Skin

She crawls.

And, probably more often than not she drags her scarlet body.

The slug leaves a glistening residue, spotted by only those who pay close attention to their surroundings and like a slug her residue is evidenced, however it requires not the careful observer, but the crude onlooker.

The see

p

ing,

r

ed

dis

char

ge

wails.

Beneath her ragged garments her arms undulate with muscle as she seeks 30 miles of healing, as she sought hundreds more of healing, as she will seek healing till it at once happens. Her culture is dismissive of what vulnerably courses through every human body: blood, bones, skin, wounds, smells, the grotesque, illness, needs. In a world fixed on taxonomy and appearance, she was ignored to the bottom.

A bleeding woman, not to mention 12 years of bleeding, was labeled as ceremonially unclean: she was forbidden to touch and be touched. Her identity became, as any identity would after 12 years, Untouchable, Undesirable, Unknown. God gave the people of Israel strange regulations about cleanliness (to men and women) and these regulations placed in the hands of imperfect people turn them into ugly tools to puff up those who appeared to be clean; those more concerned with power rather than the beauty of reverent acts applicable to everyone. Here’s the portion that pertains to women from Leviticus 15:

²⁵ “If a woman has a flow of blood for many days that is unrelated to her menstrual period, or if the blood continues beyond the normal period, she is ceremonially unclean. As during her menstrual period, the woman will be unclean as long as the discharge continues. ²⁶ Any bed she lies on and any object she sits on during that time will be unclean, just as during her normal menstrual period. ²⁷ If any of you touch these things, you will be ceremonially unclean. You must wash your clothes and bathe yourself in water, and you will remain unclean until evening.

²⁸ “When the woman’s bleeding stops, she must count off seven days. Then she will be ceremonially clean. ²⁹ On the eighth day she must bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons and present them to the priest at the entrance of the Tabernacle. ³⁰ The priest will offer one for a sin offering and the other for a burnt offering. Through this process, the priest will purify her before the Lord for the ceremonial impurity caused by her bleeding.

The see

p

ing,

r

ed

dis

char

ge

alienates.

The rumors spoken by the pristine people about “this man who heals” must have lingered and lowered, like cool air or collapsed onto the loose dirt long enough for her low bearing body to shuffle itself into them. A spectacle of syllables delightfully whooshing around her, slowly whispering to her of this good man.

A man who touches.

A touch that affirms life.

A touch that restores.

Why does this matter though? Why can’t she simply be healed where she is?

Through being touched we are made vulnerable and alive and through our touch we make the world vulnerable and alive.

Vulnerable.

Alive.

These acts grow mutual respect and love for self and other. One theologian writes on how touch is vitally important to our existence, “from the first day to the last day, touching is experienced as assurance, confirmation of the self and healing”. Skin is the greatest organ of learning, of taking in the material and spiritual worlds (Moltmann-Wendel, Elizabeth, I Am My Body: a theology of embodiment, 1995). Thus, this woman is being invited to be desired and known in the most tangible way.

(And yet, the most offensive part of this whole story is this: she, the unclean woman,

first

first

first desires, knows and later touches the rabbi, which in turn confirms her life.)

The spectacle of syllables now careen around her, anxiously gushing to her of this defiant rabbi.

“You must go!” they say.

“You must go!” they say.

“Touch him when he’s not looking, touch him and be healed!” they urge.

She becomes dizzy by the possibility of healing, her breath shallow, her body jitters. She begins the journey.

Hours.

Hemorrhage.

Hours.

Hemorrhage.

Hours.

Hemorrhage.

Hemorrhage.

Hemorrhage.

And yet here she is dirty, bruised, breathless and determined. Her risk is that of someone who has sought healing from mainstream sources and returned more ill and empty handed. One can become more daring and open to other forms of healing that aren’t widely accepted or proven or rational.

I’ll offend him, she thinks.

I’ll be humiliated, she knows.

I’ll be quiet when I reach out to touch his hem, she decides.

She shuffles her body into the crowd and it slowly ricochets off of every inattentive onlooker. She is this faceless nuisance, more like the town cat who desperately wants to be touched so he pushes and rolls his furry body into your legs. Stop that. Gross. Try someone else. Twelve years of this and a persistent desire to be healed will create a brave madwoman. Onward, find him, she gasps.

And there he was, the good, defiant man. Cloaked by the traditional rabbi garb in which the fringes at the bottom of his robe undulated by the whooshing of people’s bodies inching closer to him. The tassels were catching a sliver of light from the hot afternoon sun, beckoning her to reach out,

reach out,

reach

out,

for them,

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

Everyone denied it, and Peter said, “Master, this whole crowd is pressing up against you.”

But Jesus said, “Someone deliberately touched me, for I felt healing power go out from me.” When the woman realized that she could not stay hidden, she began to tremble and fell to her knees in front of him. The whole crowd heard her explain why she had touched him and that she had been immediately healed.“Daughter,” he said to her, “your faith has made you well. Go in peace.”

Your faith has made you well. Your faith has made you well. Your maddening, persistent, long suffering desire has made you well. She drained the power from God Incarnate and this God isn’t made privy to this act until after when he finds himself surprisingly emptied.

This God is caught off guard and surrenders to the least of these. Her seeping, red discharge engenders compassion and powerlessness for the purpose of empowering her body through healing.

How she must have trembled long after this incident. How she must have touched her body with gratitude. How she must have collapsed from 12 years of exhaustion and humiliation and deprivation. But, she knew her body mattered for today and somehow believed this man who touches with kindness also valued healing for today. Yet, whether it was out of fear or too many years of embarrassment or weariness or of such faithfulness, she touched him out of kindness for her body’s suffering.

Go in peace, daughter.

Go in peace, daughter.

Go in peace, daughter.

For your faith has made you well.