A life-style posture
A good friend of mine was reading Mark’s gospel and became captivated by Chapter 5, having spotted three ‘kneelers’. They take a posture that always gets Jesus’ attention—they are the ones who get the most out of Jesus. They’re not timid and don’t come polished; it’s a posture they adopt willingly, not under duress. They come broken, desperate, undone. And they kneel.
Mark 5 is one of those chapters that should capture your attention too. In context, it comes with a storm still rumbling in the background, a boat crunching onto the shore, and Jesus stepping out into a world that is just as chaotic as the sea He just calmed. And then—if you were scrolling through Facebook, you would have missed them—they come. The kneelers. Three of them. It sounds like something from the book of Daniel – the watchers – but these ‘kneelers’ are more than that, they are participants.
The first one? He’s a wild character—so wild they don’t even bother giving his name. A man possessed, naked, tormented, living in the tombs, cast out from society. He sees Jesus from a distance, and what does he do? He runs and falls to his knees. He’s troubled, very troubled—more troubled than you. The demons in him are shouting, swearing, screaming, but the man—the man knows that the only hope for someone as lost as him is to kneel before the only One who can truly set him free. And that’s where you, fully clothed and in your right mind, find common ground.
Scroll down a bit on your phone, and there’s Jairus. Good name—”God enlightens.” We’ve got ourselves a synagogue ruler, a man of standing, of structure, of order. He has a reputation to uphold, a name to protect. You probably have a reputation—something you are excellent at or known for, in what you do or say.
In Jairus’ case, when your little girl—your only daughter—is lying on her deathbed, you don’t have time for reputation. He sees Jesus, throws himself to the ground (not unlike our previous ‘kneeler’), and pleads. He pleads with everything in him. And Jesus… Jesus goes with him—because kneelers get His attention.
And then, adding to the drama, tucked in between these two as you try to hurry Jesus to your house, endeavouring to take the short cut, avoiding potholes and diversions, is a woman. It may as well have been a roadblock. She doesn’t have a name in the story either, but she does have a past. Again, you or one dear to you may find common ground. Twelve years of suffering—of doctors and disappointment, medicines and remedies, hopes and tears—of spending everything she had and getting nothing in return.
In this culture, nameless-woman has no place in a crowd, but she pushes through anyway. And when she touches the hem of His garment—just the hem!—Whamo! The power of heaven surges, rushes through her body.
The condition stops. And Jesus stops; turns… The crowd goes silent, stops pushing and shoving… and He asks, “Who touched me?”
You can feel it – the tension! She could have hidden, could have slipped away—healed but unknown. But instead, trembling, she falls to her knees in front of Jesus, and He looks at her—not just sees her, notices her, but looks at her—and calls her “daughter.”
Daughter…
The only place in Scripture where Jesus calls anyone that. A kneeler receives not just healing but identity.
But let’s scroll back up the screen to Jairus, because this story isn’t done yet.
Jairus is approached by the men from his own house, and their words instead of comfort and encouragement bring a stomach-churning message:
“Your daughter is dead. Why bother the Teacher anymore?”
Now, this is the moment every father dreads. The moment the world stops turning. Suddenly, unexpectedly – out of the blue. It’s the moment you realise you were too late. But before he can even process it—before the grief can wrap around his throat and choke him—Jesus speaks.
“Do not fear, only believe.”
Everything gathers pace. Jairus walks. Step by step. Following Jesus. Heart pounding. Mind reeling.
And when they get to the house, when the mourners are wailing and the world is dark, Jesus steps in. “Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping.” They misread the room, and laugh. The world always laughs at faith—never applauds it, esteems it, or honours it. It just belittles, mocks.
But Jesus?
He takes her by the hand and, speaking with a voice that created the world from nothing and holds eternity in it, says, “Little girl, I say to you, arise.”
And she does. Now, let’s not rush past this…
Jairus kneeled
before
he saw the miracle.
He kneeled before he had his answer. He kneeled in desperation, and he walked in faith. And his daughter lived. The mocking laughter muffled and silenced.
Kneelers are the ones who know they have nothing left but Jesus. They are the ones who don’t care about dignity or status or what the world thinks. They are the ones who press through the crowd, who run from the tombs, who fall at His feet when everyone else stands back.
After a lifetime of kneeling, when they stand they rise changed.