As i finished writing this short story today, i was impressed that it is a reminder for this very hour. There are many in our midst who are struggling with isolation and depression, or just the circumstances of life – some brought on by COVID-19 and others by recent changes or sudden events in their lives. You may be one of those who is struggling. If so, i pray this story – a fictional account of the woman with the issue of blood – is a reminder to you that you are not just another face in the crowd to Jesus. You’re why He came!

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My name is Deborah. I am my parents’ eldest daughter. They named me after the prophetess who served as the fourth judge of Israel in the pre-monarchic days. She was a strong woman and a formidable leader who brought peace to the land through the defeat of the mighty Canaanite army led by their feared general, Sisera. My parents were hopeful I would emulate the strength, courage and wisdom of my namesake.

I grew up in the village of Magdala. Until Herod Antipas built the city of Tiberias, Magdala was the most important city on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee. My father was sent from Jerusalem to serve as the chief rabbi of our synagogue by the High Priest himself. It was a high honor that accorded he and our family great respect within the community.

As a result, I enjoyed many privileges as a child and as a young woman. I never wanted for anything, including friends and companionship. Other girls sought me out and were honored to be my friends. My parents began to plan who my husband would be while I was still a child. It was difficult for them to identify a family that they believed held the same social standing within our community. But eventually they chose Matthias, the son of a member of our local Sanhedrin.

Matthias’s parents were equally concerned about their social standing and agreed that our betrothal would strengthen the position of both families. The announcement of our betrothal while Matthias and I were still in our early teen years was met with approval and celebration throughout the city. He and I were the most envied and considered to be without peer. We were to be married when I turned eighteen.

My mother planned every part of our wedding celebration with painstaking detail. It would be the major social event of our city for years to come. In many respects it was like a marvelous dream filled with the happiest of endings.

One morning just a few weeks before our planned wedding feast, I awoke to discover that I was experiencing an unusual flow of blood. I screamed and called out to my mother. She assured me that though the amount of blood was unusual, it would pass within a few days and I need not be overly concerned. Her assurance gave me confidence. We decided that I just needed to rest for a few days. My mother cleaned my bed linens, my clothing, and helped me take added measures to contain my bleeding. 

However, one week later, I continued to hemorrhage. My mother decided that we needed to call upon one of the trusted midwives to get her opinion on what needed to be done. The midwife prescribed an elaborate herbal remedy and assured me the bleeding would stop within a matter of days. However, after those days had passed, the bleeding had not!

My mother made the decision to let my father know what was happening. He immediately sent word for the local physician to come and attend to me. After the physician learned how much blood I was passing and how long it had been taking place, he too prescribed a different regiment of treatment. 

In accordance with the law, I was considered unclean. Initially, I had experienced the normal separation from others that a young woman was expected to abide by as a result of her regular cycle. But as my condition continued, my separation from others became more pronounced. I had not seen Matthias in over a month. My father kept his distance because he could not be deemed to be unclean by association. As a soon-to-be-married bride, my days should have been filled with joyful gatherings with friends sharing in the gaiety and excitement of the moment. But instead, they had become days of isolation.

As my wedding day approached, our two families decided that the ceremony needed to be postponed. The physician’s treatments had proven to be unsuccessful and my condition had continued without any improvement. I began to hear whispers, when others thought I couldn’t hear, that this must be a judgment from God for unconfessed sin. 

My parents decided that I must be sent to Jerusalem to see a well-respected and prominent physician that practiced in that city. Surely, he would know the proper treatment and would be able to put an end to my suffering. My father arranged for a cart to be drawn by a donkey to carry me there. My mother, the midwife who was helping to treat me and several servants accompanied me. The seventy-mile journey was slow and arduous, taking five days. It took its toll on me, and I was in a weakened state when we arrived.

The physician in Jerusalem initially gave me cause to hope. He obviously was very knowledgeable and assured me he would find the source of my ailment and identify the appropriate treatment. But our time in Jerusalem became weeks, and weeks became months. The flow of blood from my body was no less than when I first arrived in Jerusalem. The only thing that was beginning to lessen was the bag of money my father had sent with my mother for my treatment.

While we were in the city my mother had gone to the temple on multiple occasions to consult with the priests. We endeavored to follow their spiritual remedies just as faithfully as we did the physicians’ medical remedies – but again all was for naught. The day came when my mother told me that our money was exhausted, and we needed to return home.

As difficult as the journey was coming to Jerusalem, as least then I was hopeful that I would soon be cured. Now as we returned to Magdala, I had no hope whatsoever. All my life I had been bubbly and vivacious, but now I had become sullen and depressed. Six months had now passed since my originally planned wedding date.

The day we arrived back in Magdala, Matthias’s father and mother paid a visit to see my parents. After hearing that my condition was unchanged, they told my parents that the betrothal contract between Matthias and I would need to be cancelled. My uncleanness prevented me from being an acceptable wife for their son. Though my parents attempted to dissuade them by asking for more time to find the successful remedy to my condition, Matthias’s parents were resolute. Though as the weeks had passed, I had feared this outcome, hearing that the decision had now been made shattered the little remaining hope and spirit I had left. I had not seen Matthias since all of this had begun, and now I knew I would never see him again!

There was nothing more that could be done for me. We had attempted all of the possible remedies that were medically and spiritually prescribed. We had even attempted all of the home remedies that had been suggested. I fear that effects of many of the remedies were worse than those of the illness itself.

As the months continued to pass, it became apparent that my continuing condition was now causing my parents and my siblings to lose their positions of stature within the community. There was talk of my father needing to step down as chief rabbi. Surely my “uncleanness” was causing him to be unclean by association – and how could anyone abide the teaching and counsel of an unclean rabbi?

My parents never told me directly about how they were now being treated, but occasionally I would hear a whisper or witness a look. I realized that if I continued to remain in their home, my entire family would suffer the effects. I knew I needed to be brave like the prophetess Deborah and take steps to protect my family. I announced to them that I was going to move away … to another town … so they would no longer be saddled with the shame of my condition. At first my mother and father stringently objected, but eventually I prevailed, and they saw the wisdom of my decision.

I decided I would move to the village of Capernaum. It wasn’t that far away, but it was far enough that I would be out of sight and my family would no longer be weighed down by the continued reminder of my condition. Joy would be permitted to return to their household, and I would be able to live in a place where I was no longer under the critical eye of those who were certain I had committed some unforgivable sin.

My parents helped me find a small home in Capernaum and provided me with an ongoing stipend to help me afford my meager expenses. As required by our laws, I went to the chief rabbi in Capernaum – a man by the name of Nicodemus – and told him of my plight. He listened with a sympathetic ear. He told me that he had a daughter and he would be just as broken-hearted as my parents if she suffered my same condition. But he went on to tell me what I already knew – that regrettably, no one in the village would be permitted to have any direct contact with me. I would live as an outcast in the village – but he would pray that Jehovah God would see fit to heal me and deliver me from my pain. I thanked him for his kindness but had little contact with him after that day.

Twice he did send me word that he had heard of new possible remedies that had been successful in  other cases. He directed me to the village physician, but in both instances the remedies had no effect on me, other than draining my already limited resources.

Rabbi Nicodemus has since moved away to take a position in Jerusalem, and Rabbi Jairus has taken his place. I have seen him on two occasions – but his response to me was the same as that of his predecessor.

Last week was my thirtieth birthday. I can’t say I was going to celebrate my thirtieth birthday, because it wasn’t going to be a celebration. The past twelve years had not been kind to me. My condition continued just as it had every day for the prior twelve years. I had not experienced one day of relief throughout those years. Neither had I experienced one day of joy. By my appearance you would have suspected that I was at least fifty years of age. I had no friends. I had very limited contact with the people who lived around me. Most of the people who live in the village didn’t even know I existed.

My parents continued to send money to provide for my needs, and on rare occasions my mother would visit me. She would have liked to come more often, but I had discouraged her from doing so. I saw myself as a burden to my parents and I had decided that I wanted to free them of their burden … and I wanted to free myself of the bondage of my continuing hopelessness. I had decided that I was going to take my own life … the next day. I was making my final preparations. I knew it would cause disgrace for my family – but in many respects it would be no greater than the disgrace I had already caused them for the past twelve years. I prayed they would forgive me and understand my choice.

As I was pondering my plan, I heard excited voices passing outside my home. “Jesus is arriving!” they exclaimed. “Let’s go see Him as He arrives!”

Jesus had become quite the celebrity in our village. His mother lives here, as do her daughters, though I have never met them. Even though I am sheltered from most of the people of the village, I still have heard the reports about Jesus. I have heard that He has made the blind to see, the lame to walk, and even raised those who were dead to life. There have even been rumors that once at His spoken word a storm and the sea were stilled. 

Suddenly the idea came into my mind that I should follow the rest of those who were going to see Him on the shore. Could He possibly heal me? I had tried everything else, why not try Him? For the first time in many years, the faint flame of hope unexpectedly ignited within my heart. I covered myself so that no one would recognize me and point to me as unclean as I blended into the crowd. 

When I arrived at the shore, I saw that Rabbi Jairus was kneeling before Jesus. As I watched, the rabbi got up from his knees, and he and Jesus were now walking toward the village. Jesus was obviously on important synagogue business. I wouldn’t even be able to get close to Him. The crowd of people surrounding Jesus seemed impenetrable. How could I possibly get close enough to speak to Him? And besides, I am a nobody. I am just one of the many nameless, faceless, desperate people in the crowd. 

But I heard a voice in my head say, “What would the prophetess Deborah do? Would she resign herself to defeat or would she step out in courage?” I suddenly knew I had to try. So, I mustered the little strength I had left, and began to press my way through the crowd. I was approaching Him from behind so that I would be as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately, the crowd was also pressing from ahead of Him and slowing down His progress. It was just enough that I was able to get near Him. 

I decided He didn’t even need to speak to me. I was convinced that all I needed to do was to touch His garment. Suddenly I was overcome with the certainty that would be enough to make me well. Jesus was my last hope! And I would not be deterred! 

I pushed through the crowd and finally made my way to within inches of Jesus. I reached out my hand… and gently touched His robe. Immediately I knew I was healed! After twelve years of the bondage of this illness, I knew I had been set free!

I stopped right where I was. For a few moments the crowd pressed against me as they continued to move forward, then they began to move around me as I stood still. I knew my quest was over. I had experienced the healing I had come to believe was no longer possible.

Then all of a sudden, Jesus stopped and turned around. As He turned, His eyes met mine, and I heard Him say, “Who touched My robe?”(1) I saw one of His followers lean toward Him and say, “Master, look at the crowd pressing in on You. How can You ask, ‘Who touched My robe?’”(2)

But I knew that He knew! With fear and trembling, I fell down before Him. As I looked up into His eyes, I saw a kindness, a gentleness and a compassion unlike anything I had ever witnessed. And I told Jesus what I had done and why.

But as I told Him, I suddenly had an overwhelming peace that Jesus already knew what I had done and why. He had known before the day began that He would encounter me, and I would touch His garment. It was almost as if He had been waiting for my arrival. I may have thought that I was one of many faceless people in the crowd, but I was now convinced that I had, in fact, been one of the very reasons Jesus had returned to Capernaum. He had prompted me to come to the shore to see Him. He had ignited that ember of hope in my heart.

And when Jesus said to me, “Daughter, your faith has made you well – go in peace – your suffering is over”(3), I walked away with more than just a physical healing. I walked away with my sins forgiven and my hope restored. 

Later that day, I arrived at my parents’ home in Magdala and told them what Jesus had done. All they needed to do was take one look at me to know that I had been healed. Joy and laughter had returned to my life ... and now my life would never be the same.

My parents announced that I should immediately move back home and begin to rebuild my life. I thanked them for their kindness and their support, but I told them that Jesus had already rebuilt my life. I knew what I must now do. I would go and follow the One for whom I was not just another face in the crowd!

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Excerpted from The One Who Stood Before Us, Ch. 14

(1)  Mark 5:30

(2)  Mark 5:31

(3)  Mark 5:34

Copyright © 2020 Kenneth A. Winter All rights reserved.

First published on kenwinter.org 20-May-20