Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, "Who touched my clothes?" (Mark 5:30)

Before the invasion of Iraq, US Secretary of Defence Donald Rumsfeld said that there are known knowns, there are known unknowns and there are unknown unknowns. He got a bit of a pillorying in the press for this but what he said was actually true. There are known knowns - I know that water has a boiling point and I know that it’s 100˚C. I’m not a science teacher for nothing. There are known unknowns - I know that my wife has a PIN for her bank card, but I don’t know what it is. There are, though, unknown unknowns - things that exist or are true that I know nothing about.

In the passage from Mark we read this morning you have two miraculous healings; the story of Jairus’s daughter and the story of the woman who touched Christ’s robe.  Mark could have told them one after the other, but he places one story inside the other, and when he does that it’s pretty sure that he wants us to put them together - to compare and contrast. There are things about the two stories that are similar. Both involve miraculous healings. Both involve acts of faith. But there are differences too and the differences are important. Both stories speak of people in need, but they also speak of known knowns and of known unknowns and even of unknown unknowns.

First there is Jairus. He’s the known known. He has a name - the only name apart from Jesus and the inner circle of Jesus’s followers. He is the leader of the synagogue and Jesus probably knew him. The passage starts with Jesus crossing back over the Sea of Galilee after a trip to Gadara where he had healed a man possessed by demons. So Jesus is back in Capernaeum. This was where Jesus lived. It’s where he had his base of operations during his Galilean ministry. I find it hard to imagine that Jesus wouldn’t know the leader of the local synagogue. 

For all of us there are known knowns in need. They’re the friends, the family, the neighbours, the workmates, the members of the congregation who are going through hard times. They’re the son who’s lost his job, the friend whose marriage has broken up. They’re the neighbour who’s getting on a bit and no longer has folk they can call, the workmate who’s being bullied by his boss. They’re the member of the congregation who’s struggling with his faith in times of trouble.

These people matter. They matter to us because they’re folk we know and love. They matter to God because God knows everyone and loves all his children. When we look after the folk we know, when remind them that they matter, when we stand alongside them in times of trouble then we help to heal them. We allow the love of God to touch their lives and make their world a little brighter. 

Then there’s the woman with the haemorrhage. In contrast to Jairus she has no name, no status, no title. Jesus doesn’t know her: “Who touched my clothes?” he asks. All we know about her - all Jesus knew - is her need. There are, for us known unknowns in need. They’re the folk we only know by the name of the need. They’re the folk who are known as “the poor”, “the homeless”, “the migrant”, “the benefits-claimant”, “the unemployed”.

They are the beggar on the pavement waving a polystyrene cup. They are the huddled heap of duvet in the shop doorway. They are the crowd on the poster  that portrays migrants as a “swarm” of invaders coming “to take our jobs”. They are the “scroungers” that the tabloid press will tell you are living the life of Riley on your taxes. They are the “lazy” and the “feckless” - because we all know there’s plenty of work out there, don’t we? These are the known unknowns, but how often are we told that we do know them? How often are we told to despise them in their need?

Sometimes, though, just sometimes the known unknowns get a face - often the face of a child. A naked girl fleeing a burning village in Vietnam at the height of the Vietnam war. A young girl, her face gaunt and covered in flies during the famine in Ethiopia. The tiny body of a little boy washed up on the shores of Greece. A child locked in a cage near the Mexican border. We see these things and suddenly, in a sense, we see as God sees. People in need become more than categories and statistics. They become people. They become children of God, just as you and I are children of God.    They matter to us. They touch our hearts and our consciences. They matter to God and, when we resist the urgings of the world that ‘charity begins at home, and insist that those in need are our brothers and sisters, we do the work of God in the world.

There’s a third “character” in the story, the way Mark tells it. There’s the crowd. Here the crowd are the unknown unknowns. They represent you and they represent me. They represent everyone. The truth is that we all, sometimes, fall into that category we speak of when we come to prayers of intercession - those in need - some more than others; but in the world out there, and in here, there are countless people going through hard times. Times of bereavement. Times of struggle. Times of pain. Times of fear. 

The thing is, though, that there are no unknowns. Not to God. Whatever is troubling you, whatever your needs, God knows about them. Whatever your friend’s or your family’s needs, God knows about them. God knows every beggar on the street, every homeless soul, every face on the boats that set forth on the seas in hope for a better life, every broken body in the rubble of war. God knows every heart that pounds in fear or bleeds in sorrow; every stomach that is empty, every mind that looks to the future with anxiety and dread.

Not one of them is without a name or without a face. Maybe that’s the point Mark is making by putting these two stories together. He’s encouraging us to try - at least try - to see the world as God sees it. To see humanity as God sees us. To see those in need - whether we know them or not - as human beings; as children of God like us; as our brothers and sisters. To see that each has a face and a name; each is a unique creation of God, made in the image of God. Each is precious in the heart of God. Right now, think of the one person who is, or was, the most precious person in your life. Probably it’s the person you know, or knew, the best. For God everyone is like that.

If we try - at least try - to see the world as God sees it; to see that we are bound together as human beings; that we are family and friends however distant and strange we may be to each other, then we reflect the love of God into the world. If we try - at least try - to insist that a bomb falling on a family in a foreign country causes as much pain and grief as a bomb set off in a pub. If we try - at least try - to see the world God sees it, where everyone in need matters, whoever they are, then we follow in the way of Christ. We recognise that we are all - all of humanity - children of God.

Lord help us to see each other - all your children as your children; as our brothers and sisters. Some we know. Some don’t know. Some we have never heard of. Families are like that. Help us to insist, though, that we are all family: all your children

Preached at Gretna:St. Andrews Parish church