Touching the Hem of His garment

If you don't, you'll have no story to tell.

Mark 6:53-56. It's a short passage, almost easy to miss, tucked in there between miracles and almost seems like a throwaway to the end of the chapter, but—there's something happening here.

In context, Jesus and His disciples cross over to Gennesaret, and the moment they step out of the boat, people recognise Him—not just a casual glance, not just a passing familiarity—they know who He is. In a world with no social media, televisions, or photographs, just the chatter around the synagogues and family meals was enough. To see Jesus was to know who He is. And what happens next? They run.

They bring the sick on mats (not an easy task), carrying them through villages, cities, and countryside, laying them down wherever Jesus might be. There's even more to the story: "And as many as touched the hem of his garment were made well."

Let’s pause here. This isn’t just about physical healing; it's about something much bigger.

Everywhere Jesus went, people knew. They didn’t just know about Him; they recognised something in Him that made them move—love, compassion, empathy, friendship. There was an urgency about Him—not something frantic but something that induced a longing, a hope that stirred them to action. People ran, carried, brought—such was the power of recognition based on testimony.

When you really see Jesus for who He is, you move towards Him; you don’t stay where you are or sit back in passive curiosity. You run.

They weren’t just running for themselves either; they were running for others. They were carrying the broken, the desperate, the ones who couldn't walk on their own. It's what happens when you meet Jesus—your heart expands. It’s no longer just about you; it’s about bringing others to Him. Love—real love—compels us outward. It refuses to remain insular.

It's a sight to behold—imagine the scene: crowded streets, narrow pathways, the sound of footsteps echoing through dusty paths with people calling out, lifting, carrying, rushing. And Jesus, moving among them, healing with a touch, with a word, with His very presence. This is the audacious, unprecedented kingdom breaking in.

And here's the thing—"as many as touched it were made well." It’s not about status, not about worthiness, not about whether you have your life together. It’s about reaching out. The invitation is open, the grace is available—you've just got to reach out. No one is going to do it for you. They can't.

Think about it—just a touch. Just the edge of His garment. That’s all it took. There's bound to be some who wouldn't bother... and they have no story of the miraculous to tell after.

There’s something in the very presence of Jesus that is enough, and then we go and complicate it. How often do we stand at a distance, hesitant, uncertain, afraid that we won’t measure up? Here, in this moment, we see the truth—Jesus isn't looking for perfection but for faith and the willingness to reach out in faith... and touch.

What does that touch do? It makes people completely whole. Not just better. Not just patched up. Whole. It's also the power of the gospel. Jesus doesn’t come to offer temporary fixes; He comes to restore, to redeem, to bring fullness where there was once emptiness.

It’s hard not to see the influence of the woman with the issue of blood in this passage. Her story, found in Mark 5:25-34, had already begun to spread. She herself reached out in faith and touched the hem of His garment—and was healed instantly. That single act of faith must have inspired many. Word got out—if she was healed, maybe we can be too. Maybe you can. Her faith created a ripple effect, turning a personal moment of healing into a public movement and demonstration of hope. What started with a solitary, trembling touch became a surge of longing in the hearts of the multitudes. She did it—we can too!

And isn’t that how the kingdom works? One person’s tentative step of faith, one encounter with Jesus, can spark hope in an entire community. What started with her has now inspired this crowd. Her courage in reaching out became an invitation for many to do the same.

Jesus' compassion was at the heart of it all. That tells you heaps about God. He wasn't just healing bodies; He was restoring dignity, calling people into wholeness, into relationship, into the kingdom of God. His touch wasn’t distant or detached—it was personal, filled with love, mercy, and joy. He is totally approachable, welcoming, inviting... touchable.

This story also reminds us of the power of testimony—even ours. The woman’s healing was more than a private moment; it became a brave, public declaration that inspired faith in others. Which is why it is important for us to share our stories of encountering Jesus—what if our faith sparked faith in someone else?

Why the hem? In Jewish culture, the hem (often adorned with tassels known as tzitzit) of a garment symbolised identity, covenant with God, and, in some cases, authority. To touch it was to acknowledge Jesus’ authority, to submit to His power. They weren’t just touching fabric—Messiah material; they were grasping hope.

Faith isn’t always easy. The woman had to push through the crowd; there were obstacles, challenges, doubts. Sometimes, we have to persist—through fear, through discouragement, through waiting. Faith isn’t passive; it presses in, even when it’s hard.

Let’s be honest—healing doesn’t always come the way we expect. I've got a cough at the moment, and after prayer, I’ve still got a cough! Am I still going to pray for the sick? Absolutely! There are some things we just don't have an answer for, but we continue in faith and obedience. Jesus is always at work, bringing wholeness in ways we might not see. Whether through physical healing, emotional restoration, or spiritual renewal, He is making us whole.

We're not alone either; faith is meant to be lived in community. What if we surrounded ourselves with people who carry us to Jesus when we’re too weak to walk on our own? The church, the body of Christ, is where healing happens together. What if we lived like this today, recognising Jesus in our midst, and we ran to Him? What if we brought the broken, the hurting, the weary, and reached out in faith, trusting that even the hem of His garment is enough?

The truth is, He’s still here. Still moving. Still healing. Still making whole.