The Cure
She had no money. There was some, but it was spent now. Gone. Mostly to doctors. She was not the kind of person who wasted her money, but twelve years of consulting physicians had taken its toll. She went to all of them that she could, looking for hope; and all the time her life persistently ebbed, draining away just likr her life-savings. None of the doctors had been able to cure her hemorrhage, but they did take her money. And her life kept bleeding away.
A man was through town at that time, a man that she had heard a lot about. Some called him a teacher (He did teach some things); others called him a prophet (He did a lot of prophesying); and there were some who tried to kill Him (they were mainly the religious leaders of the times). She didn't want teachings from anybody; philosophy and philosophers were useless to her; and religion had been of no help either. Nonetheless, an unusual kind of hope rose up within her when she heard that he was passing through town.
Hope was something that had become foreign. A dozen years, empty promises, and wasted earnings had done this. It was a kind of unnatural cynicism -- cynicism based upon dead-end experiences. What could this man offer? Who should I believe concerning him? And who needs another religion, anyway?
But the hope was there. It wasn't based upon empty claims; it wasn't based upon rhetoric; it was just there. In Him. In his Person. "If only," she thought, "if I only touch his garments, then I shall get well." She did it. There were a lot of people around him, and it was hard to get through, but she did it. She ignored the religious ones, and paid no attention to the stubborn ones who refused to believe; she touched him -- and she was healed.1
There are many of us on this campus that were like this woman: we were dying. We didn't know that that was what it was, but every day the life kept draining away. We did everything we could think of to rid ourselves of that growing specter of emptiness and waste that haunted our thoughts and inward searchings.
"We're young!" we cried. But that made it worse; it seemed to be more of a crime to waste our youth than anything else.
So we went to the "physicians" (there are many of them these days) and they all told us "it's normal" and prescribed a stupendous array of drugs to ease the pain. Parties. Television. Girl-friends/Boyfriends. Degrees. The Future. Religion. All of them were to divert our attention from the problem, and some of them worked better than others. But they all wore off.
Then one day a man came by and hope surfaced within our being. Hope? We scoffed; we argued; we buried that hope, only to have it resurface in an even more definite way. Finally, we couldn't stand it any longer -- we broke through the crown and touched this Person. Jesus! We touched Him! He is a real, living, wonderful Person! Life was no longer drained away, it started flowing in. We had no idea life could be so full, so purposeful, and so enjoyable.
Through His crucifixion and resurrection, Jesus has made Himself available to you. He is here and you can touch Him. As you turn your heart to Him, and ask Him to come in, He will be real to you. "Everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved" (Acts 2:21); "for with the heart man believes, resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation" (Rom. 10:10).
1. Mark 5:25-34; Matt. 9:20-22 |
