Mothers

Mothers

Then a man named Jairus, a leader of the local synagogue, came and fell at Jesus’ feet, pleading with him to come home with him. His only daughter, who was about twelve years old, was dying …. While he was still speaking to her (a woman with an issue of blood), a messenger arrived from the home of Jairus, the leader of the synagogue. He told him, “Your daughter is dead. There’s no use troubling the Teacher now.” But when Jesus heard what had happened, he said to Jairus, “Don’t be afraid. Just have faith, and she will be healed.” (Luke 8:41-42; 49-50)

No one told me that newborns make nighttime noises – all night long. They gurgle; they pant. They whimper; they whine. They smack their lips and sigh. They keep Dads awake. At least mine did. I wanted my wife to sleep, so we took turns – I was the first responder during the graveyard shift. But I didn't know what to make of the baby noises. When breathing slowed, I leaned in to see if he was alive. When her breathing hurried, I looked up "infant hyperventilation" in the family medical encyclopedia – we didn’t have Google or WebMD then. When he burbled and panted, so did I. After a couple of hours I realized, “I have no idea how to behave.” And that’s when it hit me like a tsunami: "I’m in charge of a human being."

I don't care how tough you are. You may be a Navy SEAL who specializes in high-altitude skydiving behind enemy lines. You might spend each day making million-dollar, split-second stock market decisions. It doesn't matter. Every parent melts the moment he or she feels the full force of parenthood. I did. “How did I get myself into this?” So, I retraced my steps. First came love, then came marriage, then came the discussions of a baby carriage. Of course I was open to the idea, especially when I considered my role in launching the effort. But somehow during the nine-month expansion project, the reality of fatherhood never really dawned on me. Moms, on the other hand, have a bit of an advantage: thirty-six weeks of reminders elbowing and kicking around inside them. A Dad’s kick in the gut comes later.

The semi-truck of parenting comes loaded with fears. We fear failing the child. Will we have enough money? Enough answers? Enough diapers? Enough drawer space? Vaccinations. Educations. Homework. Homecoming. And even though we learn to cope, an apiary of dangers buzzes around in the background. Like the custody battle raging around a mother’s ten-year-old son. The courts, the father, the mother, the lawyers – they’re stretching the boy like taffy. She wonders if her child will survive the ordeal. So do the parents of the teenage daughter who collapsed on a volleyball court. No one knew about her heart condition, or knows how she'll fare in the future. But at least they know where she is. Another mother doesn’t. Her daughter, a high school senior, ran away with a boyfriend. He's into drugs. She's into him. Both are into trouble. The mother begs for help because no parent can sit still while his or her child suffers. Jairus couldn't, either.

“On the other side of the lake the crowds welcomed Jesus, because they had been waiting for him. Then a man named Jairus, a leader of the local synagogue, came and fell at Jesus' feet, pleading with him to come home with him. His only daughter, who was about twelve years old, was dying. As Jesus went with him, he was surrounded by the crowds.” (Luke 8:40-42)

Jairus was a Capernaum community leader, "one of the rulers of the synagogue." (Mark 5:22) Mayor, bishop and ombudsman, all in one. The kind of man a city would send out to welcome a celebrity. But when Jairus approached Jesus on the Galilean shoreline, he wasn't representing his village; he was pleading on behalf of his child. Urgency stripped the formalities from his greeting. He issued no salutation or compliment, just a panicked prayer.

Jairus isn't the only parent to run onto the gospel pages on behalf of a child. A mother stormed out of the Canaanite hills crying, "Mercy, Master, Son of David! My daughter is cruelly afflicted by an evil spirit." (Matt. 15:22) A father of a seizure-tormented boy sought help from the disciples, then Jesus. He cried out with tears, "Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24) The Canaanite mother. The epileptic boy’s father. Jairus. Three parents who form an unwitting New Testament society: struggling parents of stricken children. But in each case Jesus responded. He never turned one away. And his consistent kindness issues a welcome announcement: Jesus heeds the concern of a parent's heart.

After all, our kids were his kids first. "Don't you see that children are God's best gift? The fruit of the womb his generous legacy?" (Ps. 127:3) Before they were ours, they were his. Even as they are ours, they’re still his. We tend to forget that fact, regarding our children as "our" children, as though we have the final say in their health and welfare. We don't. All people are God's people, including the little people who sit at our tables.

Jairus was hoping for a miracle. He begged Jesus to come to his home. (Luke 8:41) The father wasn't content with long-distance assistance; he wanted Christ under his roof, walking through his hallways and standing at the bedside of his daughter. He wanted the presence of Christ to permeate his house. He was a stubborn intercessor, taking his parenting fears to Christ. Yet Jesus says so little about parenting; he doesn’t say anything about spanking, breast-feeding, sibling rivalry or schooling. Yet his actions speak volumes about prayer for a child – each time a parent prays, Christ responds. His big message to moms and dads? Bring your children to me. We can't protect our children from every threat in life, but with every threat we can always take them to the Source of life.

Even then, however, our appeals may be followed by a difficult choice. As Jairus and Jesus were going to Jairus' home, "a messenger arrived from the home of Jairus, the leader of the synagogue. He told him, 'Your daughter is dead. There's no use troubling the Teacher now.' But when Jesus heard what had happened, he said to Jairus, 'Don't be afraid. Just have faith, and she will be healed.'" (Luke 8:49-50) Jairus was whipsawed between the two contrasting messages. The first, from the servants: "Your daughter is dead." The second, from Jesus: "Don't be afraid." Horror called from one side. Hope beckoned from the other. Tragedy, then trust. Jairus heard two voices and had to choose which one he would heed. Don't we all?

The hard reality of parenting reads something like this: you can do your best and still stand where Jairus stood. You can protect, pray and keep all the boogeymen at bay and still find yourself in an ER at midnight, or in a drug rehab clinic on visitors' Sunday, choosing between two voices: despair or belief. Jairus could have chosen despair. Who would have faulted him for deciding, "Enough is enough"? He had no guarantee that Jesus could help. His daughter was dead. Jairus could have walked away.

As parents, we're so glad he didn't. Because we need to know what Jesus will do when we entrust our kids to him. "When Jesus went to the house, he let only Peter, John, James and the girl's father and mother go inside with him." (Luke 8:51) Jesus included the mother. He united the household. Until this point the mother had been, for whatever reason, out of the picture. Maybe she was at her daughter's bedside. Or maybe she was at odds with her husband. Crisis can divide a family. The stress of caring for a sick or troubled child can drive a wedge between parents. But Christ united them. He wanted Mom and Dad to stand together in the struggle. So, Jesus gathered the entire, albeit small, household in the presence of the daughter. And there he banished unbelief. “He said, 'Do not weep; she is not dead, but sleeping.' And they ridiculed Him, knowing that she was dead. But He put them all outside." (vv. 52-54) He commanded doubt to depart and permitted only faith and hope to remain.

God has a heart for hurting parents. Should that surprise us? After all, God himself is a father. What parental emotion hasn’t he felt? Are you separated from your child? So was God. Is someone mistreating your child? They mocked and bullied his. Is someone taking advantage of your children? The Son of God was set up by false testimony and betrayed by a greedy follower. Are you forced to watch while your child suffers? God watched his son on the cross. Do you find yourself wanting to spare your child from all the hurt in the world? God did. But because of his great love for us, "he did not spare his own Son but gave him for us all. So with Jesus, God will surely give us all things." (Rom. 8:32)

"All things." I think that includes courage and hope. But some of you may find the story of Jairus a difficult story to hear. You prayed the same prayer he did, yet you found yourself in a cemetery facing every parent's darkest night. What hope does the story of Jairus offer you? Jesus resurrected Jairus' child. Why didn't he save yours? God understands. He buried a child too. He hates death more than you do. That's why he killed it. He "abolished death and brought life and immortality to light." (2 Tim. 1:10) For those who trust God, death is nothing more than a transition to heaven. Your child may not be in your arms, but your child is safely in His.

Others of you have been standing for a long time where Jairus stood. You've long since left the water's edge of offered prayer, but haven't yet arrived at the household of answered prayer. You've wept a monsoon of tears for your child. At times you've felt that a breakthrough was near, that Christ was following you to your house. But you're not so sure anymore. You find yourself alone on the path, wondering if Christ has forgotten you and your child. He hasn't. He never dismisses a parent's prayer.

Keep giving your child to God, and at the right time and in the right way, God will give your child back to you.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Randy

Mothers - Audio/Visual