Redeeming Interruptions – 11/3/24

Life is pregnant with interruptions. Some of these are pleasant, like when a friend stops by to grab a cup of coffee. Some of these are petty, an annoying phone call from a salesperson. Some of these are painful, like a car wreck on the way to work.

But sometimes interruptions take on a life of their own, kind of like a squatter who pretends to be an owner. You begin to wonder what part of this is my life and what part of this is interruption? What part is usual and what part is unusual?

I got this feeling this past summer when I was reading a book about Henry Morton Stanley. Stanley was the famous explorer, who in 1871 found David Livingstone in Africa. But trying to figure out the parts of Stanley’s life that are his life and the parts that appear to be interruptions is complicated. Let me give you a quick survey of Stanley’s life.

Born in Wales in 1841, his original name was John Rowlands. His mother abandoned him. She was 18, a prostitute. His father never cared for him. He was the town drunk. The word “bastard” was written next to his name on his birth registry. His grandfather was a good man. He cared for him, but he died when Stanley was 6. He was taken to St. Asaph’s Workhouse, and this place became notorious for evil and abuse. He learned to read and to escape through books.

Later, he said he would read up to 18 hours a day. He became a cabin boy at age 17. He jumped ship in New Orleans and took on a new identity as an American named Henry Stanley. Later, he added the middle name Morton after unsuccessfully trying some other middle names.

He joined the Confederate Army in 1861, fought in the battle of Shiloh, was captured, joined the Union Army, got sick, deserted. Then he joined the Federal Navy, jumped ship. I think he was the only person in history to have fought for the Confederacy, the Union, and the Federal Navy.

He became a freelance journalist, first in the Wild West and then a newspaper correspondent in Turkey, eventually Abyssinia, which is now Ethiopia. He was commissioned by the “New York Herald” to find David Livingstone in Africa. No one had heard from Livingstone in about a year, and the American newspaper was determined to be the first to find him.

Shortly before embarking on his most famous journey, he wrote this in his journal:

“I know not what I lack to make me happy. If I could find an island in mid-ocean, remote from the presence or reach of man, with a few necessaries sufficient to sustain life, I might be happy yet; for then I could forget what reminds me of unhappiness and, when death came, I should accept it as a long sleep and rest.”

In considering what Stanley has been through, this dream, this longing, makes sense. But Stanley is suggesting that if he could find a place far enough away, remote enough, away from the people and the events that make life feel uncontrollable, he might be able to find peace and rest. Stanley would spend the rest of his life looking for that island. Perhaps that is what made him such a great explorer and so miserable.

C.S. Lewis, whose childhood was not much better than Stanley’s wrote,

“The truth is of course, that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life — the life God is sending one day by day:  what one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination.” [Stanley’s Island]

In chapters 8-9, Matthew is alternating between three sets of miracles and three calls. The overall point is clear; that is, Christ’s authority is being displayed through miracles, and then we are being invited to him to enter life, a new way of life. Last week we looked at the second set of miracles: storm, demons, paralytic. We stepped back and focused in on the call.

But you may have noticed in this second set there was an accent put on the power of Christ’s words. For example, Jesus rebuked the wind and the waves. He cast out demons with a word: “Go.” He forgave sin and healed paralysis by simply saying, “Rise” or “You’re forgiven.”

But in most of the miracles in the third set, he puts the power of touch on display. The woman touches his hem. He took the girl by the hand and she arose. He touched the eyes of the blind, and they opened.

Now, over the next couple weeks, we’re going to talk about the connection between these miracles in this third set and the last climactic call. But for today, I want to interrupt the flow of these miracles and talk about interruptions. There are three interruptions in this little miraculous episode in chapter 9:18-26. Let’s look at those quickly.

Interruption #1- Jesus is interrupted by a ruler.

Verse 18, “While he was saying these things to them, [so don’t miss that-Jesus is busy teaching], behold, a ruler came in and knelt before him saying, ‘My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.’ And Jesus rose and followed him, with his disciples.”

The ruler is Jairus. He’s the ruler of the synagogue. Matthew compresses the story and describes the daughter as being dead. But Jesus and his disciples stop what they’re doing, and they follow him.

Interruption #2 – Jesus is interrupted by a woman.

Verse 20, “And behold, a woman who had suffered from a discharge of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his garment,”

This woman is suffering in so many ways. She is suffering physically, obviously because of a discharge of blood for 12 years. Let that sink in — a severe hemorrhage for 12 years. Everything in her life has been disrupted. She is often, I’m sure, tired, maybe at times dizzy, experiencing shortness of breath, irritable. She’s suffering physically. She’s suffering financially. In Luke 8:43, Dr. Luke tells us,

“Though she had spent all her living on physicians, she could not be healed by anyone.”

She had searched online for cures. She tried traditional methods. She tried alternative methods. She spent everything she had to get help. None of it helped. She suffered socially. In verse 20 you get a glimpse of this:

“She came up behind him.”

Perhaps she fears that if the rabbi sees her, he will shoo her away because she is ceremonially unclean because of her bleeding. Perhaps she was a tad superstitious. I don’t need “him,” I need “hem.” If I can just touch the hem of his garment. She’s lived her whole 12 years on the fringes of society. She assumes, I don’t want to be an interruption. I don’t want to bother him. I don’t even want to be seen, because to be seen is to be hurt. I just need to touch and disappear.

Verse 21, “for she said to herself, ‘If only I touch his garment, I will be made well.’”

Isn’t that amazing? Her faith, though simple, is real. How does someone experience 12 years of disappointment after disappointment, shame after shame, exclusion after exclusion, and keep hope? If I can only touch, I know he can help.

Verse 22, “Jesus turned and seeing her…”

What was that like? Her shame had kept her in the shadows, but Jesus sees her. The pure sees the impure. She winces, ready to be shamed again or shooed away. But no. Verse 22 continues.

“…he said, ‘Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.’”

Your faith, not your finger. That touch, not the fringe of my garment. Your faith in me made you well.

“And instantly the woman was made well.”

But wait. Where’s Jairus? He’s got to be getting frustrated by this point, annoyed. Are we going to get where we’re going?

Alexander McLaren, who pastored in Britain from 1847 to 1903, observed the calmness of Jesus.

“Mark the impression of calm consciousness of power and leisurely dignity produced by Christ’s having time to pause…”

See, we typically think powerful people are movers and shakers. They’re going somewhere. And they leave skeletons in the trail. Jesus has ultimate power and time to pause.

“The father and the disciples would wonder at Him as He stayed His steps, and apt to feel that priceless moments were being lost.” Interruption #2.

Interruption #3 –  Jesus interrupts a funeral.

Verse 23, “And when Jesus came to the ruler’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, he said, ‘Go away, for the girl is not dead, but sleeping.’ And they laughed at him.”

When Jesus came to Jairus’ house, a crowd had gathered and the sorrow was visible, audible, palpable. There were three customs you would not miss at the typical Jewish funeral: music, wailing, tearing of clothes. The Talmud actually had some strict requirements — that’s the Jewish law, not the Torah, the biblical law, but the human written law — had strict requirements as to what was to be done for a loved one who died. Listen to this one example:

“The husband is bound to bury his dead wife, and to make lamentations and mourning for her…. And also the very poorest amongst the Israelites will not allow her less than two flutes and one wailing woman; but, if he be rich, let all things be done according to his qualities.”

So if you’re super poor, you’ve still got to have two flutes and a wailing woman. If you’re wealthy, much more. Jairus was a prominent man. So when Jesus arrived, it would have been quite the commotion. Just picture a scene with paid flute players playing sorrowful, mourning songs and many wailing women, if you’ve heard Middle Eastern wailing, screaming in sorrow for seven days.

Now Jesus interrupts the funeral and asks the mourners to go away because, from his perspective, the girl is resting, waiting for his arrival. Death is not final to Jesus. They’re thinking, you’re crazy! You’re late! If you had come a few days ago, maybe. But you’re too late. And they laughed at him. Jesus, you’re trying to ruin a good funeral with some hope.

Verse 25, “But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl arose.”

The source of life squeezed her cold hand and it became warm, and she arose. A couple of observations about interruptions. Notice,

1. Jesus is happy to be interrupted.

Jairus interrupted his teaching. The woman interrupted his trip to Jairus’ home. Each time Jesus responds with patience and readiness to help.

I think some of us in here need to hear this. We can get the feeling like, it’s me again. I’ve blown it again. I need help again. And some of us are hesitant to go to Jesus because of that reason. I don’t want to interrupt him again. He’s got more important things. There’s an election going on this week. But we’re missing something.

Jesus lives to be interrupted.

Look, for example, at Hebrews 7:25:

“Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, [Why?] since he always lives to make intercession for them.”

In other words, the more we need him, the more he is doing what he lives and loves to do. We are not humble when we say no, no, no, no, no. I’m not going to bother him. I’m not going to pray until I do enough penance and feel bad enough. No, Jesus is saying come. Come interrupt me.

A little sidebar here.

Jesus’ miracles are not ultimately interruptions.

They point us back to the way life is ultimately designed to be. They become, these miracles become, the picture on the front of the puzzle box where we go, oh, that’s the way it’s supposed to look. That’s ultimately what it’s going to be like. Jurgen Moltmann writes,

“When Jesus expels demons and heals the sick, he is driving out of creation the powers of destruction, and is healing and restoring beings who are hurt and sick. The lordship of God to which the healings witness, restores creation to health. Jesus’s healings are not supernatural miracles in a natural world. They are the only truly ‘natural’ thing in a world that is unnatural, demonized and wounded.”

He’s restoring things to the way they were designed to be. Jesus is happy to be interrupted.

2. Jesus is with us in the interruptions of life.

No one knows this better than Joni Eareckson Tada. Did you know two weeks ago she turned 75? Just remarkable. Joni was paralyzed in a diving accident when she was 17. She could view paralysis as a giant interruption to her real life. She has spent almost 60 years in a wheelchair. Early on, she experienced deep despair. But she came to realize a couple of things.

Number 1, sometimes Jesus heals us right away.

Interrupting, sin, death, pain, loss. And when he does, it’s like getting an appetizer before the main meal coming in eternity.

But sometimes, Jesus calls us to walk through the pain. And he promises to never leave us, to never forsake us. And he heals us in eternity.

She wrote recently in her fairly new book, “Songs of Suffering,” explaining what she does when she is in pain.

“I serenely acknowledge the pain and allow it to press me in on all sides, and then I take one more step of faith: I ask my Savior to not let it crush me, but to meet me in it. He always does…

“Even I look in the mirror and wonder, how is it I keep smiling after so many years of quadriplegia?

“You could experience a baker’s dozen of serious issues layered one on top of another. Financial pressures. Health pressures. Relationship pressures. Spiritual warfare pressures. The pressure of unthinkable grief or cruel pain. It will not crush you if you believe Christ is in it. All that matters is knowing that Jesus is walking in the fiery furnace with you.”

I want to grow in that. Seeing Jesus in life’s interruptions. Whether they are pleasant, petty, or painful, he is in it.

In the works of John Newton, Volume 1, Newton wrote of what he called “continual interruptions,” and he gives two examples: the random need of a child and the knock on the door. He writes,

“I see in this world two heaps, of human happiness and misery; now, if I can take but the smallest bit from one heap and add to the other, I carry a point. [In other words, I’ve done something.] If, as I go home, a child has dropped a halfpenny, and if, by giving it another, I can wipe away its tears, I feel I have done something. I should be glad, indeed, to do greater things; but I will not neglect this…

That’s Example #1.

Example #2,

“When I hear knock at my study door, I hear a message from God. It may be a lesson of instruction; perhaps a lesson of patience: but, since it is his message, it must be interesting.”

Where does that come from? Where does that rock-solid confidence that Jesus is with me in the midst of life’s interruptions, whether those are pleasant, petty, or painful?

Well, as many of you know, John Newton is the author of “Amazing Grace.” His story is stunning. He, like Stanley, experienced some horrific things in his childhood. And then he, as he grew older, did some horrific things. But in the end, his goal in life was not to find some elusive island of tranquility. His goal in life was to live in the kindness of Christ “who saved a wretch like me,” as he wrote in that famous hymn.

And he never got over that. He never got over the fact that God showed his love for Newton and gave his Son for him. And that shapes the way he views his whole life, including the interruptions.

Let’s pray.

Jesus, you are the island we are looking for. Jesus, you control what we cannot. You meet us in the midst of life’s often frustrating interruptions. And we praise you that you are interruptible. None of us would be here if you were not, if you did not welcome failures, the needy, the proud, the broken, who come to you, cry out to you.

You welcome us just like you showed us so powerfully. You left what you were doing to go with Jairus. You stopped where you were going to meet the woman on the way. Lord, you interrupted a funeral to communicate your power over death, sin, disease. There’s nothing you can’t do.

Some of us are in the midst of what feels like huge interruptions. Things we would not want, did not ask for, but feel like we’re walking through willing or unwillingly. Lord, open our eyes to the way you get our attention in the midst of life’s interruptions. Give us humble hearts so that we can hear your voice. We ask for humility and an awareness of your presence this week as we experience interruptions. That we would be ready to do and hear what you have for us. We thank you, in Jesus’ name, amen.