Stalking Jesus

Try to forget everything you know about these stories and hear them new.

There is house where Jesus has gone to teach and it is so crammed with people that they spill out the door. Some folks are disappointed and turn away, hoping they will get to see the Rabbi next time he's in town. But you and your friends won't take no for an answer. You shimmy up the resident's gutter spout and get into the house through his skylight to lower on ropes your sick friend who needs healing. Jesus sees what you have done and is pleased. (Mark 2.)

You are a prophet and you want to ask the Lord to restore rain to a land that has long lain in drought. You get on your knees and pray for an hour and send your servant to keep watch on the sky for signs of rain. He comes back sheepish. You fall to your knees for another hour. The servant comes back, embarrassed again. You hit the ground a third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh time. Finally, the servant, with a spring in his step, reports the sudden appearance of a cloud the size of man's fist. (1 Kings 18.)

A young boy is very sick and his desperate widowed mother calls you in. You go up to his room and close the door and stretch yourself out on the child and pray for his soul to come back into him. Nothing. You do it a second time. Nothing. You do it a third time, and the child revives. (1 Kings 17.)

You are a woman who has suffered internal hemorrhaging for 12 years. You believe Jesus can heal you, so you go out to the streets but they are mobbed. You will never get a chance to talk to Him, but maybe if you just touch his robe. . . . Your friends think that's superstitious but you figure it just might work; Jesus can do anything. You get to Him and barely make contact with the cloth. The preacher stops in His tracks and turns. He has felt your touch from a thousand other touches. He knows faith when he feels it. (Mark 5.)

You are "Blind Bartimaeus"; that's what they call you, though most people don't even know you exist, so much a part of the furniture of Jericho has your disheveled matter become. You hear that Jesus is coming to town and elbow your way to the parade route, but not close enough or fast enough. The famous preacher is passing now and you desperately shout "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" People around you are disgusted and tell you to shut up. You keep shouting, aware of only Jesus. He knows faith and passion when He sees it, and you have called Him by the right name. So He stops the parade and calls to you. (Mark 10.)

You are a foreigner and a woman-two strikes. You are also the mother of a child who has an unclean spirit. You track Jesus down and unceremoniously fall at his feet. He ignores you. You follow Him like a stalker and keep pleading. This time He answers you, only to seemingly call you a dog. You accept that moniker and still beg for your daughter. Jesus is delighted. He was actually rooting for you to hang in there. He was working with you until He extracted that confession of faith He was longing to hear. You return home and find that the demon has left your daughter. (Mark 7.)

Is there such a thing as too much faith?

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