Touching the Hem

Touching the Hem


He couldn’t possibly see me, hear me. Such a crowd here, and all struggling for his attentions.

But I am sick, sick to death of my condition. Humiliating, unstoppable bleeding. Separating me in my embarrassment from the community, the family and the Temple. Doctors have no answer. Past hopes and let-downs plague my memory. Money almost all gone.

Oh, but the news of this Galilean and his willingness to help and heal. Must be of God. I hear that no one is disappointed. All is excitement and hope. Why not my hope too?

I awoke this morning with a strange urging. Today was going to be different. The sunshine seemed a little more poignant. The birds a little more musical. I couldn’t explain it. I hadn’t heard anything yet about our Visitor. But something was up. Then came sounds of commotion down the street. People shouting “Jesus, have mercy”. Yes mercy. I had almost forgotten about that. For me faith and the divine had gradually become like a dark cloud of sternness and obligation. I had felt myself beyond hope. Woman on the outside, looking in wistfully.

But as the crowd passed by I caught a glimpse of His face. No irritation, panic or haughtiness. He was looking, really looking at the people with the expression of One getting down to business, heartfelt business.

Without another thought I joined the throng. They wouldn’t notice me. I had the strangest inclination to draw near, to touch His garment. Would He notice me?

I reach out. There, done. It seems like some strange accomplishment. But look, he stops; He is turning around…


See the painting by James Tissot

http://justhappeneduponthis.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/woman-touching-his-garments3.jpg?w=344&h=544