Today’s readings remind us that Christ, rather than death, has the last word. In the Old Testament reading, the writer presents the story of Absalom and his father, David. At this point in the story, Absalom has received counsel to kill David, his father, so that he might ascend the throne. Absalom is delighted. The story then shifts to David’s perspective. The king wills only Absalom’s welfare and even demands that his fellow leaders leave Absalom unharmed.
The story reaches its climax in today’s reading when death visits Absalom’s house. While riding along the road, Absalom’s hair gets stuck in the branches of a tree, leaving the man hanging in midair. Along the way, one of David’s soldiers sees him. Knowing Absalom to be an enemy, he thrusts a pike into the young man’s heart. Upon hearing the news, David falls into great grief. David says, “My son Absalom! My son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you, Absalom, my son, my son!”
A Desire for Life
Absalom sought death, but David’s words and actions demonstrate a desire for life. He is a man attentive to the needs of others because he loves. And this love is so deep that the king seems to forget the news of a recent military victory to mourn his son’s death. The Scripture says, “Joab was told that the king was weeping and mourning for Absalom; and that day’s victory was turned into mourning for the whole army when they heard that the king was grieving for his son.”
It is in this king that another king is foretold. Already, the new dawn begins to shine for Israel. In this posture, David anticipates the arrival of a new law when another king will say: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Although David’s love here remains insufficient, it still foreshadows another love which neither death nor life can separate.
Anew
The Alleluia acclamation says, “Christ took away our infirmities and bore our diseases” (Matt 8:17). Christ makes anew what the prophets of old could not. David could not revive his son. But when we look at Christ’s life in today’s Gospel, we experience something different.
In the Gospel, a father with a child near death asks Jesus for help. Along the way, Jesus brings healing to a woman “afflicted with hemorrhages for twelve years.” Jesus has not healed the girl, but already we see something different from the Old Testament reading of today. Jesus’s presence means healing and new life, and the woman’s healed affliction remains proof of that.
The story gets better. Just like David, this father loses a child, at least until Jesus enters the scene. The Scripture says, “”Your daughter has died; why trouble the teacher any longer?” Here we see the situation reaching the same resolution as Absalom’s story. Like David, the crowd and those present begin to weep and moan over the death of a child. The Scripture says, “When they arrived at the house of the synagogue official, he caught sight of a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly.”
At this point in the story, the people believe that death has the last word. But of course, they have yet to experience the power of this new David. Not only does Jesus contradict the situation in his words, asking the crowd why they are mourning, but he also does so in his actions. He goes inside the house and tells the girl to arise: Talitha koum,” which means, “Little girl, I say to you, arise!” Arise. Resurrect. Be restored.
Davidic Kingdom
Christ’s words raise the child, and, true, this is a great miracle. But this example remains one of many to tell the people that He has come. His presence is the beginning of a new Davidic kingdom — a kingdom of life that will never end. And so, we can think of Christ’s words directed to the girl as a direction to all people’s hearts. Arise out of your hearts. I am here.
When we put these Scriptures in the context of the Mass, we’ll notice that they align better than we might think. If we look at the prayer over the offerings, it says, “O Lord, we bring to your altar these offerings of our service: be pleased to receive them, we pray and transform them into the Sacrament of our redemption.” Our Psalm and Gospel readings can be examples of characters bringing their gifts to God, echoing the Entrance Antiphon: Save us, O Lord our God!
In the context of the Mass, the very altar is a place where we present our needs. We go to Mass to and kneel prostrate before God, asking for help. Like David, Jairus, or the sick woman, we cry out to God and beg for His mercy. And sometimes, we cry out because we lost a son or have a great affliction. These characters show us that no ask is too small. All three had big problems! But that didn’t keep them from bringing them before God.
The Mass
The Mass is not like the old law that remained incomplete. It cannot be more complete because now God has entered the picture. Now God Himself in the Person of Jesus Christ is doing the saving. And in that there is hope. In that there is healing. All Christ asks for is faith.
The woman believed she only needed to touch His clothes. She doesn’t need to talk to Him, hear His voice, or get His autograph. She desires to touch His cloak — a cloak probably caked in dusk and mud and sweat from walking all day.
Similarly, Jairus believes. Jesus tells him, “Just have faith.” Just have faith. And the story ends with his daughter receiving healing. So faith = healing. But it’s not easy. The Gospel story begins with Jairus asking for help. Notice that the scene interrupts itself with Jesus healing another woman. Jairus had to wait. But the way the story ends may be a confirmation or a deepening of that faith. Jairus did wait. He did have faith. We don’t know how long he had to wait. But wait he did.
The woman waited. She waited for twelve years. How many would have given up after the first year! But she waited. And she was healed.
[Readings: 2 Samuel 18:9-10, 14b, 24-25a, 30–19:3; Mark 5:21-43]
