. The Song of the Woman Who Bled Mark 5:25-34 When you have no more money you can spend, Then men will tell you, “You cannot be cured.” Though Jesus makes it better in the end, First tribulation has to be endured. The disappointment, when you’ve been assured That medicine will help you, is profound: You realize health cannot be procured. The words that came from God your woes compound: The Law says you’re unclean, and for that you’re renowned. Twelve years deprived of normal human touch; Twelve years of feeling weaker every day; Twelve years of finding every hope you clutch Is just one more mirage along the way; Twelve years of ever more intense dismay Will leave you apathetic and benumbed. My pain in mind and body who could weigh? By whom could all my suffering be summed? What man could understand the depths that I have plumbed? In deep affliction God gave me a gift, A gift that I could never overrate, The gift of faith, which overcame the rift— So spurning the restrictions of my state, Escaping from the prison of my fate, With certitude I plunged into the crowd. My fear and trembling were already great Before the Master asked for me out loud, And what I’d hoped and done I haltingly avowed. The Lord of all in Eden knew full well Where Eve and Adam hid; and yet He posed A question that enabled them to tell Him what He might have readily disclosed. And Jesus could have easily exposed Who I was, yet He let me on my own Tell what had happened. Shaking, not composed, The glory of the Master I made known, And all the people learned the mercy I’d been shown. Those precious words, “Your faith has made you whole,” Mean, “By My precious gift you have been healed.” It’s one more thing about Him to extol, That His amazing power He concealed, While my poor faith He publicly revealed, Giving me credit for what He had done. Who but the Lord omnipotence could wield Effectively, and yet all glory shun? You learn what humble means, when you have touched the Son. I touched His garment on the tasseled fringe, Containing just a single strand of blue. My faith was dominant, my guilt a twinge . . . . I touched, I felt His power, and I knew A glory that is given unto few Of those who suffer in the realm below. O, truly Jesus Christ makes all things new! For your soul to rejoice like mine and glow There’s crucial symbolism that you need to know. The flow of blood defiled and made unclean, So I was quite cut off from other Jews. And scarlet sin flows from us to demean Ourselves and others like us, who refuse To fall before the Lord and let Him choose Our ways and means, for they are His by right. But when by faith we touch Him Christ renews Our spirits, filling up our souls with light: What miracle is greater than a heart contrite? The hem of Aaron’s robe had golden bells With linen pomegranates mingled round. The gospel rings out clearly and compels Weak ones who would be fruitful to resound The great good news that all our hopes are crowned In our High Priest, who comes from Jesse’s stem. And there is no more beautiful a sound Than the hymn of gratitude that’s sung by them, The Bride who’s tapped the power hidden in His hem. . . Philip Rosenbaum, now retired, has been the director of a residential wilderness school for troubled boys, and the curator of a collection of antique fine art. He is the author of one published volume of verse, Holy Week Sonnets, and one ebook, The Wedding Party: An Epic Poem. His two published works in prose are How To Enjoy the Boring Parts of the Bible and The Promise (on the importance of honoring parents). He lives in northern Virginia.