Vulnerable Healer
By Amy Ekeh
Jesus’ healing ministry was an incredible demonstration of power. But it also revealed his vulnerability.
When we imagine Jesus’ healing ministry, we likely picture a man in total control, at the top of his game. And with good reason—a touch of his hand or a word from his mouth was all that was needed to work incredible wonders. Paralysis, blindness, even death, were cast aside. Fevers were banished and spines were straightened. Demons didn’t stand a chance. Jesus was powerful.
But there were consequences for this show of power, the most obvious being the rapid spread of Jesus’ reputation. It doesn’t take long (just 28 verses into Mark’s Gospel) for us to read: “His fame spread everywhere throughout the whole region.” Just a few verses later, an entire town gathers at Jesus’ door (1:33). The next nine chapters of Mark steadily catalog an astonishing number of healings, often told one right after the other. If the fast pace and the intensity of healing activity are exhausting for the reader (which they are, when read in one sitting), we can only imagine how exhausting they were for the healer.
As Jesus’ reputation grew, so did the crowds, and so did the overwhelming needs they brought with them. On one occasion Jesus attempted to “withdraw toward the sea” with his disciples, but a large crowd followed. “He had cured many,” Mark explains, “and, as a result, those who had diseases were pressing upon him to touch him.” But it’s the following detail that is the most telling—a detail provided only by Mark, whose flair for storytelling shines in gritty scenes like this one: “He told his disciples to have a boat ready for him because of the crowd, so that they would not crush him” (3:7-10). It’s a wonderful prayer exercise to imagine Jesus working out with his disciples how to avoid being crushed. This was no peaceful day by the sea with an orderly line of well-mannered patients waiting to see the divine physician. This was chaos—a crowd of desperation—sweaty, dirty, ill, injured, jostling, pushing, pressing, shouting, crying, and in pain. There’s no doubt that Jesus desired to heal them. But we can see how vulnerable he is in the midst of this overwhelming need. We can see the anxiety on his face, hear the stress in his voice. We see the disciples shepherd him onto the boat, the boat slipping away from shore. There were days when Jesus healed entire crowds. This would not be one of those days.
As Mark tells the rest of Jesus’ story, there are miraculous cures and incredible exorcisms. But it is in the gaps between the stories, and in the descriptions of the crowds and their needs, that we catch glimpses of the vulnerability, the humanity, of Jesus of Nazareth. When we’re told that people “scurried about the surrounding country and began to bring in the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was” (6:55), we can imagine what it was like for Jesus to set foot in a new town only to find that all the needs of the region were already there waiting for him. When we’re told that once, upon arriving in a new place, Jesus “entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there” (7:24), we understand. This healer who did “all things well” (7:37) sometimes needed a break.
The majority of the healing narratives in the Gospels depict a man of boundless compassion who was readily available to every human need, whose life was a resounding testament to the healing power of encounter and accompaniment. It’s obvious that Jesus wanted to be with people, that he wanted nothing more than to heal them. But our glimpses of his vulnerability are crucial to understanding the complexity and the profundity of his healing ministry.
To understand that Jesus got tired, that he worried about being crushed, that sometimes he needed a moment to breathe—to really believe that he was a man—doesn’t weaken our image of Jesus. It fortifies it and gives it texture. And it invites us into the heart of his healing ministry. A healer who is like a machine, who never tires? This doesn’t inspire us. But a healer who tires and finds within himself the strength to keep on going—this is the example we need. We already know we are vulnerable. Now we see how powerful we can be.
