Commentary - Matthew 9:18-26

Bird's-eye view

In this passage, Matthew presents us with a striking juxtaposition of two miracles, a story within a story. Jesus is confronted with the finality of death and the slow drain of a chronic disease. In both instances, He demonstrates His absolute authority over both the grave and the infirmities of our fallen world. The narrative is a beautiful illustration of how faith, even when desperate and unconventional, lays hold of the power of Christ. A synagogue official, a man of standing, and an unclean woman, an outcast, both approach Jesus. Their stations in life could not be more different, yet their need is the same. They both need a miracle that only the Son of God can perform. This passage is not simply about physical healing and resuscitation; it is a profound statement about the nature of Christ's power to save. He is the one who can take our dead situations and our unclean realities and speak life and purity into them.

The structure is a classic narrative sandwich. The story of Jairus's daughter begins, is interrupted by the account of the woman with the hemorrhage, and then concludes. This is not a haphazard arrangement. The interruption serves to heighten the drama of the first story, the girl is not just sick, she is dead, and to show that Christ's power is not diminished by delay or diverted by competing needs. He has enough power and authority for every crisis. The faith of the woman is a lesson for the official, and for us. And the reaction of the crowd at the official's house provides a stark contrast between the world's cynical unbelief and the simple, potent faith that receives the kingdom.

Outline

Clause-by-Clause Commentary

v. 18 While He was saying these things to them, behold, a synagogue official came and was bowing down before Him, and said, “My daughter has just died; but come and lay Your hand on her, and she will live.”

The setting is crucial. Jesus is in the middle of teaching, likely addressing the criticisms of the Pharisees. His words are being challenged, His authority questioned. And right into this contentious atmosphere walks a crisis. A synagogue official, a man of some importance in the local Jewish establishment, comes. This is not a small thing. He is a ruler of the synagogue, a pillar of the community that was, as a whole, growing increasingly hostile to Jesus. For him to come to Jesus is a public act of desperation and, more importantly, of faith. He bows down before Him, an act of worship and submission. He doesn't hedge his bets. He doesn't say, "My daughter is at the point of death." Matthew's account is stark: "My daughter has just died." He comes to Jesus when all human hope is extinguished. And yet, his next words are a thunderclap of faith: "but come and lay Your hand on her, and she will live." This is not a request for comfort or for burial rites. This is a raw, audacious belief in the absolute power of Jesus over the ultimate enemy, death. He believes that the touch of this man can reverse the irreversible.

v. 19 And Jesus got up and began to follow him, and so did His disciples.

Jesus's response is immediate. He doesn't finish His discourse. He doesn't send the man away with a promise to come later. He gets up and goes. This is the Good Shepherd responding to the cry of a sheep in distress. The Word of God is powerful, but here we see the Word made flesh is also compassionate and present. He moves toward the place of death and sorrow. His disciples follow, and in doing so, they are about to receive another master class in the identity of their teacher. They are going to a funeral, but it is a funeral that the Resurrection and the Life is about to crash.

v. 20 And behold, a woman who had been suffering from a hemorrhage for twelve years, came up behind Him and touched the fringe of His garment;

Here comes the interruption. And what an interruption. The number twelve is significant. The official's daughter was twelve years old (as we learn from Mark's gospel), and this woman has been suffering for twelve years. The girl's life has been a picture of health and joy for twelve years, now ended. The woman's life has been a picture of slow death and misery for twelve years, now about to end. This woman was in a dreadful state. Her condition made her ceremonially unclean. Everything and everyone she touched would be rendered unclean. She was a perpetual outcast, barred from the temple, isolated from her community. So for her to press through a crowd is an act of incredible daring. She comes up from behind, not wanting to make a scene, not wanting to defile the Master publicly. She just wants to touch the fringe of His garment, the tzitzit, the tassels that reminded a Jew of his obligation to the law. She is reaching out to the one who is the fulfillment of that law.

v. 21 for she was saying to herself, “If I only touch His garment, I will be saved from this.”

This is the engine of her action. It is her internal monologue of faith. It might have been tinged with superstition, a common misunderstanding of how God's power works. But Jesus does not rebuke her for imperfect theology. He sees the heart of the matter, which is her belief that power resided in Him. She believed that the power of life radiating from Jesus was so potent that even the hem of his robe was a sufficient contact point. She is not seeking a process, or a ritual. She is seeking contact with a person. She uses the word "saved," which is significant. While she certainly meant physical healing, the word sozo carries the full weight of salvation and deliverance. She was right. Contact with Jesus saves.

v. 22 But Jesus turning and seeing her said, “Daughter, take courage; your faith has saved you.” At once the woman was saved from her hemorrhage.

Jesus does not let her steal a blessing and slip away. He stops. The procession to the dying girl's house halts. He turns. He wants this private act of faith to become a public testimony. He calls her "Daughter," a term of incredible tenderness. He restores her not just to health, but to the community, to the family of God. He invites her out of the shadows. And He clarifies the transaction. It was not the garment that healed her. "Your faith has saved you." Her faith was the vessel that received the grace He was freely giving. Her faith was the conduit, not the source, of the power. And the healing was instantaneous. "At once." Twelve years of suffering, gone in a moment because of an encounter with the Son of God.

v. 23 And when Jesus came into the official’s house, and saw the flute-players and the crowd in noisy disorder,

The narrative returns to the official's house, and the scene is exactly what one would expect. The professional mourners are already there. The flute players are piping their dirges, and the crowd is in "noisy disorder." This is the world's response to death: a chaotic, loud, performative grief. It is the sound of hopelessness. This is what the world does when it has no answer to the grave. It makes a lot of noise. It is a picture of unbelief going through the motions.

v. 24 He was saying, “Leave; for the girl has not died, but is asleep.” And they began laughing at Him.

Jesus takes command of the situation. His first act is to clear the room. "Leave." The presence of God is about to be manifested, and the cynical, the unbelieving, the professional mourners have no place in it. He then makes a statement that, to them, is utterly absurd. "The girl has not died, but is asleep." Now, Jesus is not denying the biological reality of her death. The father said she was dead, and the mourners know she is dead. Jesus is speaking from a higher reality. From His perspective, death is a temporary condition that must answer to His authority. For the Lord of Life, this death is no more permanent than a nap. The crowd's response is predictable: scorn. They laughed at Him. This is the wisdom of the world confronting the power of God. The world always thinks it knows better. It laughs at the proclamation of resurrection, whether it is the resurrection of a girl in Capernaum or the resurrection of our Lord from a tomb in Jerusalem.

v. 25 But when the crowd had been sent out, coming in, He took her by the hand, and the girl got up.

The laughter of unbelief must be put outside. Miracles are not for the entertainment of scoffers. Once the room is cleared of the noise and cynicism, Jesus acts. He doesn't shout. He doesn't perform an elaborate ritual. He simply takes her by the hand. This is an act of profound tenderness and authority. The touch that the ruler believed in (v. 18) is now applied. And the result is immediate and simple: "the girl got up." The Greek word is egeiro, the same word used for resurrection. Life floods back into her body. The command of the Creator is obeyed by His creation.

v. 26 And this news spread throughout all that land.

Of course it did. You cannot raise the dead in a corner. This is not a private affair. The fame of this act went everywhere. This is the point of miracles. They are not just acts of compassion for individuals; they are signposts pointing to the identity of Jesus Christ. They are proclamations of the gospel in deed. The kingdom of God has come upon you, a kingdom where the unclean are made clean, and the dead are made to live. This news, this gospel, is meant to spread.

Application

This passage is a powerful tonic against our timid and anemic faith. We are confronted with two people who were at the absolute end of their rope. One had his world shattered by the death of his child. The other had her life slowly drained away by a disease that made her an outcast. Both of them did the one thing necessary: they came to Jesus.

The ruler teaches us that no amount of social standing or religious position can insulate us from the devastation of life in a fallen world. But he also teaches us that desperation can be the birthplace of a potent faith. He came to Jesus when there was nowhere else to go, and he found that Jesus was the only one he ever needed.

The woman teaches us that no amount of personal uncleanness or social isolation should keep us from Christ. She broke social and religious protocol to get to Him, driven by a simple, powerful faith: "If I can just touch Him." Our faith may feel messy, theologically imprecise, or even a bit superstitious at times. But if it is directed at the person of Jesus Christ, He honors it. He does not demand perfect understanding before He acts. He responds to the faith that reaches for Him.

Finally, we must see the crowd of mourners in ourselves. How often do we respond to the finality of death and decay with a noisy, hopeless grief? How often do we laugh at the promises of God, deeming them to be foolishness? Jesus says to us, as He said to them, that what we call death, He calls sleep. He has conquered the grave. For those who are in Christ, death has lost its sting. Our task is to believe this, to live in light of this, and to put the laughter of unbelief out of the room of our hearts. We are to take hold of the hand of the one who is the Resurrection and the Life, and trust Him to raise us up also.