John Chrysostom
Look, dear ones, witness the profound resolve of a woman, the clever act she devises, the secure appropriation she seeks as a seemingly frail being. Just as the Savior hurried to respond to Jairus, this journey too was to be made swiftly. "And at that very moment," states the Evangelist, "a woman, who had been suffering from a hemorrhage for twelve years, approached Him from behind and touched the hem of His garment; for she said within herself, 'If only I may touch His garment, I shall be made whole'" (Matt. 9:20-21). This healer, she pondered, descended from heaven: He does not recommend costly remedies, nor does He subject the body to painful procedures.
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He understands the essence of woman, having been born of the Virgin, and He is not ignorant of hidden afflictions, for He comprehends all mysteries. As a woman, I am burdened with a shameful and private suffering; the constant discharge of blood and uncontrolled impurities afflict me. It is to One of His stature that I must turn to find healing for my disgraceful condition without drawing attention to myself: the law prohibits me from approaching anyone with such an ailment. People avoid me, regarding me as contagious, but this Physician, the Creator who fashioned woman from man, may not withhold His remedy from me. With a single word from Him, my ailment can disappear. If He is troubled, hell yields its dead; if He feeds multitudes from meager provisions; if He cleanses with tears, He grants forgiveness. Yet, who would dare attempt what I envision, if not faith, unburdened by doubt? Thus, entrusting my spirit to its direction, I will discreetly approach and claim my healing with a silent touch. Even if my actions go unnoticed, I will still gain healing, for I believe I shall be restored. And should I be caught, I will not bear the blame for my boldness in seeking restoration, nor will I lose what my faith has already secured. For as God is unwavering, so too are the gifts bestowed through faith; and He who commanded the sea, "Be still, cease" (Mark 4:39), will surely quiet my hidden turmoil. So, courageously, faith, take the helm and plunge into this throng, that my battered vessel may find refuge. A single drop of His aid can easily halt my bloodshed. For twelve long years, day after day, year after year, in relentless suffering, she lived on, enduring constant bleeding yet not succumbing to death. Year one brought pain and trials; year two, her plight became known throughout the town; year three, her veins and muscles began to weaken; year four, blood flowed more freely; in year five, physicians arrived from afar, investigating deeply; year six only deepened her woes; year seven, despite extravagant expenses, her affliction remained unabated; by the close of year eight, the physicians acknowledged their failure; year nine left her in utter despair; year ten found her devoid of money and health; year eleven passed without anyone aiding her; and in the twelfth year, at last, the Healer of souls appeared, restoring her through His touch, word, and faith. This story of the bleeding woman is recounted in the Gospel of Luke. Even in silence, faith dried up her bleeding, and while in other situations healing is preceded by a request, here it unfolded in mutual silence, as if the gift had been surreptitiously taken. What a paradox of fate—unfortunate yet blessed! Unfortunate in her initial condition, blessed in her miraculous healing. The gospel recounts, "a woman who had suffered from hemorrhage for twelve years." Had her days matched the years of her suffering, she would have been utterly depleted; yet here it is a span of twelve years! Surely, her affliction had become an intrinsic part of her. She expended all her wealth on physicians, compounding her physical ailment with financial ruin, yet nothing availed her. Of course not, for her adversary was relentless: her very being was the source, as if an unending stream of blood flowed from within. No one can endure such a foul burden for so long without weariness. Her heart trembled with sorrow and fear, seeking deliverance from this debilitating illness, yearning to end her twelve years of suffering, aspiring to bring her relentless pain to rest, hoping to rein in those overwhelming currents, striving to stop her physical disarray. She consulted many doctors, often finding herself at their thresholds under the veil of night! She shunned daylight, fearing that the ceaseless flow of blood would expose her shame, which she worked tirelessly to conceal. To pay for her treatments, she depleted her resources; the desire for health drove her to spare no expense. But all the doctors remained powerless against her condition; the various cures they employed had no effect on her dreadful ailment. Like a wild beast, it resisted their efforts, as if to say, why do you fight against the strongest creature? I have long taken refuge within this body and I have no intention of relinquishing my hold so easily. No wealth can vanquish me; no earthly hand can sever my grasp. Only the Physician from the Virgin shall cast me out; I shall remain a testament to His glory along with others. Why waste your efforts, you weary servants striving to achieve what your Master can do? I will not yield until I have encountered the Creator. All circumstances are against the afflicted woman: the long duration of her illness, the incurable nature of her ailment, her financial losses, and the grief of a burdened body and a mind shrouded by shattered hopes. Yet, such forces did not diminish her unwavering faith, nor did these formidable trials lead her to ruin. She beheld Jesus, the gospel proclaims. For the dawn of a new year, the herald of martyrs, and the hope of the suffering woman.