“If I but touch his clothes, I shall be cured.”

Today’s Word of God brings us face to face with two movements of the human heart: desperate sorrow and daring faith. In the First Reading, King David weeps over the death of his son Absalom with a cry that pierces the soul: “My son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you!” His grief reminds us how heavy the human heart can become when love meets loss. In the Gospel, we meet another kind of suffering, hidden, long, and humiliating. A woman has been bleeding for twelve years. She is exhausted, poor, and isolated. Yet in her weakness, she discovers something stronger than despair: faith. She does not shout. She does not demand. She does not push herself to the front. She whispers to her own heart: “If I but touch his clothes, I shall be cured.” This is not magical thinking; it is radical trust. She believes that even the clothe of Jesus is enough. Even the hem of his garment carries the power of God’s mercy. And the Gospel tells us that the moment she touches him, healing flows, not because she is perfect, but because she is faithful. This is the faith the Church places before us today: not a loud faith, not a showy faith, but a bold, humble, persistent faith that reaches out to Jesus even when we feel unworthy, tired, or afraid. The woman had every reason to stay hidden, but faith pushed her into the crowd. And Jesus, sensing that power had gone out from him, stops. He calls her forward, not to shame her, but to restore her dignity. He names her: “Daughter.” In one word, he gives her back her identity, her place, her future. At the same time, Jairus is walking with Jesus toward his dying child. Then the message comes: “Your daughter has died. Why trouble the teacher any longer?” But Jesus speaks words that still echo in every fearful heart: “Do not be afraid; just have faith.” Faith does not deny reality, but it refuses to let fear have the last word. In the house of mourning, where people are already weeping and giving up, Jesus takes the child by the hand and says, “Talitha koum—Little girl, I say to you, arise.” And death obeys. Today we also remember Saint Blaise, bishop and martyr, a man who touched Christ with his whole life. He was a shepherd who healed the sick, defended the faith, and refused to deny Christ even under persecution. Tradition remembers him especially as a healer of throats, and every year the Church places blessed candles near our necks and pray for protection. But the deeper miracle is this: Saint Blaise trusted Jesus enough to give him everything, even his life. He did not just touch the Lord’s garment; he clung to the Lord’s cross. Some of us are like the woman—carrying hidden wounds, tired of trying, tempted to believe nothing will ever change. Some of us are like Jairus—walking with Jesus but frightened by bad news. Some of us are like David, grieving something we cannot fix. Into every one of these situations, Jesus says the same thing: “Do not be afraid. Just have faith.” Not perfect faith. Not impressive faith. Just the faith to reach out and touch him. If today all you can manage is a whisper— “Lord, if I but touch you…”—that is enough. If all you can do is stretch out your hand in prayer, in the Eucharist, in a quiet cry for help—that is enough. Because Christ is still passing through the crowd. And power still goes out from him. Touch him today. And let him raise you.