Faithful Paradox

“And there came a man named Jairus, who was a ruler of the synagogue. And falling at Jesus’ feet, he implored him to come to his house, for he had an only daughter, about twelve years of age, and she was dying. “(Luke 8:40-42).

Jairus had one last hope. If he could get to Jesus in time, maybe he would heal his daughter. He heard Jesus was in town. He had heard of all he could do. Rumor had it he had healed a leper, restored a man’s withered hand, and even brought a woman’s son back from the dead. It all sounded preposterous, but Jairus was desperate. His precious daughter, his only daugther, was sick. He knew hope was slim. Even though Jesus was surrounded by hordes of people, he knew if he could get to him, maybe he would help.

As Jairus found Jesus, I imagine there was a sense of relief and maybe even hopefulness that arose in him. I imagine the anxiety he had felt as he watched his little girl fade away may have lifted even the tiniest bit when he saw Jesus. I imagine the smallest amount of hope began to stir in his heart; maybe Jesus would help. Maybe Jesus was all that he had heard. Maybe Jesus would heal his little girl.

If I’m honest, I felt this hopefulness too. As I watched cancer take the life of my son, there was a hopefulness that remained in me; maybe Jesus would heal my son. I, like Jairus, have heard of all that he has done. I know he is able.

I prayed until Ezra’s very last breath that Jesus would heal him. I believed he was able and hoped he was willing. I, like Jairus, implored Jesus for help. I knew he was our last hope. I knew what the science said. I knew what the doctors spoke. But I also know Jesus. I know what he is able to do and prayed with expectant hope that he would move and heal my son.

Jairus moved through the crowd and reached Jesus. He implored him to come with him and Jesus was willing. They were moving towards his home, albeit slowly, because of all the people surrounding him. But then there was a delay. A woman touched Jesus and he stopped to talk to her. He poured out so much compassion on her. He healed her! I imagine Jairus saw Jesus heal the woman with the discharge of blood and it only stirred more hope in him; truly the stories he had heard were true. Truly this man could heal his daughter.

I felt this hopefulness too. Even as my son battled cancer, I saw others around him healed. I knew people who battled the same cancer, had the same bone marrow transplant and recovered. I knew of others who Jesus miraculously healed. I knew that Jesus could heal my son.

But then Jairus looked through the crowd and saw someone from his house moving towards him. He worked his way methodically through the crowd towards Jairus, his face was likely downcast and sorrowful. As he weaved his way through the masses, he told Jairus, “your daughter is dead; do not trouble the Teacher anymore” (Luke 8:49).

I imagine in that moment, the hope that Jairus had in Jesus waivered. His daughter was dead. Had Jesus only responded more quickly. Had Jesus set aside the woman and sensed the urgency that was there, maybe it would have ended differently. Why would Jesus heal this woman and allow his daughter to die?

I have struggled with these same questions. I have experienced the disappointment that comes when Jesus’ timeline does not match my own. I have questioned why Jesus does not seem to sense the urgency that I feel. I have tasted the bitter sting that comes with hearing your child has died. I have wrestled with the question of why are some healed and others are not.

“But Jesus, on hearing [the man] answered him, ‘Do not fear, only believe, and she will be well’” (Luke 8:50). I longed to hear the same words, “Do not fear, Kirsten. Only believe and Ezra will be well.” Instead, we heard the sound of the flatline on the heart rate monitor as Ezra’s heart stopped and his spirit left his body.

Even though Jairus was told not to fear, to believe and his daughter would be well, I imagine as he made the long walk home, there was a dread of the reality of what awaited him at home. Jesus told him it would be well, but what did that mean? Could he even anticipate what Jesus planned to do? Was it possible for him to hope that Jesus would bring his daughter back to life?

As he arrived home, his house was full of people “weeping and mourning” (Luke 8:52). His daugther was gone yet Jesus was there. He took the little girl by the hand, commanded her to rise “and her spirit returned” (Luke 8:55).

As I think about my own story, it is not that much different than that of Jairus. We both had sick children. We both knew Jesus was our only hope. We both implored Jesus for help. We both had children who died. We both faced the disappointment of hoping Jesus would act in a time and way that brought healing. We both walk this long road home.

The difference in our stories is that the road home right now feels a lot longer than the one that Jairus walked. I don’t know if it took minutes or hours, but the road home for Jairus seemed short compared to the road I currently walk. Thus far, it has been 3.5 years since Ezra died and I am still walking.

Yet our stories are also different in the hope I have in healing for my son, for myself. The hope is far more sure than what Jairus knew. He knew of Jesus. He hoped he could help, but he was not yet the risen Christ. He was not yet known as the Savior.

The hope I have is far more sure than what Jairus knew. Though the road seems so much longer, I know Jesus who is now “crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone” (Hebrews 2:9). I know a hope that is sure. I have confidence and assurance that Jesus will indeed heal my son; in fact, he already has even if I cannot yet see it.

This road is long. From hoping Jesus will help to feeling death’s sting, from walking this long road to the moment that Jesus renews all that he has promised, every step feels like a thousand days. I have, however, the “assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Even though Jairus got to see his daughter revived in his lifetime, she still would taste death once again. I did not get to see my son revived in my lifetime, yet he tasted death once and now is home with Christ.

I longed for a different ending. I longed, like Jairus, to see my child healed. Now I must walk this long road home, yet I can walk with confidence knowing that because of Christ, the end of the road will end in glory. I’m thankful for this hope.