Three Faces of Faith: Jairus, the Woman, and the Little Girl [Homily Based on Mt 9:18–26]

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n today’s Gospel from Matthew, we encounter three persons whose stories draw us closer to the heart of Jesus. Their lives—interrupted by suffering and desperation—become windows through which we can see what true faith looks like when it is born out of love, brokenness, and the longing for new life.

1. Jairus: Love That Risks Everything

The first figure is Jairus (CF Lk 8:41), though Matthew does not name him. He is identified only as “a synagogue leader” who kneels before Jesus and says, “My daughter has just died. But come and lay your hand on her, and she will live” (Mt 9:18). This man, a respected leader, takes a tremendous risk by approaching Jesus publicly. In doing so, he risks his position, his reputation, and even his friendships in the synagogue—just for the love of his daughter. His heart is not filled with theological conviction but with fatherly desperation. Love drives him to Jesus.

What strikes me is this: Jairus’s faith is not yet fully formed—it begins with need, not with understanding. But sometimes, that is enough. In fact, Jesus is not looking for perfect faith. He is moved by love expressed in bold, shameless persistence. Jairus embodies the kind of faith that is willing to go all in, that lays everything on the line for the one he loves. When we go to Jesus, let us also bring to Him what we love deeply—our families, our vocations, our work, our dreams. As with Jairus, Jesus will come with us. He delights in our trust, even if it begins in desperation.

2. The Woman: Suffering That Seeks Healing

The second figure is the woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. Matthew’s version is shorter than Mark’s, but the essential truth remains: she approaches Jesus quietly, saying to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well” (Mt 9:21). Her condition had left her ritually unclean, socially isolated, and economically drained. But notice what she brings to Jesus: not just her illness, but her courage, her longing, and her silent hope.

In the original Greek, the word often associated with her affliction is μάστιξ (mastix)—meaning a scourge or whip. Her suffering was relentless, like being flogged by life itself. Yet this woman does not give up. Her touch is filled with deep meaning—not just a physical act, but a reaching out from the soul. She believes without demanding attention. She touches without speaking. And Jesus sees her.

He turns and says, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well” (Mt 9:22). This is the only time in the Gospels where Jesus calls someone “daughter.” This is a very tender and intimate word. Jesus rarely addresses individuals this way. It signifies not just healing but restored dignity and belonging—a deeply personal encounter. When we go to Jesus, let us bring to Him our wounds, our silent struggles, our invisible pains. And like this woman, we will hear words that restore our dignity and peace.

3. The Girl: Resurrection Foreshadowed

The third and final figure is the little girl, Jairus’s daughter. Matthew tells us that when Jesus arrives at the house, the mourners are already there. But He says to them, “Go away; for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” They laugh at Him. Still, Jesus takes her by the hand, and she rises (Mt 9:25).

The Greek verb here for “rise” is ἠγέρθη (ēgerthē)—a word often used in reference to the Resurrection. This moment becomes a sign, a glimpse, of what is to come. For those with eyes of faith, the raising of the girl points forward to Jesus’s own resurrection, and to the promise of eternal life. It is also a foreshadowing of the Transfiguration, witnessed only by Peter, James, and John—three of the same disciples allowed into Jairus’s house in Mark’s account.

But here’s the deeper truth: the girl’s rising is not just about her. It mirrors the woman’s healing. One has suffered for twelve years; the other is twelve years old. One is restored in body and spirit; the other is raised from death. Both become signs of new life—not just for themselves, but for those who love them.

And perhaps, more than anyone else, Jairus himself is transformed. He comes to Jesus as a desperate father. He walks away a believer in the One who holds power over life and death. For him, this is no longer just a teacher—Jesus is Life Himself, the Resurrection and the Life.

Jesus meets us where we are—in our love like Jairus, in our pain like the woman, and even in our dying moments like the little girl—and brings us life in its fullness. Amen. Fr JM Manzano SJ