Get Up!

Mark 5:35-43 (NIV)

There is something about desperation that has a way of stripping away our pride.

Jairus was a synagogue leader—a respected man with influence, responsibility, and a reputation to uphold. Yet none of that mattered when his little girl was dying. Titles couldn’t heal her. Money couldn’t save her. His position couldn’t change the outcome. So he did the only thing left to do: he went looking for Jesus. There comes a point in every believer’s life when we realize that all our efforts, planning, and problem-solving have reached their limit. Desperation has a way of reminding us that Jesus was never meant to be our last resort; He should have been our first.

As Jesus made His way to Jairus’ house, He stopped to heal the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. In front of a massive crowd, He did what only the Messiah could do. He restored her instantly, with just her touching the edge of his garment - and then he healed her spiritually through salvation!

Yet before the excitement had even settled, messengers arrived with heartbreaking news.

“Your daughter is dead,” they said to Jairus. “Why bother the teacher anymore?” (Mark 5:35, NIV).

That word—bother—always catches my attention. As if Jesus had more important things to do and didn’t care. As if death somehow moved the situation beyond His reach. As if the One who had just performed an impossible miracle had suddenly become incapable because the circumstances had changed. As if death could defeat the Messiah.

If we’re honest, we do this all the time. God answers one prayer, provides in one impossible situation, carries us through one difficult season, and somehow we convince ourselves that this problem is the one He can’t handle. We remember yesterday’s miracle for about five minutes before today’s circumstances convince us He’s forgotten us.

Mark even tells us this news came while Jesus was still speaking (Mark 5:35, NIV). Isn’t that us? Jesus is still speaking through His Word. He’s still reminding us of His promises. He’s still inviting us to trust Him. Meanwhile, we’ve already started planning the funeral for our hope because our circumstances changed before we finished listening.

But Jesus wasn’t rattled by the news. In fact, Mark tells us He ignored it.

“Ignoring what they said, Jesus told the synagogue leader, ‘Don’t be afraid; just believe’” (Mark 5:36, NIV).

I love that. Jesus didn’t stop to debate the messengers or explain Himself. He simply invited Jairus to trust Him instead of the voices declaring the situation hopeless.

There will always be people—and thoughts—telling us it’s too late, too broken, too impossible. Fear is loud. Discouragement is persuasive. Our circumstances can be downright convincing. But Jesus has never asked us to believe our circumstances. He has asked us to believe Him.

“When they came to the home of the synagogue leader, Jesus saw a commotion, with people crying and wailing loudly.” (Mark 5:38, NIV).

When they finally arrived at Jairus’ house, the scene was complete chaos. People were crying, wailing, and the funeral had essentially already begun. Honestly, I can’t help but laugh a little because this poor little girl had barely died and everyone was already acting like they’d skipped straight to the reception after the service. The mourning music was playing, the tears were flowing, and everyone had decided the story was over before Jesus had even walked through the front door.

Jesus looked at the crowd and said,

“Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep” (Mark 5:39, NIV).

Their response?

“They laughed at him” (Mark 5:40, NIV).

Of course they did. From an earthly perspective, what Jesus said sounded ridiculous. Dead people don’t wake up. Circumstances don’t reverse themselves. Impossible situations don’t suddenly become possible.

But that’s exactly what happens when we evaluate God’s promises through the limits of our own understanding. We laugh—not always out loud, but quietly in our hearts. We tell ourselves that relationship will never heal, that addiction will never break, that grief will never lift, that our circumstances will never change. We don’t realize we’re measuring the power of an infinite God with the ruler of our finite experience.

After sending everyone else outside, Jesus walked over to the little girl, took her by the hand, and said,

“’Talitha koum!’ (which means ‘Little girl, I say to you, get up!’)” (Mark 5:41, NIV).

I love the tenderness of that moment. Jesus wasn’t frantic or dramatic. He didn’t panic because everyone else had. He simply took her hand and spoke to her with the gentleness of a parent waking a sleepy child on an ordinary morning. I can’t read those words without wondering how many times Jesus has stood over the sleeping places in my own heart and whispered the same thing. When disappointment has left me stuck. When fear has convinced me to stay where I am. When grief, shame, or exhaustion have lulled me into believing this is simply how life will always be. I wonder if He’s saying, “My sweet little girl...get up.”

Then, just like that, everything changed.

“Immediately the girl stood up and began to walk around” (Mark 5:42, NIV, emphasis added).

One moment everyone was certain death had won. The next moment she was walking through the house! That’s what Jesus does. Situations that seem final aren’t final when He is involved. He has a way of changing everything in an instant—not always according to our timeline, but always according to His perfect authority. What looks hopeless to us has never intimidated Him.

And then comes one of my favorite details in the whole story. After raising a little girl from the dead—a miracle that would leave anyone speechless—Jesus quietly tells them not to tell anyone but to give her something to eat (Mark 5:43, NIV). I love that because it reminds me that Jesus doesn’t only care about the miraculous moments; He cares about the ordinary ones too. The Savior who defeats death also remembers that little girls get hungry, especially after waking up. He cares about breakfast. He cares about the practical details of our lives. He is never so occupied with the extraordinary that He overlooks the everyday.

Maybe today you feel like Jairus. Maybe every voice around you says, “Don’t bother Jesus anymore.” Maybe you’ve already accepted that something in your life is beyond hope.

But the same Jesus who ignored the voices of despair still speaks today:

“Don’t be afraid; just believe” (Mark 5:36, NIV).

He is still in the business of walking into situations everyone else has declared finished. He still takes weary hearts by the hand. He still speaks life where we only see death. And maybe today, with all the tenderness of a loving Father waking His child, He’s taking your hand, looking at you, and saying, “My child...get up.”

bytaylormcgee