The Joy of a Broken Rope
(How faith sees you through the worst circumstances)
Mark 5.21-43 April 22, 2001
21When Jesus went back across to the other side of the lake, a large crowd gathered around him on the shore.
22A leader of the local synagogue, whose name was Jairus, came and fell down before him, 23pleading with him to heal his little daughter. ¡§She is about to die,¡¨ he said in desperation. ¡§Please come and place your hands on her; heal her so she can live.¡¨
24Jesus went with him, and the crowd thronged behind.
25And there was a woman in the crowd who had had a hemorrhage for twelve years. 26She had suffered a great deal from many doctors through the years and had spent everything she had to pay them, but she had gotten no better. In fact, she was worse.
Mark 5.21-26
The New Living Translation
"When Your Rope Breaks"(1) is the title of a book I read some years ago. The title suggests the scene of a person who has been having trouble. He has come to the end of his rope! Proverbial advice in many cultures says,
When you come to the end of your rope,
tie a knot and hold on for dear life!
The content of the rope-breaking book indicates that advice doesn¡¦t go far enough. What happens when your rope breaks? What then?
What about Jairus, the man with the gravely ill daughter; what about the nameless woman who had been hemorrahging for twelve years? Do you think they were at the end of their ropes? Was that rope threadbare and about to break?
The man was a somebody ¡V ruler of the local church. The woman was a nobody. She was broke ¡V twelve years of receipts from doctors; twelve years of waiting rooms, remedies and disappointment. Nothing worked!
Combined with being a social outcast (Leviticus 15 has all the rules that say no one could even touch her), it was a good bet her husband had given up on her as well. In those days it was easier to divorce than today. She had no money, no close friends, and no business touching a rabbi like Jesus.
Well, the hi-profile religious leader, Jairus, and the low-level suffering woman took a major risk. Jairus risked his position and reputation coming to Jesus. The woman risked jail for touching Jesus in her unclean state. Was that tying a knot in their rope? Or was it letting go of the rope, which was broken
anyway?
Have you ever been there?
„« What if the doctor says, That¡¦s it ¡V we can¡¦t do any more?
„« What if the accountant says, Sorry, you have no more options ¡V I¡¦ll visit you in jail?
„« What if the lawyer says, Her decision is final; there will be no reconciliation?
„« What if¡K..the rope of sanity and hope upon which you¡¦ve been supported¡K.breaks?
¡Kwell, let me share my own little rope story with you. It happened a few years ago¡K
Having dodged most of the assorted germs, flu and nasty little airborne viruses this year, the tenacious bug finally sank his viscous little fangs into this preacher. Well, talk about crash & burn! Monday afternoon my wife and I had eaten lunch with my Aunt and Uncle from Port Richey. By Monday evening I felt so bad -- body aches, weakness, fever -- I was popping aspirin and invoking the chicken soup clause from our wedding vows (...and promise to pamper my husband¡¦s boo-boos, etc.).
You may have guessed I am not a very silent sufferer. When I am sick I really don¡¦t want company -- only a card that says your heart is broken, and for you, the meaning of life is now uncertain because of my pain. Sympathy is a wonder drug to us wimps.
Allow me to continue this shameless begging for sympathy. By Tuesday morning my poor little body had a temperature of over 101o. I was sick of chicken soup, and my thoughts had drifted to trying to recall where I put my last will and testament. Tuesday night I lay in the bed figuring I would die soon -- by 3 AM I was afraid I wouldn¡¦t!
On Wednesday morning Elizabeth called the doctor for an appointment (guys and other mule-like life forms do not call doctors). Elizabeth had informed me it was a toss-up whether she would call the doctor or the Beggs brothers (local funeral director). She said my eyes were fixed and dilated. She chose the doctor when she became convinced I was still alive. What convinced her was when she tried to take the Nyquil bottle from my hands -- I growled and bit her. (If I¡¦d bitten a second time, she would have called Beggs -- She would have killed me!)
There were some really unique experiences attempting to get a semi-delirious preacher dressed, and loaded into the car. Later I was told I wanted to ride the motorcycle (our lawnmower) to the doctor. However, Elizabeth finally got us to the doctor¡¦s office...and that¡¦s where the point of this epic came to boil.
When we walked into the overcrowded waiting room, there were no seats available. I volunteered to stretch out on the floor, but they put me in a wheelchair. Now, I want you to know my doctor is a caring, compassionate healer.
It was NOT my doctor, however, who put me in that chair -- it was the nurse from Auschwitz. I believe she is related to Heinrich Himmler, or maybe Adolph Eichman. Most nurses I have known have reminded me of the sweet fragrance of Florence Nightingale -- this one brought visions of the Marquis de Sade.
I had taken too many pain pills, and was having difficulty remembering how to do difficult things (like keep my mouth closed & not drool). Gestapo Gertie was giving commands that required hand-eye coordination and utilization of the brain -- I had neither. For instance, you cannot
"stand still please"
on the scale if you do not know where you put your legs. You certainly cannot
"keep that thermometer in your mouth, Mister,"
¡Kif the feeling left your lips a few minutes after you took those six cute little pills.
Now, I am not a very cooperative patient when sober. If you make me chemically drunk, adding a side-order of mild delirium, you will have a virtual zombie on your hands. Most of the time in that office I could not have told you my name.
With me in that unusual state, Nurse Goebels told Elizabeth to take me over to the hospital for an X-ray and blood test. I remember thinking, Free at last, Thank God-A¡¦mighty I¡¦m free at last. But it was not to be! Gertie Goebels insisted on wheeling me all the way to our car, which was parked on the grass in front of the office.
It doesn¡¦t sound ominous -- a ride to the car. However, Gertie¡¦s training had included the famed obstacle track and bruise maneuver.
With every fiber of my being aching and crying for a final resting place, my chauffeur d¡¦jour hit every bump, hole and uneven place on the ramp; she worked the parking lot like a pro, turning pebbles into boulders, causing exquisite, torturous waves of cranial pressure echoing off the sides of my temples. This was a downhill run with the precise execution (no pun) of a Picabo Street.
Approaching the finish line, I figured the worst was behind. What does a dead man know? The car was in the grass, my wheeled torture chamber rolling along the pavement. Gertie was going for it all.
As we neared the end of the pavement I heard a gasp from behind (much like the accentuated grunts Andre Agassi makes when he hits a searing ferocious backhand cross-court for a winner).
With a second grunt-and-shove, the nurse from Hades kicked the wheelchair from La-La land into high gear to navigate a wormhole at warp speed.
Her calculation was perfect. Instead of sailing over the lawn to the car ¡V the wheels dug in the turf and locked ¡V pivoting all the weight forward.
The wheelchair somersaulted its ecclesiastical baggage headfirst onto the lawn -- a perfect four-point landing!
Moving in for the kill, Gertie shouted Get up!
I meekly replied, You the man! (2)
-----------------
Back to Jairus and the woman; they had much more to deal with than I did. But the principle is the same. I usually visit the weak and failing -- the powerless ones. I am a Pastor, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
This experience, however, turned the tables. I was the one in someone else¡¦s hands -- my fate under someone else¡¦s whim.
That¡¦s where Jairus and the woman were, and that is sometimes where you find yourself. The point is, where is the joy with such a broken rope?
Especially if you¡¦ve reached out to touch Jesus, and nothing happens. (After all ¡V the Gospel records that both the woman and Jairus¡¦ daughter got well. Jairus touched Jesus, the woman touched Jesus ¡V and Jesus touched them.) What about if the rope breaks?
Let¡¦s find out from a man whose rope broke often. His name is Paul, and a very good friend of mine. He wrote to his friends in Corinth:
7 ¡Kto keep me from getting puffed up, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger from Satan to torment me and keep me from getting proud. 8Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. 9Each time he said, ¡§My gracious favor is all you need. My power works best in your weakness.¡¨ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may work through me. 10Since I know it is all for Christ¡¦s good, I am quite content with my weaknesses and with insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12.7b-10
The New Living Translation
Paul said that he had learned during the weak times of his life -- the times when he put his own agenda down and just trusted God for everything, that God¡¦s strength showed brightest.
My friends, the joy of that broken rope you hold in your hand is that God will, if you hold it up to him, light that broken rope like the wick of an oil lamp. It will shine. It did for Jairus; it did for the woman; and it will for you when you decide to do what that woman, and Jairus, and countless others have done ¡V lay all your remedies and resources to the side, and reach for the hem of his garment.
And when He touches you back, do what else the woman did ¡V bow before the Master with thanks. Openly acknowledge what He¡¦s done for you. You¡¦ll see just how great can be this joy of a broken rope.
(1)Stephen Brown, When Your Rope Breaks, (New York,
Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1988).
(2)Russell Brownworth, The Florida Baptist Witness,
1998
