In our daily use of various electrical appliances, we usually don’t give much thought to the electricity that powers them. Upon completion of a task we simply unplug the appliance and don’t have any direct relationship to the electricity that powers it. Electricity is thus a valued means to a desired end, often taken for granted, and only truly noticed when there is a power outage. Sometimes, divine power is treated in a similar way. God is sought, prayed to, and called upon to answer a particular need—usually one that calls for more than human effort and ingenuity. Then once our need passes or our problem is resolved, we (as it were) unplug ourselves from this divine source and, in getting on with our lives, allow our awareness of God to recede into the background—until the next crisis.
The woman in today’s gospel (afflicted with hemorrhages) seems to serve as an illustration of this tendency. Amid the jostling crowd she sought to just touch Jesus’ clothes, receive a cure, and then blend into the crowd. Given her ritual impurity (because of her condition) it is difficult to ascertain whether she had no desire to personally encounter Jesus, or whether she was embarrassed by her illness and wished to simply remain hidden and anonymous. Presumably, if Jesus had not confronted her she would have quietly and gratefully returned home without actually encountering Jesus. Our own recourse to Jesus can sometimes contain similar self-serving desires and involve reaching out to him, not in pursuit of his friendship and love, but primarily for the help we hope to receive.
What this dramatic encounter between Jesus and the woman illustrates, however, is that God’s help—in whatever form it comes—is inseparable from entering into relationship with him. The divine power is not like that impersonal electricity that powers our appliances and is otherwise ignored. Instead, divine power flows most freely when we are in loving relationship with God. And this is primarily because God’s saving and healing power is simultaneously an outpouring of his love—indeed, God’s power is God’s love. Entering into relationship with God, however, does not only grant us his saving power, but also brings with it responsibilities, accountabilities, and demands. And perhaps this is why we sometimes might—like the woman in the gospel—prefer to receive God’s healing power without the complications and demands of a personal and deeper relationship with him.
Unfortunately, as we know, even when God fulfills our present needs and the crisis abates, our most fundamental need—that is for God himself—remains unfulfilled. It is thus only when we lovingly embrace the responsibilities and often radical demands that come with a deep and authentic relationship with God, that we begin to experience not just help for present needs, but also the fulfilling of the deepest longings of our hearts and growth in inner peace and joy. We know from the lives of those who opened their hearts completely to God’s love—that is, the saints—how much can be demanded and expected of us; indeed, even to the sacrifice of life itself. However, it is also the saints who guarantee that God’s gift of himself infinitely outweighs any demands and expectations a living relationship with God necessarily entails. For, as Saint Teresa once affirmed: He who has God finds he lacks nothing; God alone suffices.