“The female body is a work of art. The male body is utilitarian. It’s for gettin’ around. It’s like a Jeep.”
— Elaine (Seinfeld – S09E09 The Apology)
I’m thankful for my body.
I’m thankful for its sacred spaces.
So far, my womb has lodged and nurtured two healthy human beings.
Even after my little darlings were born, I was impressed by my body’s ability to sustain life outside my body.
Parts of me which were good for decoration—my young, aesthetically pleasing décolletage—became fountains of liquid nourishment for my babies. Their doubling in size also provided comforting cushions for my babes to nuzzle and sleep on.
I’ve not always been so grateful, especially during shark week, or when Aunt Flo comes to visit, or when I’m riding the crimson tide.
For those not in the know, these are euphemisms to help women cope with having their time of the month or their period.
The account of a woman who was suffering from a real period drama is mentioned in three gospels: Luke 8, Matthew 9 and Mark 5.
Here I have fictionalised the account of her urgent desire for a private healing from the Master.
She stands at the fringes of the horde, like always, with the lepers and the other outcasts. Her toenails dig into the dirt as she balances on the balls of her feet to get a better look.
There’s a crowd milling about the teacher, the healer, Jeshua, God in the flesh.
Eyes like a hawk, she spots him, wearing the traditional rabbi cloak hung loosely over his broad shoulders. She expected him to be taller, with a more regal bearing, instead of this rugged man.
A sharp pain strikes below her belly like a red-hot poker. She grits her teeth and clutches at a handful of her robe until the wave of pain passes. Her cramping coincides with a gush of blood; a river that refuses to be dammed.
In twelve years, no physician could offer a remedy that worked or eased her pain.
The last ‘doctor’ encouraged her to drink a mixture that smelled not unlike the urine from a cow. What a waste of money. Her bleeding only got worse after seeing him.
That quack should have paid her in compensation!
She lands back on her heels slightly off balance. She sways to the left. Her head feels like it will float away.
She’s tired. Tired of this uncleanness, tired of living on the fringes, tired of the never ceasing outflow of blood and money.
Tired of being tired.
Lord Almighty, I need you to heal me. I am weak, but you are strong. Cleanse me, God. I want to be with other worshippers in the temple. I want to belong. There is nothing you can’t do.
With what little strength she has, she enters the swarm of people, completely abandoning the purity laws that had kept from touching anyone. Any contact from her would make a person unclean.
Her bloated belly speaks again, bearing downward pressure. Her rags slip down a fraction by the weight of yet more blood. She bites her lower lip, and finding a gap in the crowd, she silently weaves her way through.
If I can just touch his cloak, I’ll be healed.
She finds herself standing directly behind the Master. Her heart is drumming in her ears. Eagerly, she thrusts her arm forward. The tips of her fingers brush a blue tassel dangling off his outer cloak.
In that instant, her cramps cease. It feels strange to have her fountain of blood cease too. Suddenly, she is renewed.
Energised.
“Who touched me?” Jesus asks.
She attempts a few steps backward, but shoulders and arms that don’t belong to her cocoon her body. She hasn’t had this much contact with other people in a very long time.
A rough voice responds, “Master, you’re surrounded by all these people pressing against you, and you’re asking, who touched me?”
“Somebody has touched me, for I felt power come out from me,” Jesus replies.
The people beside her spin their heads in her direction.
In a slow deliberate action, Jesus turns around and his eyes lock onto hers for the briefest moment.
She averts her eyes.
She could not hide. She could not flee. He knew.
Her uncontrollable trembling surges from her sandals feet to the top of her head covering.
She wails, “I meant no disrespect, Master. I touched you . . . your cloak.” Her voice cracks, “You’ve healed me. For twelve long years, I have suffered. My bleeding never stopped until now. Praise God.”
The crowd gasps as she falls to the ground at the Master’s feet.
He speaks, “Daughter, be of good comfort, your faith has made you whole. Go in peace.”
***
Join me for Part 2 of There is a Fountain.
Bibliography
