Mark 5:21-43
“I’ve been meaning to ask…Where does it hurt?”
Preached Sunday, January 26, 2025
I’ve been meaning to ask…where does it hurt?
The groundwork we need to lay for today’s sermon starts with laying bare our stark reality and that is this:
We live in a hurting world.
Each of us here has known pain.
Each and every person we encounter is hurting in some way.
Perhaps our pain stems from illness or chronic pain. Diseases known and unknown. Seen and unseen. Those with cures and treatments of those without.
Perhaps our pain comes from the realities of aging and coming to terms with the loss - of ability and friends that comes along with that.
Perhaps our pain comes from loss and the accompanying grief. Loss of loved ones through death or broken relationships. For some in our country, like those in North Carolina after flooding or in California after wildfires, it may be the loss of one’s home and belongings. It may be a loss of what the world used to be.
Perhaps our pain comes from fear - fear of being the target of hate or violence.
Perhaps our pain comes from trauma or abuse - past or ongoing.
Perhaps our pain comes from addiction that wrecks havoc on our lives, destroying ourselves and our relationships from the inside out.
Perhaps our pain comes from being part of an oppressed or marginalized group…
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…there are many reasons why we are hurting. But all of us has known hurt. It is part of simply being human.
But too often we are made to feel ashamed of our pain. For us in this room today, we all live in America where the myth of the independent strong man is rampant. That myth, that false idol, that harmful ideology, is the belief that we don’t need anyone else. That every man is an island. That we are unaffected by the pain and hardships of others and we have no one to look after but ourselves. We are no one’s keeper but our own. And so we internalize that if our pain becomes known, if we show our pain, we are weak. That we are dependent. In a world that values strength and independence above all else. Although God did not create us for strength or independence. God created us as vulnerable human beings who deeply need one another.
You may notice that I said the universal “man” instead of the non-gender specific “people” - which I normally very intentionally do not do. Especially as a woman in a male dominated field. But I did it purposefully. Both of today’s Scriptures are about women and women, more than men, are often given permission to share their pain more than their male counterparts - although men 100 percent also have pain. And because of the toxic masculinity that is rampant in our world, with phrases like “boys don’t cry” - men especially are made to feel ashamed for their pain and vulnerable emotions. And this deeply hurts men - making them carry shame and creating unhealthy relationships and patterns of expression.
And so we are, even subconsciously, often without knowing we do it, men and women, regardless of gender, we bury our pain deep down. Hiding it from others and sometimes even ourselves and we fool ourselves thinking we hide it from God.
A further detriment of hiding our own pain is, when we see our own pain and hurt as shameful, we see the pain of others in this way too. We keep ourselves from seeing the pain and hurt of others through the eyes of God…From seeing and loving our neighbors as God asks us to.
And so asking “Where does it hurt?” sparks courageous conversation. That is the goal of our sermon series, “I’ve been meaning to ask…”
A Sanctified Art, the creative team behind this sermon series, said this about the concept of “I’ve been meaning to ask…”:
“In creating this series, we started by asking ourselves questions: ‘How can we listen to one another? How do we find connection[...]? How do we create space for compassionate dialogue and for seeking the holy in one another?’
While the challenges of becoming beloved community to one another are endless, these questions are simple. We quickly recognized that all courageous conversations begin with simple questions and the curiosity to truly listen. …The main objective of this series [is]: to cultivate courageous conversations—and to keep having them…these questions aren’t surface level; they invite us to share our pain and seek ways to care for one another.”
And so I have chosen to preach these questions over the next couple of weeks, hopefully igniting curiosity, conversation, and community amongst those here at Boardman United Methodist Church, and beyond.
Asking of ourselves and one another - “Where does it hurt?” sparks courageous conversation. Asking “where does it hurt?” removes or lessens the shame from our pain by bringing it out of the shadows or stigma and into the light where it can be fully seen. Asking “Where does it hurt?” disrupts the myth, the false idol, of the independent strong man, which allows us to better be in beloved community with one another. Asking “where does it hurt?” allows us to be truly seen and accepted by one another. Asking “where does it hurt?” allows us to be God to one another.
Which brings us to the first of our Scripture lessons from today. Let us turn to Hannah and her pain. Hannah deeply needed to be seen in her pain, to be seen, known, and loved. A content warning for infertility and accompanying pain, although you’ve heard the Scripture already. Hannah’s pain stems from her infertility and her deep desire for a child. While many women are working to break the stigma around sharing pain regarding infertility and child loss, it is still a pain, a hurt, with a deep stigma and shame attached to it. Where it doesn’t need to be. If this is a pain you have struggled with, seen or unseen, known or unknown, know you are not alone. You are loved and held by God in that pain. And Hannah, in her pain, demands to be seen. She needs her pain to be seen. In the verses that follow where we ended our reading today, Hannah does conceive a child. However, I purposefully did not include that Scripture in today’s reading. Because, the pain of many who struggle with infertility does not end with a child. And what brings her a step towards wholeness and healing by the end of these verses is not conceiving a child - it is being seen in her pain.
The Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity says this about Hannah, “In Hannah, I see a woman who has been mocked, shamed, diminished, and ignored. However, she refuses to be silenced. In the presence of her pain, she grits her teeth, pours her heart out before God, and insists that we see her.”
I’ll refer to the Scripture here, 1 Samuel 1:11: “She made this vow: ‘O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant and remember me…’” She is asking God, first and foremost, to look upon her. For God to see her misery. For God to know and remember the hurt that Hannah has.
Not only does she pray directly to God to be seen, she pleads with Eli to see her as she is - hurting and calling out to God. 1 Samuel 1:15-16: “But Hannah answered, ‘No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.;”
And blessedly, Eli sees her in that moment, truly sees her. And through his eyes, is seen by God. 1 Samuel 1:17-18, “Then Eli answered, ‘Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.’ And she said, “Let your servant find favor in your sight.’” Hannah is seen by Eli, and through Eli, she knows she is seen by God as well.
When we see hurt - we don’t need to fix it or cure it - but we do need to see it. We aren’t asking today, “How can I help?” (Although we will ask that next week.) We are not asking, “How can I fix it?” We are asking “Where does it hurt?” So that in asking we can see the full humanity of the hurting person or persons in front of us. So we can see them a little more in the wholeness that God sees them in. So that in seeing them, we can let them know that they are not alone. That we too hurt and can be in solidarity with one another. And that God, who knew pain in Jesus - deep pain - betrayal, torture, abandonment, rejection, death - that God is in solidarity with us. In our pain.
Verse 18 ends with this: “Then the woman went her way and ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer.” What alleviated her pain was not the knowledge of conception. What alleviated her pain, what lifted her countenance, was her pain being acknowledged by Eli and by God.
The Rev. Sarah Are puts it like this in her poem, “When It Hurts”:
“Tell me—
where does it hurt?
I’m not offering to fix the pain,
I’m not that powerful.
However, I am offering to see it.
Show me your scars,
and I’ll show you that
you’re not alone.”
Preached Sunday, January 26, 2025
I’ve been meaning to ask…where does it hurt?
The groundwork we need to lay for today’s sermon starts with laying bare our stark reality and that is this:
We live in a hurting world.
Each of us here has known pain.
Each and every person we encounter is hurting in some way.
Perhaps our pain stems from illness or chronic pain. Diseases known and unknown. Seen and unseen. Those with cures and treatments of those without.
Perhaps our pain comes from the realities of aging and coming to terms with the loss - of ability and friends that comes along with that.
Perhaps our pain comes from loss and the accompanying grief. Loss of loved ones through death or broken relationships. For some in our country, like those in North Carolina after flooding or in California after wildfires, it may be the loss of one’s home and belongings. It may be a loss of what the world used to be.
Perhaps our pain comes from fear - fear of being the target of hate or violence.
Perhaps our pain comes from trauma or abuse - past or ongoing.
Perhaps our pain comes from addiction that wrecks havoc on our lives, destroying ourselves and our relationships from the inside out.
Perhaps our pain comes from being part of an oppressed or marginalized group…
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…there are many reasons why we are hurting. But all of us has known hurt. It is part of simply being human.
But too often we are made to feel ashamed of our pain. For us in this room today, we all live in America where the myth of the independent strong man is rampant. That myth, that false idol, that harmful ideology, is the belief that we don’t need anyone else. That every man is an island. That we are unaffected by the pain and hardships of others and we have no one to look after but ourselves. We are no one’s keeper but our own. And so we internalize that if our pain becomes known, if we show our pain, we are weak. That we are dependent. In a world that values strength and independence above all else. Although God did not create us for strength or independence. God created us as vulnerable human beings who deeply need one another.
You may notice that I said the universal “man” instead of the non-gender specific “people” - which I normally very intentionally do not do. Especially as a woman in a male dominated field. But I did it purposefully. Both of today’s Scriptures are about women and women, more than men, are often given permission to share their pain more than their male counterparts - although men 100 percent also have pain. And because of the toxic masculinity that is rampant in our world, with phrases like “boys don’t cry” - men especially are made to feel ashamed for their pain and vulnerable emotions. And this deeply hurts men - making them carry shame and creating unhealthy relationships and patterns of expression.
And so we are, even subconsciously, often without knowing we do it, men and women, regardless of gender, we bury our pain deep down. Hiding it from others and sometimes even ourselves and we fool ourselves thinking we hide it from God.
A further detriment of hiding our own pain is, when we see our own pain and hurt as shameful, we see the pain of others in this way too. We keep ourselves from seeing the pain and hurt of others through the eyes of God…From seeing and loving our neighbors as God asks us to.
And so asking “Where does it hurt?” sparks courageous conversation. That is the goal of our sermon series, “I’ve been meaning to ask…”
A Sanctified Art, the creative team behind this sermon series, said this about the concept of “I’ve been meaning to ask…”:
“In creating this series, we started by asking ourselves questions: ‘How can we listen to one another? How do we find connection[...]? How do we create space for compassionate dialogue and for seeking the holy in one another?’
While the challenges of becoming beloved community to one another are endless, these questions are simple. We quickly recognized that all courageous conversations begin with simple questions and the curiosity to truly listen. …The main objective of this series [is]: to cultivate courageous conversations—and to keep having them…these questions aren’t surface level; they invite us to share our pain and seek ways to care for one another.”
And so I have chosen to preach these questions over the next couple of weeks, hopefully igniting curiosity, conversation, and community amongst those here at Boardman United Methodist Church, and beyond.
Asking of ourselves and one another - “Where does it hurt?” sparks courageous conversation. Asking “where does it hurt?” removes or lessens the shame from our pain by bringing it out of the shadows or stigma and into the light where it can be fully seen. Asking “Where does it hurt?” disrupts the myth, the false idol, of the independent strong man, which allows us to better be in beloved community with one another. Asking “where does it hurt?” allows us to be truly seen and accepted by one another. Asking “where does it hurt?” allows us to be God to one another.
Which brings us to the first of our Scripture lessons from today. Let us turn to Hannah and her pain. Hannah deeply needed to be seen in her pain, to be seen, known, and loved. A content warning for infertility and accompanying pain, although you’ve heard the Scripture already. Hannah’s pain stems from her infertility and her deep desire for a child. While many women are working to break the stigma around sharing pain regarding infertility and child loss, it is still a pain, a hurt, with a deep stigma and shame attached to it. Where it doesn’t need to be. If this is a pain you have struggled with, seen or unseen, known or unknown, know you are not alone. You are loved and held by God in that pain. And Hannah, in her pain, demands to be seen. She needs her pain to be seen. In the verses that follow where we ended our reading today, Hannah does conceive a child. However, I purposefully did not include that Scripture in today’s reading. Because, the pain of many who struggle with infertility does not end with a child. And what brings her a step towards wholeness and healing by the end of these verses is not conceiving a child - it is being seen in her pain.
The Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity says this about Hannah, “In Hannah, I see a woman who has been mocked, shamed, diminished, and ignored. However, she refuses to be silenced. In the presence of her pain, she grits her teeth, pours her heart out before God, and insists that we see her.”
I’ll refer to the Scripture here, 1 Samuel 1:11: “She made this vow: ‘O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant and remember me…’” She is asking God, first and foremost, to look upon her. For God to see her misery. For God to know and remember the hurt that Hannah has.
Not only does she pray directly to God to be seen, she pleads with Eli to see her as she is - hurting and calling out to God. 1 Samuel 1:15-16: “But Hannah answered, ‘No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.;”
And blessedly, Eli sees her in that moment, truly sees her. And through his eyes, is seen by God. 1 Samuel 1:17-18, “Then Eli answered, ‘Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.’ And she said, “Let your servant find favor in your sight.’” Hannah is seen by Eli, and through Eli, she knows she is seen by God as well.
When we see hurt - we don’t need to fix it or cure it - but we do need to see it. We aren’t asking today, “How can I help?” (Although we will ask that next week.) We are not asking, “How can I fix it?” We are asking “Where does it hurt?” So that in asking we can see the full humanity of the hurting person or persons in front of us. So we can see them a little more in the wholeness that God sees them in. So that in seeing them, we can let them know that they are not alone. That we too hurt and can be in solidarity with one another. And that God, who knew pain in Jesus - deep pain - betrayal, torture, abandonment, rejection, death - that God is in solidarity with us. In our pain.
Verse 18 ends with this: “Then the woman went her way and ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer.” What alleviated her pain was not the knowledge of conception. What alleviated her pain, what lifted her countenance, was her pain being acknowledged by Eli and by God.
The Rev. Sarah Are puts it like this in her poem, “When It Hurts”:
“Tell me—
where does it hurt?
I’m not offering to fix the pain,
I’m not that powerful.
However, I am offering to see it.
Show me your scars,
and I’ll show you that
you’re not alone.”
Seeing pain does come with risks - it can disrupt our day to day. Our blissful ignorance. Our heads in the sand. It means the status quo cannot continue and we need to be moved to solidarity, to allyship, to live out our love. Part of the stigma around seeing other people’s pain that we deal with in our culture is that those who are attuned to the hardship and pain of others are called bleeding hearts. But I would rather have a bleeding heart, loving what God loves, having my heart break over what breaks God’s heart, than to have a heart of stone. Over and over in Scripture, we see story after story that tells us that not hardening our hearts is a radical act of Christian love that we are called to. Like the Good Samaritan, we are not to pass by pain when we see it. And like the Pharaoh, God wants our hearts of stone to be broken. For when our hearts are broken open, we make room to love as God loves. Even if our hearts bleed from the pain of this world, it is the blood of Christ that brings healing. And we are called to be the body and blood of Christ in this world. Our bleeding hearts may bring healing to this world. To bleed openly in solidarity with the pain of others is to let those in pain know that there is a God who loves them beyond measure, pain and all.
When we see the pain of Hannah in Scripture, the next step is to use the lens of Scripture to see the pain in our world: Rev. Garrity continues her commentary, saying this about Hannah, “When I look at [Hannah], I remember when I have been Peninnah. Whose pain have I mocked? I remember when I have been Elkanah. Whose pain have I questioned? I remember when I have been Eli. Whose pain have I dismissed? And then I remember when I have been Hannah, and I look for who is screaming in my own midst. Where does it hurt? When I ask this question, I’ll remember to also say: ‘I see you.;”
Seeing pain disrupts our lives. Jesus calls us to these disruptions and we see examples of this disruption in our reading from Mark this morning. Jesus was traveling, doing his thing, when Jarius disrupts his day to day and says, “Come and heal my daughter!” He is on his way to heal the girl when the hemorrhaging woman touches him, disrupting his mission to Jairus’s house - he stops to truly see the pain, the hurt - and the faith - of the chronically ill woman. And when he shows up at the house, he disrupts the grieving that is happening - and disrupts death itself.
Rev. Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum says this about these disruptions in Mark: “These relational and embodied healings humanize those whose hurting has been pushed aside, calling our attention to the broken systems that can perpetuate and dehumanize pain. Jesus’ healing disrupts the injustice of a woman who has been rejected and labeled impure for her condition. With the girl, Jesus disrupts death itself. How might we allow Jesus to disrupt us—enabling us to acknowledge others’ pain so that we may seek life together? We must put ourselves in the uncomfortable places where human beings live, breathe, and hurt—because those are the places where we will also find Jesus.”
When we engage in courageous conversation and ask one another “Where does it hurt?” We are being God to those in pain. We are bringing awareness to God’s constant presence with us - especially in our pain. One of the major theological doubts or questions, Christian and non-Christians alike have is…”in our hurting world, where is God in all this?” The answer is simple and profound: God meets us in our pain. God cries with us. God’s heart breaks when we inflict pain on one another. God rends divine garments, dons sackcloth, and mourns when we treat each other as less than human. Less than beloved children made in the image of God. God’s heart is broken open when we act with anything less than mercy, justice, and love. As it’s simply put in Micah: “what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?” Or as Jesus summarizes all the law and prophets in the greatest commandments: Love God. Love Neighbor.
Where is God in the world’s pain? God is in solidarity with the world’s pain, both crying with us and wiping away our tears. God sees us. All of us. God sees our pain. All of our pain. God holds us, loves us. And asks us to be God to one another: to let mercy, justice, and love reign. We can ease the hurt in this world. We can’t fix it all - although that is God’s eventual plan: to create a new heaven and a new earth where there is no more pain, no more death, and all weeping shall cease. No, we cannot erase all the pain and hurt in this world, but if we choose to be courageous, if we choose to step out in faith, if we choose to see each other with the eyes of God, we can ease it. It is as simple and hard as this: see the pain in this world and choose solidarity and love in the midst of that pain.
I’ve been meaning to ask…where does it hurt? May we all be so bold and courageous as to ask this question and meet the hurt with the love of God.
When we see the pain of Hannah in Scripture, the next step is to use the lens of Scripture to see the pain in our world: Rev. Garrity continues her commentary, saying this about Hannah, “When I look at [Hannah], I remember when I have been Peninnah. Whose pain have I mocked? I remember when I have been Elkanah. Whose pain have I questioned? I remember when I have been Eli. Whose pain have I dismissed? And then I remember when I have been Hannah, and I look for who is screaming in my own midst. Where does it hurt? When I ask this question, I’ll remember to also say: ‘I see you.;”
Seeing pain disrupts our lives. Jesus calls us to these disruptions and we see examples of this disruption in our reading from Mark this morning. Jesus was traveling, doing his thing, when Jarius disrupts his day to day and says, “Come and heal my daughter!” He is on his way to heal the girl when the hemorrhaging woman touches him, disrupting his mission to Jairus’s house - he stops to truly see the pain, the hurt - and the faith - of the chronically ill woman. And when he shows up at the house, he disrupts the grieving that is happening - and disrupts death itself.
Rev. Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum says this about these disruptions in Mark: “These relational and embodied healings humanize those whose hurting has been pushed aside, calling our attention to the broken systems that can perpetuate and dehumanize pain. Jesus’ healing disrupts the injustice of a woman who has been rejected and labeled impure for her condition. With the girl, Jesus disrupts death itself. How might we allow Jesus to disrupt us—enabling us to acknowledge others’ pain so that we may seek life together? We must put ourselves in the uncomfortable places where human beings live, breathe, and hurt—because those are the places where we will also find Jesus.”
When we engage in courageous conversation and ask one another “Where does it hurt?” We are being God to those in pain. We are bringing awareness to God’s constant presence with us - especially in our pain. One of the major theological doubts or questions, Christian and non-Christians alike have is…”in our hurting world, where is God in all this?” The answer is simple and profound: God meets us in our pain. God cries with us. God’s heart breaks when we inflict pain on one another. God rends divine garments, dons sackcloth, and mourns when we treat each other as less than human. Less than beloved children made in the image of God. God’s heart is broken open when we act with anything less than mercy, justice, and love. As it’s simply put in Micah: “what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?” Or as Jesus summarizes all the law and prophets in the greatest commandments: Love God. Love Neighbor.
Where is God in the world’s pain? God is in solidarity with the world’s pain, both crying with us and wiping away our tears. God sees us. All of us. God sees our pain. All of our pain. God holds us, loves us. And asks us to be God to one another: to let mercy, justice, and love reign. We can ease the hurt in this world. We can’t fix it all - although that is God’s eventual plan: to create a new heaven and a new earth where there is no more pain, no more death, and all weeping shall cease. No, we cannot erase all the pain and hurt in this world, but if we choose to be courageous, if we choose to step out in faith, if we choose to see each other with the eyes of God, we can ease it. It is as simple and hard as this: see the pain in this world and choose solidarity and love in the midst of that pain.
I’ve been meaning to ask…where does it hurt? May we all be so bold and courageous as to ask this question and meet the hurt with the love of God.
Amen.
