If Jesus healed Jairus’ daughter, why didn’t He heal my Grandad?

I try to encourage questions about our Bible readings and the message they contain – but this one, from a child, is perhaps the one I dread most. The passage seems to teach a straightforward lesson about Jesus’ power over Illness and death, as do many other stories – the woman with the haemorrhage, Lazarus and many others. So if them, why not me? Why does Jesus’ healing appear selective? Anyway, why does a loving God allow suffering, illness and death at all?

The answer deserves a reply – but the question and its reply has been around for two thousand years. It involves consideration of human free will, sin and the existence of evil as well as the more practical aspect of death being essential part of the human condition – there would be no room left on earth if everyone were immortal. And the debate continues to this day. Despite having heard and read many such discussions, in truth, for me, I would still have to say I don’t really know the definitive answer. Even Paul didn’t know, actually – he writes of our knowledge being incomplete, like a dim image in a clouded mirror.

But I do know this: that if there were no sadness, I could not know joy: if there were no illness, I could not know health: if there were no hatred, I could not know love: if there were no death, I could not know life. If God fixed all my problems on my behalf, I would be no more than a puppet, not a person with choices. And the Bible teaches that I do have. I can choose love – but am also able to deny love. God gives us that freedom.

So what lesson does this scripture tell us? I suggest it is about faith in the midst of despair. Jesus’ healing is a signpost pointing to the culmination of His divine mission, that encompasses His suffering and torture, His death, His triumph over sin through His cross, and the defeat of evil in His resurrection. So in the face of my uncertainties, I trust Him; and one day, I will know the answer to all the hard questions.

The Bible contains lots of references to storms – the drowning of Pharaoh’s army, Noah’s flood, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, Jonah trying to escape God’s request, the disciples on the Sea of Galilee, Paul’s shipwreck off Malta, and the prophecy in Revelation of the storm that announces Jesus’ second coming.

But there are other types of storms – not physical ones at sea, but storms in our lives. Paul certainly had his, as he is not shy of telling us: ‘afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labours, sleepless nights, hunger’. Often all at once – ‘When sorrows come, they come not as single spies, but in battalions’, as said Shakespeare’s Claudius.

But Paul treated both hardship and comfort alike, rising above them through the grace of God. The disciples were experiencing a gale that would barely compare to the storm they would experience in Christ’s Passion – but they, and we, are also taught to trust and to rise above whatever happens, to fulfil our commandment to love irrespective of the cost. He is at our side, and we can smile at whatever storms may come.

It wasn’t only the wind and sea that will obey Him – the whole of heaven and earth will kneel before Him as Lord.

Why parables?

‘Now, what I want is Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the mind of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them.’

So speaks Mr. Gradgrind, the teacher in Charles Dickens ‘Hard Times’, in the first chapter of the book. He couldn’t be more wrong. ‘Facts’ alone actually stultify the process of reasoning. On their own, they do not convey meaning or enable learning. To do so, they have to be contextualised, and easily the best way of doing this is through the vehicle of story; and so through the ages, story has been used as the basis of wisdom transfer. Stories have the ability to convey deep truths across generational, cultural and even linguistic boundaries in a way that dry facts never will. Not only that, but the use of stories to teach a lesson offers the added benefit that people actually enjoy hearing them; they are easy to remember and can be repeated and shared. When learning is not seen as a chore but as a pleasant experience, it is also at its most effective.

Jesus is speaking to a crowd by the lakeside. Some will be educated, some not; there will be those who want to learn, others who are just passing by and listen out of curiosity. The stories used by Jesus to explain the Kingdom of heaven – the ‘parables’ – offer understandable truth to all of them whoever they may be– and through many generations, to us.

But to get the best from a story or parable does demand that we think about (and put into practice) it’s significance. What audience is Jesus addressing? Do we identify with one of the actors? Is He explaining about the Kingdom? Is His purpose teaching, encouraging, or rebuking? What lesson are we meant to take away?

Eventually, even Mr Gradgrind realises that facts alone cannot coney truth. A parable may not be ‘factual’ – but does tell a truth – and it is truth that sets us free.

Doing the right thing the wrong way
You may remember the song: ‘It ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it, that’s what gets results.’ Catchy tune, catchy title. But wrong. Actually, it’s the other way round – ‘It ain’t the way that you do it, it’s what you do…’

The problem the Pharisees have – but don’t understand or even know that they have it – is that they are so fixated by keeping to the letter of the law, they forget that the purpose of being given the law in the first place was to bring justice, peace and healing among God’s people.

They recite the fourth Commandment recorded in Exodus 20:8-11: Remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work: but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God; in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maid-servant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day; wherefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath-day and hallowed it.

In striving so hard to follow the rules, they lose sight of their purpose. They believe that the important bit is doing no labour. It isn’t. The important bit is keeping the Sabbath Holy, resting from the necessary activity of living day-to-day, and celebrating the Sabbath as sacred and special. And what could be more Holy than healing others in God’s name? Even when Jesus explains, they refuse to hear Him – indeed, they plot to have Him killed. He’s rocking the boat – their boat – and He can’t be allowed to carry on.

There is one proviso though. You might summarise the above as ‘The end justifies the means’ – a phrase first coined by the Roman poet Ovid (and plagiarised by Machiavelli). But the Russian political theorist Trotsky rightly qualified this by insisting that it is only true if the end itself is justified.

In our case, the end – furthering the Kingdom of God – is achieved by means of obedience to the New Commandment Jesus gives – to love. Sunday, Monday, Holyday and everyday. It is justified in Him.