But the crowd that parted before Him swallowed Him up from behind.
She wanted to call out to Him, to grasp His hand, to fall at His feet and weep on Him.
But she couldn't. She had an issue.
Boy, don't we all. I have issues. I have ugly uncleanness. I have a blackness that trails behind me like a slimy slug. The difference? Sometimes only I can see it. Well, me... and Him. I don't have to go through my day declaring my uncleanliness. I am not bound by any law that says I have to warn people that if they get too close to me they might be affected by my bad mood, they might be sullied by my dark cloud of worry and despair. But I am still unclean.
She could stand it no longer. He was Her Jesus. He was here for her. And all these other people. But for her. Risking her very life and all she held dear she lunged forward. Pushing and shoving against the crowd, she defiled them all.
The exertion was almost too much for her in her state, weakened as she was. At last she was near enough. Lunging forward she fell to the ground, grabbing just a handful of His hem. Scandalous!
She was desperate. She was an out cast. Society dictated it. Me? Not so much. I live a relatively cozy life. Even when I issue blood, as she did, I am not hidden away from society- although it would be nice at times. She had nothing. Nothing but her Jesus. I have everything. It is easy not to need my Jesus.
He turned and saw the defiled woman still clutching His cloak. Her grasp causing His clothing to twist around Him. She was so bold as to sully the only perfect man? He would have been justified in having her put to death, but there was no rebuke. He simply looked at her and told her that she was whole.
I wonder if I could have read this passage the same without my issues. I need my issues. I need my issues so that I need my Jesus. I need not to hide my ugliness. I need to acknowledge that I am unclean. I need to be broken, so that He can make me whole.