When I was in junior high, I took a soccer ball to the face. (Had I been more skilled, I probably could have turned it into an impressive header… but, needless to say, I was not more skilled.) The nosebleed I got as a result was insane, and it earned me some concern from the sidelines. I was so bad at soccer I think some people forgot I was even on the team most of the time. But with blood on my uniform, I was finally someone. 

I’ve struggled with nosebleeds my whole life. Dry weather, illness, and any impact to my face (including punching myself when I pull up my covers in bed) will exacerbate it. When it happens in public, people freak out and offer ice and tissues, ask me if I’m ok, and then awkwardly stand by while I pinch my nose and assure them, “It’s totally normal for me, I’ll be fine.”

Last year, my sister started dealing with chronic pain. No one can see her debilitating headaches, and she doesn’t drip blood on her clothes, but she is hurting. I have friends that are facing depression, loneliness, and thoughts of self-harm. Many of my friends that are now mothers are battling postpartum depression, marital struggles, and body image issues. Every single person I know is hurting. Bleeding. Even when you can’t see the blood, there’s pools of it all around, trails of it leading to their souls. 

In Matthew 9, Jesus is particularly busy. In a short period of time, he heals a paralytic, preaches to pharisees about being the great physician, heads to Jairus’ house to raise his daughter from the dead, and more. But the part of the story that struck me this time was when a woman came to him who’d had a discharge of blood for twelve years. 

There are lots of medical theories as to what her condition was, but I’m not terribly interested in any of them. It doesn’t matter. She was bleeding for twelve years. Twelve. That’s half my lifetime. Maybe a third or fourth of yours. It’s a long time to bleed. 

She reaches out to him in desperate faith. She’s tried everything else. Doctors, witchcraft, ignoring it and hoping it goes away (I imagine) and she is out of options. The only possibility for healing at this point is the man they call the Messiah. So while Jesus is on his way to raise the dead, she reaches out and catches his clothes, and immediately the blood flow dries up. 

Can you imagine? Think of the suffering that is in your heart right now, the one you can’t escape. Imagine that it’s healed. Gone. No more chronic pain or cancer. No more depression or anxiety. No more recurring memories of trauma. You are healed. Mentally, physically, sexually, spiritually whole. 

It’s unfathomable. But it happens at the touch of Christ. He tells the woman, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” (Matthew 9:22) 

What are we to make of such a claim? 

There are ways it can be weaponized. I’ve heard people claim that if you’re sick it’s because you don’t have enough faith. I don’t buy that for a minute. 

Jesus says this phrase or something like it at least four times in the gospels, most frequently recorded in Luke the physician’s gospel. He says it to a leper, the bleeding woman, a blind beggar, and the “sinful woman” (a.k.a. prostitute) when she washes his feet with her hair. In each of those instances, Jesus said “Your faith has saved you,” or, “Your faith has made you well.”

John Mark Comer, author of Practicing the Way, writes that the Greek words for healing and salvation are interchangeable. They were seen as the same thing. Both imply a restoration to wholeness. 

Jesus shed his blood, literally sweat it out in the Garden of Gethsemane, in order to stop your bleeding. The pain you have experienced cannot possibly go unnoticed by our Savior, if for no other reason than he experienced your very pain and your incessant bleeding on the cross. And the healing does not end there. The cross is just where it begins. 

Now don’t get me wrong, the cross is the once, for all. The final word on the salvation of man. 

But once the work of justification is done, the exciting work of sanctification begins. Jesus even said that he had to return to the Father so his Spirit could come to us. When the Holy Spirit came down on the church in Pentecost, the healing continued. It goes on, in this life, for all believers. His power goes out to those that reach out for his touch. 

So reach out. Reach out in faith. The world, the devil, and our sinful flesh cause pain and trauma that hit us harder than a soccer ball to the face. Even when there are no concerned bystanders to offer aid and you feel like you’re bleeding alone, reach out in faith to the one who bleeds right along with you. 

After all, it’s by his wounds, by his stripes we are healed. The very wounds and stripes Jesus invited Thomas to touch. The very wounds that bring salvation, faith and healing. So put your hand into his bleeding side. Grasp at his garments as he passes by. 

He came for us in desperate need. 

He came to heal we who bleed.