I love the story of Jairus’s daughter. Having told the story to the church’s pre-school group, and read it countless times to my own children from various picture books, it feels like part of me. I feel Jairus’s panic and tension as he fights his way in the heat through the sweaty, jostling crowds to a man he has never met, wondering if he is clutching at a straw to save his dying daughter. Jesus’ compassionate decision to come to his house give him a painful surge of hope; then again the crowds close around them, and time and hope drain away as Jesus turns to talk to a sick woman. Finally all hope is destroyed with the message from his household: ‘Don’t bother the teacher any more. Your daughter is dead.’

The story’s power to hold the attention of even small children is impressive. When the pre-school group heard that the sick girl was actually dead, you could have heard a pin drop. At this point I hope that the next sentence made as much impact. For myself in Jairus’s shoes, I can almost see Jesus turn to me, eyes boring into mine, maybe a hand squeezing my shoulder: ‘Don’t worry. Just believe.’

Where did that leave Jairus? I imagine him following the route to his home numbly; all around him are the sights and sounds of bereavement in a world in which his daughter had just died; but beside him is a man who talks only about life, and not worrying, and the girl simply being asleep. Jesus must have been a pillar of light and peace at his side while everything else was darkness and chaos. I imagine Jairus, mentally and emotionally if not physically, clinging to this man, literally his salvation. But could he really believe one person against the mourning and wailing of dozens of people, and the natural course of a fatal illness?

Every time we come to the part where the child’s pale, still little body suddenly sits up in bed, alive and well, I feel as choked up as the first time I read it. My five year old had tears in her eyes and felt the need to spend time under the table. The pre-schoolers clapped. It’s a huge relief.

It’s the middle, though, not the end, that I identify with. We are in the middle of that story. In the end, we learn, Jesus will be vindicated in the eyes of the whole world; suffering will end; death will be finished. For now, we walk in a degree of chaos and darkness, and all the evidence seems to support the noisy mourners. Can we cling to Jesus, not worrying, and just believing? How about even being a pillar of light and peace to other people, people in the grip of a panic like Jairus’s? Can we - normal, rational people like us - not worry and just believe?