain one did touch Him; and He looked about to see who had done this. It was not that He could not have named her, but to give her the opportunity to confess the truth.
Her public account served more than herself. It taught the disciples who had just objected.
In this way her confession became a testimony to all the people, and above all to the Lord's disciples. They did not seem to grasp the greatness of His person, and in particular that He knows everything. The Lord's question surprised them. Mark records it as who touched His clothes; Luke records it as who touched Him. They remarked that the crowd was pressing around Him, so people seemed to touch Him all the time.
The same scene repeats wherever crowds gather around the name of Christ. Numbers prove nothing about faith.
A large crowd followed Him and pressed around Him, so it might appear that many believing followers surrounded the Lord. Today it can look the same. We see religious buildings crowded with people who profess to worship Christ... and it seems there is a vast host of believers in Christ. Indeed, men do judge so... But this outward profession of Christianity — joining the crowd to follow Jesus — will not save the soul. It will not settle the question of sins, or of death and judgment.
Getting the cure and hearing Him say so are two different things. The question that puzzled the disciples opened the way to the second.
If the Lord had simply let her go, she would have felt that she had no right to do it, and that her healing was a stolen blessing. She would also have missed the chance to truly meet and get to know her benefactor. The Lord wanted her not only to be healed but to know that He had blessed her, willingly and with lasting effect. He did not want her to leave without hearing His words, "Go in peace." Her safety did not rest on her feelings, but on His word.
Another writer adds why the Lord raised the question at all.
Why these questions, then? Because the Lord loves to confirm faith wherever He finds it. The woman, healed so completely, was about to slip away without any confession of the One whose grace she had tasted.
- Pressing — The crowd pressed against Jesus and received nothing. Being near Him, in body or in religion, is not the same as touching Him.
- Touching — One hand reached out in real need, sure that mercy was in Him alone. That touch brought healing at once.
- Knowing — The question was never a search for information. He could have named her, and He looked round to see her.
- Confessing — He asked so she would say out loud what she had received in secret. The crowd heard it, and so did disciples still learning who He was.
- Peace — The story ends not with the cure but with His words, "Go in peace." Her assurance rests on what He said, not on how she felt.
And he looked round about to see her who had done this.
A woman in the crowd had touched His clothes in secret, and power went out of Him at once. Now Jesus stops and searches the faces around Him for her — though He already knows the answer to His own question.
Mark records the question and the look together, and the two do not sit easily side by side unless we notice how much Jesus already knew. One writer puts the point in a single line:
The perfect knowledge of Jesus comes to light. He knew that power had gone out of Him, and that the touch had fallen on His clothes. He asked the question, but He knew the answer; for He looked round to see "her" that had done it.
The question was not for His sake. It opened a door for her to speak:
The disciples, as so often, misunderstood; and Peter, with the rest, talked of the crowds hemming Him in with their pressure. But the Lord alone knew, in the highest way, that a certain one had touched Him; and He looked about to see who had done this. It was not that He could not have named her, but to give her opportunity to confess the truth. How little she knew the grace that filled Him!
The phrase is not decoration. It is one of this writer's habits of observation, and it carries a consistent weight:
"Looking round" (periblepo) is a characteristic expression of Mark. Only one other New Testament writer uses it, and only once (Luke 6:10). Mark uses it six times, and on all but one occasion it refers to the Lord Himself… The term seems here to imply the intense personal and individual interest the Lord took in those who sat around Him as His disciples.
The crowd pressed on Him from every side. One touch was different, and the difference was not physical:
But Jesus distinguished between the touch of faith and the jostle of idle curiosity. It has been said, "Flesh presses; faith touches." The multitude were there to hear or see some new thing. They were impelled by the common craze for novelty… But the touch of the woman was of a different order. The contact of her finger gave expression to a deeply felt need for the mercy of Jehovah to act on her behalf. It also expressed her confidence that the mercy she needed was available in the person of Jesus. It was available nowhere else in this sad and disappointing world.
The same difference still divides the crowd today:
So it is still today. There are still crowds "pressing" or "thronging." Many come in touch with the Saviour outwardly… But everything turns on one question: does anyone touch Jesus in faith, as the suffering woman in this account did?
She could have gone home healed and silent. That silence would have cost her:
Why did the Lord bring about this situation? We can be quite sure it was not to embarrass her but to bless her. Had the Lord simply let her go, she would have felt that her act was unauthorised and her healing a stolen blessing. She would also have missed the chance to really meet and get to know her benefactor. The Lord wanted her not only to be healed. He wanted her to know that He had blessed her, willingly and with lasting effect… Her safety was not to be based on her feelings, but on His word.
She had to come forward in front of everyone. His face made that possible:
When He looked around to see her, she no doubt saw the tender goodness in His eyes. That encouraged her to fall down before Him and tell Him all the truth, in front of the crowd. This was surely a confession — not only of her need and her blessing, but of His abounding grace.
- He knew. The question and the look were never a search; He knew the answer before He turned, so the pause was for her sake, not His.
- He looked. Mark almost always keeps this word for Jesus. It marks His personal interest in the one person in front of Him.
- He distinguished. A crowd pressed Him; one woman touched Him. Being near Christ is not the same as trusting Him, and that difference still decides everything.
- He waited. Left to slip away, she would have carried a blessing she thought was stolen and never met the One who gave it.
- He blessed. The look drew out her confession, and her confession opened the way to rest on His word instead of her feelings.
But the woman, frightened and trembling, knowing what had taken place in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth.
A woman healed in secret is called out in front of the crowd. Instead of slipping away she kneels at His feet, shaking, and tells Him everything — so why would the Lord not let her go home quietly?
Her cure taught her one thing about Jesus. Discovery taught her another.
The woman began now to enter upon the second stage of her lesson. She had learned the Saviour's omnipotent mercy; she was now to learn His omniscient love. "She saw she was not hid." In the language of the Psalmist — where could she flee from His Spirit? Adam and Eve under the trees of Eden learned how useless it is to try to hide from the divine eye, and so did Nathanael under the fig tree.
Her fear was not vague nervousness. By the law she counted as unclean, and she had touched a holy person anyway.
She came to the Lord to confess to Him what she had done, and she went "fearing and trembling." For she now knew she had done a bold thing. She feared what would come of it. In the fact that He knew her secret act she had caught a glimpse of the divine majesty of Him whose garment she had touched. And while He was so holy and so mighty, how unworthy was she! Was she not, by the rule of Jehovah's sacred law, a polluted and defiled woman (Lev. 15:19)? … the woman came to Jesus afraid and trembling. She had become the vessel of His power, but she did not yet know the word of His grace — that He was there among the poor of His land to heal and bless and save.
The healing was already complete; she had felt it in her body. But a blessing taken from behind His back was not what He wanted her to leave with.
But even conscious assurance is not enough for the grace of God. She had stolen, as it were, the blessing; she must have it as a free and full gift from the Lord, face to face.
He does not only allow this closeness. He enjoys it.
Then we see that the Lord delights to encourage faith. He is not content that the one who has received the blessing should go quietly away. He brings the believer into His own presence, there to tell Him all the truth. He delights that we should have everything out with Him — that there should be no distance or reserve between Himself and His own.
What she hid in her heart now came out of her mouth in public.
The disciples of Jesus heard her declare "why she had touched him, and how she had been immediately healed." The confession of her lips thus completed the faith in her heart, in the hearing of everyone present. The Epistles teach the same pairing of faith and confession. It is the twofold requirement from man for his blessing through the gospel: "For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved. For the Scripture says, 'Everyone who believes in him will not be put to shame'" (Rom. 10:10-11).
Silence has a cost. Telling Him everything has a reward.
Even today He not only forgives wrongdoing, covers sin, and charges no guilt; He also takes deceit out of the spirit. This the healed woman needed; this the Lord gave. … If it is for His glory that everything be clear and confessed, it is also the condition of peace by faith. When someone keeps silent, his bones waste away as he groans all day long. The Lord's hand is heavy on him night and day, until his strength dries up as in summer's drought. But peace comes when a person admits his sin to Him. It cannot come while he hides his guilt. "I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,' and you forgave the iniquity of my sin."
Being helped by someone is not the same as being at home with them.
She knows she is welcome to His service but nothing more. She does not yet know her right to be in His presence. But the Lord trains her heart for this even as He gives healing to her body. He lets her know that she has an interest in Himself, as well as in His power to help her. He calls her "daughter." He owns kinship or relationship with her. This was the one thing that could remove her fear and trembling.
- Hidden. She wanted the cure without the meeting. She came up behind Him and took her blessing unseen.
- Seen. His question showed her she was not hidden. She had learned His mercy; now she learned His love that knows everything.
- Afraid. She trembled because she had grasped His holiness and majesty before she had heard His word of grace.
- Confessed. Faith in the heart became confession with the mouth, and that open confession is the condition of peace.
- Daughter. One word gave her a place, not just a cure — she had a claim on Himself, and the fear and trembling were over.
And he said to her, Daughter, thy faith has healed thee; go in peace, and be well of thy scourge.
The woman was already well before a word passed between her and Jesus. She had touched His clothes in the crowd and felt the change in her body. Yet He stopped, searched the crowd, and would not let her go until she had heard Him speak. Every phrase of His answer to her does a job.
She already had what she came for. So why did He turn round? Not to check the healing, but to deal with how she had taken it.
But even conscious assurance is not enough for the grace of God. She had, as it were, stolen the blessing; she must have it as a free and full gift from the Lord, face to face.
He does the same with everyone He blesses.
Then we see that the Lord delights to encourage faith. He is not content that the one who has received the blessing should go quietly away. He brings the believer into His own presence, there to tell Him all the truth. He delights that we should have everything out with Him — that there should be no distance or reserve between Himself and His own.
His first word to her is not a rebuke. It names a relationship.
And now He reveals Himself to her heart, and fills her soul with the peace and joy of His salvation. "Daughter" — the nearest and dearest of family ties, the tenderest of human bonds. "Your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease."
The verb behind "made you well" is the ordinary New Testament word for saving, used here of the body.
It is worth noticing the word sozo. In the New Testament it is usually translated "save." Here it carries its wider sense of deliverance, and all three accounts of this woman's healing use it: Matt. 9:21-22; Mark 5:28, 34; Luke 8:48. It is also used of the restoration of the daughter of Jairus… of the healing of Bartimaeus… of the Samaritan leper. In these places translators render the Greek word "made whole" or "healed."
He credits her faith — but the credit does not rest on the strength of her believing.
Perhaps she was not conscious of her faith, but there it was, and it was right, for it was in Jesus. It is very necessary to see that her faith was in the person of Christ. Very strong faith in a wrong thing will not make the faith right nor the thing right. What gives faith its value is its object.
This sounds like an everyday farewell. One writer argues it carries far more, because of the only other place in the Gospels where Jesus says it.
Our Lord speaks this blessing, "Go in peace," in only one other place in the Gospels. There, as here, it goes with the faith that saved. One woman came to the Lord in Simon the Pharisee's house for the forgiveness of sins. This woman came to Him for help in this life. To both He said, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace" (Luke 7:50). Because of this link we may take these words as more than the ordinary farewell greeting of the East.
The word translated "disease" is stronger than a general term for illness.
Plague is an uncommon word in the New Testament… Mark also uses it twice for the illness of the woman with a discharge of blood (Mark 5:29, 34). The word literally means a scourge. It probably covered the more severe complaints that drove people to seek relief.
This last clause guards her tomorrow, not just her today.
Suppose the Lord had let her go off without what now follows. She never would have had peace. Satan would have followed her and whispered, "Oh yes, it's quite true you are better just now, but your trouble is sure to break out again; you are relieved, not cured." The fear of the plague coming back would have eaten away the joy she rightly had. How gracious the Lord is! He does not want the devil to trick, deceive and distress any soul that has trusted Him. So He speaks words that calm the troubled heart for ever.
He would not leave her resting on feelings, however real.
Like the woman, we can then go on our way, not trusting in our feelings or in some experience, however real, but with the assurance of His own word. So the woman learns from His own lips that she was healed, for He can say, "Your faith has made you well."
- Object, not effort. Her faith may have been barely conscious, yet it rested on Christ — and the object of faith is what gives it value.
- Face, not back. She took the blessing in secret. He called her out so she could hold it as an open gift, with nothing hidden between them.
- Daughter. The word that meets her fear is a family word — He owns the relationship before He confirms the cure.
- Past, present, future. "Your faith has made you well" settles the past. "Go in peace" settles the present. "Be healed of your disease" settles the future.
- His word outlasts her feelings. She felt the healing. She left with His word about it — and His word silences the whisper that it will all come back.
While he was yet speaking, they come from the ruler of the synagogue's [house], saying, Thy daughter has died, why troublest thou the teacher any further?
Jesus is still speaking to the woman He has just healed when the news reaches Jairus: the delay he feared has cost him his daughter. The message is not cruel but practical — death has settled the matter, so why take up the Teacher's time?
The journey to the house had been slow, and the healing of the woman looked like one more delay.
The ruler was impatient and distressed. To him, Jesus' visit to his house, where his sick daughter lay, had met many annoying delays… The crowd that gathered in the narrow streets made progress slow and difficult. The healing of the woman appeared to be a further obstacle in the way of the Master's mercy for him. And now, while Jesus was speaking His final blessing over the woman, some arrived from the ruler's house. They brought the sad news he had expected but dreaded: death had come. "Your daughter is dead" was the message, closing, as he supposed, the last door of his hopes.
It is worth noticing the errand these men chose to run.
In this case the messengers were quick to bring bad news. Whenever there is bad news to tell, there are always people at hand ready to tell it. Few, by comparison, tell good news; may the Lord raise up more such.
The question treats Jesus as someone whose help has limits and whose patience can be used up. It misjudges Him twice over.
This person little knew either the power of His hand or the tender love of His heart. However deep our sorrows, however great our trials, we need not fear to "trouble" the Lord with our burdens. He was here to share our griefs and bear our trials.
The message even sounds polite. That politeness is the problem.
As an old writer puts it: "Here were more manners than faith: 'Do not trouble the Teacher.' Unbelief is all for caution, and thinks every good work tiresome. What nature counts troublesome is pleasing and delightful to grace. O Saviour, it was Your food and drink to do Your Father's will. His will was that You should bear our griefs and take away our sorrows. Our happiness cannot be Your trouble, so we must keep coming to You."
The messengers grant Jesus real power — over sickness. They place death outside it.
At the very moment of the woman's deliverance the case of Jairus' daughter took on a darker look. News of her death arrived. Those who sent the message assumed that disease might disappear before the power of Jesus, but that death lay outside His reach… Death is the most hopeless thing of all. Can He triumph over that? He can, and He did.
That hopelessness is the ground on which God works.
Death, for man, is the end of hope; and, as far as he is concerned, it is meant to be so. For this very reason, it is here that God can show Himself where man is powerless. "Do not fear," says the Lord in answer to such a message; "only believe." Unbelief may claim its right to mourn and weep, though much even of this is unreal. But faith alone can see the glory of God.
Jesus does not wait for the news to settle in the father's heart.
Bad news met the ruler's ear while Jesus was crowning His mercy to the woman who touched Him. How swift His goodness is to shield a weak heart from despair! "Do not fear, only believe." This was not troubling the Teacher; it was His proper work.
The two stories woven together carry a picture larger than one family's grief.
In the story of the dying child, do we not see a picture of the nation's moral condition when the Lord was present? At the end of the story the Lord raised the child from death. In the same way, when He returns to earth, He will revive the nation. Meanwhile the story of the woman teaches us that wherever people have faith in Christ, they will receive the blessing.
- Delay. The crowd slowed the journey, and to Jairus the delay closed the last door of hope.
- Verdict. People allowed Jesus power over sickness but not over death. Yet death is where God shows Himself, because man is powerless there.
- Manners. "Do not trouble Him" sounds respectful, but bearing our griefs was the very thing He came to do — it is never a bother to Him.
- Rescue. The Lord answered before the news could sink into the father's heart: "Do not fear, only believe." That was not an interruption to His work. It was His work.
- Horizon. The child raised at the end points beyond one household. People who trust Christ are blessed now, and the Lord will yet revive the nation.
But Jesus [immediately], having heard the word spoken, says to the ruler of the synagogue, Fear not; only believe.
A messenger arrives between the father's plea and the miracle: the girl has died. Jesus answers a father whose hope has just collapsed.
The word behind "overhearing" tells us how Jesus took the news.
The general sense of the word seems to be this. Jesus heard what the speaker did not intend Him to hear. But He ignored the literal remark. He said what expressed His own purpose and calmed the anxiety of Jairus.
Unbelief was rising in the father. The speed of the Lord's reply was part of the mercy. The writers quote older translations, where the words read "Be not afraid, only believe."
If a gracious Lord had not seen the danger and stopped his rising unbelief, perhaps the father's hope would have died too. Then no room would have been left for this miracle, since faith, the necessary condition, would have been missing. "As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken, He says to the ruler of the synagogue, Be not afraid, only believe." There is something very gracious in that "as soon as." The Lord spoke at once. He left no time for a thought of unbelief to slip into the father's mind, still less for the father to speak it aloud. Such a thought might have stood in the way of a cure. Instead He filled his mind at once with words of encouragement and hope.
Death ends man's hope. That is where the Lord asks for faith.
Death, for man, is the end of hope; and, as far as he is concerned, it is designed to be so. For this very reason it is here that God can show Himself, where man is powerless. "Be not afraid," says the Lord in answer to such a message; "only believe." Unbelief may claim its right to mourn and weep, though much even of this is not real. But faith alone can see the glory of God.
Another writer brings the same test home to us.
Jairus had been quite confident about His ability to heal; but now, what about death? — that was the great test of his faith, and of the power of Jesus. "Be not afraid, only believe," was the word. Faith in Christ will remove the fear of death for us as well as for him.
The messenger misjudged the Lord on two counts.
This person little knew either the power of His hand or the tender love of His heart. However deep our sorrows, however great our trials, we need not fear to "trouble" the Lord with our burdens. He was here to share our griefs and bear our trials. Entering into the feelings of the poor father, the Lord drops a word of comfort into his heart — "Be not afraid, only believe."
Notice the order of events. The girl is not raised for several verses yet; first comes a sentence for the father.
It is these small touches that make us acquainted with the Saviour. Thank God, we can speak of His power; but how good it is to see His heart, before He put out His power.
One writer reads the chapter as a picture of Israel: the woman healed on the road, the child found dead.
Now, as for the child He was travelling to, no remedy was available. Jesus finds her dead, but does not fail in the purpose of His journey. He raises her again, for He can give life. So it is with Israel too. On the way, those who had faith in Jesus were healed, incurable as they were in themselves; but as to Israel, the nation was dead in trespasses and sins. Outwardly this seemed to stop the work of Jesus. But grace will restore life to Israel in the end.
Crowns are His now. One writer insists the change has not touched His heart.
Many crowns are His, and we delight to crown Him Lord of all; but no crown that will ever adorn His head will ever change His heart. The love that could weep with Martha and Mary has not altered in the slightest. The heart that had compassion on the widow of Nain still beats in sympathy with sorrowing saints. The same tender love sustained the broken-hearted Jairus. It can still say with infinite compassion to a broken-hearted believer, "Be not afraid, only believe."
- Overheard. The report was meant for Jairus, not for Jesus; He caught it anyway, ignored its logic, and answered its effect.
- Immediate. He spoke "as soon as" the words landed, leaving unbelief no time to take root in the father's mind.
- Only. The Lord asks for less, not more — faith that keeps going past death. Where man is powerless, God shows Himself.
- Heart. The messenger missed both the power of His hand and the tender love of His heart; no burden is too much trouble to bring Him.
- Still. The same word reaches beyond one house — to a nation He will yet revive, and to any broken heart today. Glory has not changed His heart.
And he suffered no one to accompany him save Peter and James, and John the brother of James.
The Lord is on His way to a dead child's bedside, and at the door He thins the company down to three men. Why shut out the crowd, and why these three?
Two crowds stood in His way. One had followed Him through the streets; the other already filled the house. One writer notes how the Lord handled both, and why this raising differed from His others:
He would not let the crowd that had followed Him through the town come near the house of Jairus. Another crowd was already inside it. When the Lord went in, He put the noisy mourners out, as Peter later did in the case of Dorcas. Their unpleasant trade had made them used to the sight of the dead, so they were sure the girl was dead. They could not grasp that what was death to man was sleep to the Lord... He did not admit even all the apostles to the room where she lay. He chose three only — Peter, James and John. He raised the widow's son and Lazarus in full public view. Here the dead child was indoors, so the scene had to be more private.
The number is not accidental. It meets the standard of legal evidence with something to spare:
The three disciples chosen were enough to give testimony to the fact of the resurrection. Two witnesses were enough to make evidence valid in a court of law, so three gave more than enough. Revelation tells us that two witnesses will be raised up to testify of coming judgment (Rev. 11). But three now bear witness in the world to the gospel of the grace of God — the Spirit, the water, and the blood (1 John 5:8).
This is not the only door these men were taken through alone. Writers note a pattern of three occasions:
There were three occasions (all special in character) on which Peter and the two sons of Zebedee were alone privileged to accompany the Lord Jesus. We refer to His journeys to the holy mount, to the house of Jairus, and into the recesses of Gethsemane.
Each scene showed them something the others never saw. One writer traces what they were shown in turn — power over death here, coming glory on the mountain, and the deepest sorrow in the garden:
These three were the only ones allowed to be there when the Lord raised Jairus' daughter. That already tells us something about the relationship these disciples had with the Lord Jesus. They were also the only three disciples who went up the Mount of Transfiguration with the Lord, where they were shown a picture of the millennium... Third, in one of the most painful moments of the life of the Lord Jesus, those three alone were allowed to go with Him into the Garden of Gethsemane. There He was in great agony as He looked ahead to the work He was to do.
More than one commentator reads this quiet room as a preview. One of them ties the waking of the girl to what God will do for Israel:
He goes in with chosen witnesses, pillars among the Jewish believers. He turns out the empty mourners who mocked His words of comfort. Then, in front of the parents and His companions, He wakes the girl from the sleep of death, to their great amazement. So at the end of the age He will raise up Israel.
On this reading, the small number in the room carries meaning, and so do the parents:
The witness of the three disciples was all that was needed. They stand for the core of the faithful remnant, at the time when Israel will be brought to spiritual life after the Tribulation. The father and mother stand for the older natural tie — Israel linked to the fathers.
The three men who saw it are not the men who tell us about it:
We are plainly told that when the Lord raised the daughter of Jairus from the dead, no one was with Him but Peter, James, and John. Yet not one of the three mentions it, striking as the fact is, and important as it is in the story of our Lord's ways. Matthew, Mark, and Luke, who were not there, all name it and give the details.
- Shut out. He kept the following crowd outside and put the noisy mourners out. What looked like death to them was sleep to Him.
- Chosen. Not even all the apostles went in. He chose three, the same three He later took up the mountain and into Gethsemane.
- Enough. Two witnesses satisfy a court; three give more than enough evidence for the fact of a resurrection.
- Sign. The witnesses stand for a faithful few. The parents stand for Israel's link to the fathers. The raised child stands for a nation He will raise up at the end of the age.
- Silent. The three who saw it never wrote it down. Matthew, Mark and Luke, who were not in the room, give us the details.
And he comes to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and sees the tumult, and people weeping and wailing greatly.
Mark slows the story down at the doorway, and before any miracle we hear a house already full of noise. What was that uproar, and why did the Lord silence it before He acted?
The commotion was not just a family's private grief spilling out. One writer points to a custom of the day. He sees the same custom behind the crowd at the death of Lazarus, the man Jesus later raised from the dead.
There does not seem to have been any "service" or prayers at the burial of the dead. When Lazarus died, Jews were with the family, mourning four days after the death. In the case of the daughter of Jairus there was a "tumult", with weeping and great wailing. These were probably hired mourners, as is still the custom today, since "musicians" were there too.
The custom had a history, and not a healthy one. What began as neighbours sharing a family's loss hardened into a paid trade.
Genuine mourning, which grows out of a neighbour's sympathy, was twisted into shallow professionalism. Grieving became an art, and some grew famous for their skill at it (Amos 5:16). Mourning women stood ready to come and raise a wail for the dead (Jer. 9:17-18), sometimes putting their grief into funeral songs (2 Chron. 35:25).
Real grief has God's own backing, which makes the Lord's sharpness here worth explaining. His words targeted the performance, not the sorrow.
The Prince of Life went on to the house of death, where mourners were already making a great commotion with their weeping and wailing. God commands us to "weep with those who weep," and Scripture has no shortage of examples. The Lord Himself was always tender and kind to people in distress and pain, yet He rebuked this show of going-through-the-motions grief over the daughter of Jairus. He entered the courtyard of the ruler's house and said to the hired mourners, "Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping." He was severe with them because of their hypocrisy and pretence, for their sympathy was not sincere.
The mourners had a standard for grief: the louder, the more sincere. The Lord measured it another way.
Mourners already surrounded the house, and they thought the loudest wailing was the best proof of real grief. The Lord Jesus rebuked this useless noise and told them the girl was not dead, but asleep. Then the people laughed at Him in scorn. That was foolish. They did not see that He had deeper reasons for speaking this way than they understood. To Him death is no more a problem than sleep.
Their reaction was not shock but ridicule. One writer traces it to their trade — they handled death for a living — and weighs what kind of laughter it was.
The Lord's words drew only laughter and mockery from these ignorant, rude attendants. The ruler of the synagogue held high rank, so his house would hold an unusually large number of them. The servants were ruder still to the prophet from Nazareth, because their employer stood so far above Him socially. His words, "The child is not dead," clashed head-on with their professional knowledge. They had no faith in Him and no respect for what He said, so nothing weighed against what looked to them like a plain denial of the facts. Their laughter was the laughter of folly, as the laughter of Abraham and Sarah was the laughter of unbelief (Gen. 17:17; Gen. 18:12).
after-note: DELETE
The Lord cleared the house before the miracle. One writer reads the raising of the girl as a picture of what God will do for Israel.
He goes in with chosen witnesses, leading men among the Jewish people. He puts out the empty weepers who scorned His words of comfort. Then, in front of the parents and His companions, He wakes the girl from the sleep of death, and they are amazed. So at the end of the age He will raise up Israel.
- Noise. The Lord walked into a crowd of paid mourners with musicians, not just a family in tears. The custom had turned grief into a performance.
- Sham. He aimed His sharpness at their pretence, not at grief. God tells us to weep with those who weep.
- Sleep. The mourners saw death as the end. He called it sleep, because to Him death is no bigger problem than a sleeping child.
- Scorn. Their expert certainty produced laughter, not faith. It was the laughter of folly.
- Sign. He put unbelief outside, brought in chosen witnesses, and raised the child — a preview of the day He will raise up Israel.
And entering in he says to them, Why do ye make a tumult and weep? the child has not died, but sleeps.
Jesus enters a house loud with grief and calls the dead child asleep. Why does He use that word, and why does the room full of mourners laugh at Him?
The Lord walks in where death has done its work, and He refuses to let it stay. One writer shows how a single sentence of authority answers the noise around the bed.
Then, at the end of the chapter, the Lord is in the presence of death; but He will not allow death to stay in His presence. "The child," He said (and how true it was!), "is not dead but sleeping." Just so the Spirit says believers are asleep, as in, "God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep." Unbelief may weep, and wail, and make all sorts of commotion, and with little feeling after all; for it can just as easily laugh Jesus to scorn.
He is not softening the facts. He uses the word Scripture keeps for the death of His own. One writer shows why it fits them and not Him.
Let us look closely at the words used here. We may be sure they are exact, as always in Scripture. "Jesus died;" His saints only "fall asleep." With Him it was truly death. It came in all its reality and severity, as the judgment on sin — the sign and picture of a deeper judgment. With them it is only "sleep" — rest and refreshment, from which they rise to a day that never ends and never fades.
Another writer applies that difference to this girl, and links her to Lazarus.
He knew that hers was the sleep of the redeemed, not the death of the lost, and as with Lazarus later, He came to wake her out of that sleep.
His question about the commotion is sharp, and the reason lies in who was doing the wailing.
Real mourning that grows out of neighbourly sympathy had turned into shallow professionalism. Wailing became an art, and some became well known for their skill in it. The Lord was always tender and gracious to those in distress and pain. Yet He rebuked this show of routine grief over the daughter of Jairus. Entering the courtyard of the ruler's house, He said to the hired mourners, "Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping." The Lord aimed this sharp word at their hypocrisy and pretence, for their sympathy was not sincere.
The mourners had expertise on their side, and His words cut across it.
His words, "The child is not dead," came into direct conflict with their professional knowledge. They had no faith in Him and no reverence for His words to balance His apparent contradiction of the facts. So the Lord's dignified reproof of their noise only struck them as absurd. There was some malice in it too at His interference, and they laughed Him to scorn. It was the laughter of folly.
That laughter costs them the sight of what happens next. What follows also shows that the girl had truly died.
They believed their senses, not His word; and the scornful will not see the blessing. But He took hold of her hand and called her to get up. Then her spirit returned — for it had gone — and she rose up immediately.
One writer reads the sleeping child as a picture on a larger scale.
He goes in with chosen witnesses and turns out the empty weepers who had scorned His words of comfort. Then, in front of the parents and His companions, He wakes the girl from the sleep of death, to their great amazement. So at the end of the age He will raise up Israel.
The Lord's sentence reaches far beyond that house, into the sorrow of anyone who has buried someone they love.
The heart is deeply bereaved. But it is also carried a little upward and onward. The tenderest affections are wounded. But faith and hope are fed. "The eye of him who has seen me shall see me no more" — "neither shall his place any more behold him." But why do we make this commotion and weep? Our child is not dead but sleeps.
- Sleep, not death. He would not let death remain where He stood. Her spirit had truly gone, yet He called her condition sleep.
- Sleep, because He died. The word divides Him from His own. Jesus died under judgment. His saints only fall asleep, and rise to a day that never fades.
- Sleep, and the mourners. He silenced hired, hollow wailing. That is why His rebuke was so sharp in a house of real loss.
- Sleep, and the scorners. They trusted their senses over His word and laughed. He put them outside, and the scornful do not see the blessing.
- Sleep, and the waking. What He did at one bedside is the pattern of what He will do for a nation at the end of the age. It is also why a grieving heart today can still be carried upward.
And they derided him. But he, having put [them] all out, takes with [him] the father of the child, and the mother, and those that were with him, and enters in where the child was lying.
The Lord reaches Jairus's house and finds it already full of noise — weeping, wailing, and hired grief. He tells them the child is only sleeping, and they laugh at Him. So before He raises her, He clears the room.
The crowd making the din was not simply a gathering of heartbroken neighbours. Commentators point out that mourning at a death was paid work. That explains why His words were so unwelcome:
He arrives at Jairus's house, where He finds mourners — no doubt paid mourners. He said to them, "Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping." And they laughed at Him. They would have lost their work, so to speak, if she was not dead, and their pay would be gone too. Man had introduced all that. All they had to do was step aside, if He was there. "Be silent, all flesh, before the Lord."
Their scorn had a certain logic to it. They handled the dead every day, and His statement contradicted the one thing they were sure of:
His words, "The child is not dead," clashed head-on with what their trade had taught them. They had no faith in Him and no respect for what He said, so nothing outweighed His apparent denial of the facts. The Lord's calm rebuke of their noise only struck them as ridiculous, and they felt some spite at His interference. So they laughed at Him. It was the laughter of folly, as that of Abraham and Sarah was the laughter of unbelief (Gen. 17:17; Gen. 18:12).
The same writer traces this mockery beyond one crowded room:
Sadly, such ridicule from man fell within the sufferings appointed to the Messiah. But Scripture said of Him, "All who see me mock me" (Ps. 22:7), and that word reached its climax at the cross. He was the Servant whom man despised and the nation abhorred (Isa. 49:7).
They heard a plain fact denied. But everything turns on who was speaking:
The Lord Jesus reproved this useless noise and told them the girl was not dead but asleep. To Him death is no more a problem than sleep is.
The Lord used the same word later about a man named Lazarus. That case answers the obvious objection:
On a later occasion the Lord speaks of Lazarus as "sleeping." It was His way of speaking. He raised this girl from her bed, the young man of Nain from the stretcher he was carried on, and Lazarus from the grave. Each case needed the same power — the power of Him who is the Resurrection and the Life. Unbelieving people may be ready to explain this away and say it was a trance. But the case of Lazarus disproves any such idea.
The Lord did not argue with the mockers. He put them out:
As for all the rest who were weeping and wailing, they laughed at His words, "Do not weep, for she is not dead but sleeping." So He put them out. They believed their senses, not His word; and the scornful will not see the blessing.
Darby draws out how faith sometimes has to separate itself from feelings that look kind:
Some feelings in other people are wrong and unbelieving. We must not get tangled up with them, or we will not be able to exercise faith towards God. Our love for those who really need it demands this. The truest love and the holiest faith sometimes look very harsh to the false feelings of man, and very foolish too. But faith acts on its own resources. The result will show where truth and power and goodness were. He cast them all out. We must act decisively at times towards men, if we would act faithfully towards God.
Three disciples and the two parents went in with Him — a deliberately small company:
The Lord, having entered the house, put out the noisy mourners, as Peter afterwards did in the case of Dorcas. They, used through their unpleasant trade to the sight of the dead, knew that the girl was certainly dead, and it was beyond them to understand that what was death to man was sleep to the Lord. They were completely out of place where the Quickener of the dead was, and so they were ejected, like the bargaining traders from the temple courts at Jerusalem.
William Kelly reads the whole scene as a picture of the nation of Israel:
He goes with chosen witnesses, leading men among the Jewish believers. He turns out the empty mourners who scorned His words of comfort. Then, in front of the parents and His companions, He wakes the girl from the sleep of death, and they are amazed. So at the end of the age He will raise up Israel.
- Scorn. Their trade was death, and His word denied the one fact they were sure of. So they laughed. It was "the laughter of folly."
- Sleep. What men called death, He called sleep. She was truly dead — and to Him death is no more a problem than sleep is.
- Sifting. He did not argue with the scornful; He put them out. They trusted their senses over His word, and so missed the blessing.
- Small circle. Only the parents and three chosen disciples went in with Him, to be the witnesses.
- Sequel. The scene points ahead: at the end of the age the same Lord will raise up Israel.
And having laid hold of the hand of the child, he says to her, Talitha koumi, which is, interpreted, Damsel, I say to thee, Arise.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.