Seeing the Unseen

 

Seeing the Unseen

Seeing the Unseen - Audio/Visual (@28:28) 

When Jesus went in the boat back to the other side of the lake, a large crowd gathered around him there. A leader of the synagogue, named Jairus, came there, saw Jesus, and fell at his feet. He begged Jesus, saying again and again, “My daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so she will be healed and will live.” So, Jesus went with him….

While Jesus was still speaking, some people came from the house of the synagogue leader. They said, “Your daughter is dead. There is no need to bother the teacher anymore.” But Jesus paid no attention to what they said. He told the synagogue leader, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” When they came to the house of the synagogue leader, Jesus found many people there making lots of noise and crying loudly. Jesus entered the house and said to them, “Why are you crying and making so much noise? The child is not dead, only asleep.” But they laughed at him.

So, after throwing them out of the house, Jesus took the child’s father and mother and his three followers into the room where the child was. Taking hold of the girl’s hand, he said to her “Talitha, koum!” (This means, “Little girl, get up!”) At once the girl stood right up and began walking. (She was twelve years old) Everyone was completely amazed. (Mark 5:21-24, 35-43)

There I stood on one side of the living room while a friend of mine stood on the other. My job was to close my eyes and walk; his job was to be my eyes and talk me safely across the room. With phrases like, “Take two baby steps to the left,” and “Take four giant steps straight ahead,” my friend successfully navigated me through a treacherous maze of chairs, a vacuum cleaner and a dog. Did you ever do that when you were a kid? Better yet, do you do it now as an adult? We don’t like the dark, but we walk in it. We walk where we can’t see so we take timid steps, so we won’t fall. And we’ve good reason to be cautious because we’re blind. We can’t see the future. We have absolutely no vision beyond the present. It’s one limitation that we all share. The wealthy are just as blind as the poor. The educated are just as sightless as the unschooled. And the famous know as little about the future as the not-so-famous.

None of us know how our children will turn out. None of us know the day we’ll die. No one knows whom he or she will marry, or if marriage is even in the cards. We are universally, absolutely, unalterably blind. We’re groping through a dark room, listening for a familiar voice but with one difference: while my childhood surroundings were familiar and friendly, ours as adults can be hostile, even fatal. My worst fear then was stubbing my toe; our worst fear now is a lot more threatening like cancer, divorce, loneliness, even death. And try as we might to walk as straight as we can, chances are a toe is going to get stubbed and we’re going to get hurt. Just ask Jairus. He’s a man who had tried to walk as straight as he could, but whose path had taken a sudden turn toward a dark cave that he didn’t want to enter alone.

Jairus is the leader of the synagogue, and the synagogue was the center of religion, education, leadership and social activity. He was the senior religious leader, the mayor, and the best-known citizen all in one. He had it all – job security, a guaranteed welcome at the coffee shop, a pension plan and golf every Friday. Who could ask for more? Yet Jairus does. He has to ask for more. In fact, he would trade his entire package of perks and privileges for just one thing — to know that his daughter would live.

The Jairus we see in this story is not the clear-sighted, black-frocked, nicely groomed civic leader. He is, instead, a blind man begging for a gift. He fell at Jesus’ feet, “… saying again and again, ‘My daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so she will be healed and will live.’” (Mk 5:23) He doesn’t barter, negotiate or make excuses; he just pleads. And, like Jairus, there are times in life when everything we have to offer is nothing compared to what we are asking to receive. Jairus was at that point because what could he offer in exchange for his child’s life? So, there were no games; no haggling; no masquerades. The situation was starkly simple: Jairus was blind to the future and Jesus knew what the future held. So Jairus asks for his help and Jesus, who loves an honest heart, gave it. And God, who knows what it’s like to lose a child, empowers his son to do so.

But before Jesus and Jairus get very far, they’re interrupted by emissaries from Jairus’ home. “Your daughter is dead.” (v. 35) How’s that for being blunt? Life can be that way at times but, in response, Jesus goes from being led to leading; from being convinced by Jairus to convincing Jairus; from being admired to being laughed at; from helping out the people to casting out the people. “Jesus paid no attention to what they said ….” (v. 36)

I love that line. It describes the critical principle for seeing the unseen: ignore what people say. Block them out. Turn them off. Close your ears. And, if you have to, walk away. Ignore the ones who say it’s too late to start over. Disregard those who say you’ll never amount to anything. Turn a deaf ear to those who say that you aren’t smart enough, fast enough, tall enough or big enough — ignore them. Faith sometimes begins by putting cotton in our ears.

Knowing Jairus’ broken heart, Jesus turns immediately to Jairus and says: “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” (v. 36) Jesus is asking Jairus to see the unseen. And when Jesus says, “Just believe …,” he’s imploring him. “Don’t limit your possibilities to only what you can see. Don’t listen only for the audible. Don’t be controlled by the logical. Believe there is more to life than meets the eye!” “Trust me,” Jesus is pleading. “Don’t be afraid; just trust.”

That kind of trust was found on a cellar wall in Cologne, Germany where Jews had hidden during World War II. “I believe in the sun, even though it doesn’t shine; I believe in love, even when it isn’t shown; I believe in God, even when he doesn’t speak.” What eyes could have seen the good in such horror? There’s only one answer: eyes that chose to see the unseen. Paul wrote: “We set our eyes not on what we see but on what we cannot see. What we see will last only a short time, but what we cannot see will last forever.” (2 Cor. 4:18) Jesus is asking Jairus to see the unseen; to make a choice. To either live by the facts, or to see by his faith. When tragedy strikes, we, too, are left to choose what we see. We can either see the hurt or see the Healer. The choice is ours.

At the house, Jesus and Jairus run into a group of mourners and Jesus asks them why they’re wailing. It bothers him that they’re so anxious over death. “Why are you crying and making so much noise? The child is not dead, only asleep.” (v. 39) And that’s not a rhetorical question. It’s an honest one. From Jesus’ perspective, the girl is not dead — she’s only asleep. From God’s viewpoint, death is not permanent – it’s a necessary step for passing from this world into the next. It’s not an end; it’s a beginning. “Flesh and blood cannot have a part in the kingdom of God …. This body that can be destroyed must clothe itself with something that can never be destroyed. And this body that dies must clothe itself with something that can never die.” (1 Cor. 15:50, 53)

From God’s viewpoint, death is not to be dreaded; it is to be welcomed. And when he sees people crying and mourning over death, he wants to know, “Why are you crying?” When we see death, we see disaster; when Jesus sees death, he sees deliverance. But that’s too much for the people to take so, “They laughed at him.” (Mk 5:40) And Jesus’ response? He threw them out of the house. He doesn’t just ask them to leave – he throws them out. Jesus’ response was decisive and strong. In fact, in the original text, the word used here is the same word used to describe what Jesus did to the moneychangers in the temple – I think a whip and tossing tables was involved. It’s the same verb used thirty-eight times to describe what Jesus did to the demons. But why such force? Why such intolerance?

The answer can be found by going back to my living room experience. After my friend had successfully guided me through the living room, another friend thought he’d be a comedian. So, on my last trip across the living room he snuck up from behind me and began whispering, “Don’t listen to him. Listen to me. I’ll take care of you.” Hearing him, I stopped, analyzed the situation and made my choice between the two voices. “Be quiet,” I said, and then continued on in my other friend’s direction. Undeterred, my diabolical friend then grabbed the lid of a pan, held it next to my ear and smacked it with a spoon. Startled, I jumped to a stop. Seeing that I was in shock, and maybe deaf, my friend from the other side of the room immediately ran in my direction, threw his arms around me and said, “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” He wasn’t about to let the noise distract me from the journey.

And God isn’t going to let the noise distract you from yours, either. He’s still busy casting out the critics and silencing the voices that could deter you. Some of his work you’ve probably seen; most of it you haven’t. Only when you get home will you know how many times he has protected you from luring voices. God knows that you and I are blind. He knows that living by faith and not by sight doesn’t come naturally. And I think that’s one reason he raised Jairus’ daughter from the dead – it wasn’t for her sake, but for Jairus’, and ours. To teach us that heaven sees when we trust, and that we can trust even when we cannot see.

Grace,

Randy