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“There Is Room At the Table” 

June 7, 2026 

Rev. Rebecca DePoe 

The Presbyterian Church of Coraopolis 

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26 

9 As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax-collection station, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. 

10 And as he sat at dinner[a] in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting[b] with Jesus and his disciples. 11 When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” 12 But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. 13 Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.” 

18 While he was saying these things to them, suddenly a leader came in and knelt before him, saying, “My daughter has just died, but come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.” 19 And Jesus got up and followed him, with his disciples. 20 Then suddenly a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, 21 for she was saying to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” 22 Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And the woman was made well from that moment. 23 When Jesus came to the leader’s house and saw the flute players and the crowd making a commotion, 24 he said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him.25 But when the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took her by the hand, and the girl got up. 26 And the report of this spread through all of that district. 

This is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.  

This week’s Scripture reading tells the story of Jesus healing a woman who has been bleeding for twelve years. And honestly? I don’t think I’ve ever related more to a healing story.  

Now, to be clear, my situation is nowhere near what this woman endured. Twelve years of suffering is difficult for most of us to even imagine. But four months into recovering from a surgery that I was supposed to only need one month to recover from. I have found myself thinking differently about healing.  

One of the things you learn during a long recovery is that ongoing physical problems are exhausting in ways people often cannot see. At first, everyone checks in. People ask how you are doing. They offer help. But eventually life moves on. While you are still changing bandages, still navigating doctor’s appointments, still waiting to feel like yourself again.  

And after enough time passes, even relatively small daily frustrations begin to wear on you emotionally and spiritually. You begin to understand why people in the Gospels are so desperate to get close to Jesus.  

Because when you have been carrying something for a long time, healing starts to feel less like a luxury and more like hope itself.  

By the time we meet this woman in Matthew’s Gospel, she has been suffering for 12 long years. And it is important for us to understand that this is not simply a medical issue. In Jesus’ day, a condition like this would have affected every part of her life.  

According to the purity laws in Leviticus, ongoing bleeding would have made her ritually unclean. She would not be allowed to worship in the temple, or take part of daily life in the community. Which means this woman was not only physically exhausted- she was socially and spiritually isolated as well.  

After a while, suffering like that does something to a person. It wears down not only the body, but the spirit.  

What strikes me in this passage is how different the unnamed woman is from Jairus, the leader in the synagogue. He is named. He has status and visibility and influence. He walks right up to Jesus and asks him to help him and his daughter.  

The woman does the opposite. She stays hidden in the crowd. She says nothing out loud. She does not ask Jesus to stop. She does not ask for attention. She simply thinks to herself, “if I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.” 

And honestly, I think there is something heartbreaking in that. Because it suggests she has become so accustomed to invisibility that she no longer expects to be noticed. She approaches Jesus hoping for enough healing to survive.  

And in the middle of a crowd. In the middle of urgency. On the way to Jairus’ house. Jesus notices the person everyone overlooked. Reminding us that Jesus is never too busy, too important, or to distracted to stop for suffering people.  

What happens next is one of the most tender moments in Matthew’s Gospel.  

This woman reaches toward Jesus with what I would call fragile faith. This is the kind of faith of someone who has run out of other options.  

If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.  

And honestly, I think many of us know what that kind of faith feels like. That kind of faith is simply the willingness to reach toward God one more time after we’ve experienced disappointment.  

To say one more prayer.  

To show up one more Sunday.  

To hope- cautiously, carefully- that healing or peace or restoration might still be possible.  

And what is remarkable in this story is that Jesus honors even that fragile reaching. The woman seems to hope she can remain anonymous. She reaches quietly from the crowd, perhaps hoping no one will notice her at all. To which Jesus says: 

Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well. 

Daughter.  

This woman is the only women in the Gospels Jesus directly addresses this way. In a world where her illness had isolated her for years, Jesus restores her body and he sense of belonging.  

He gives her dignity.  

He gives her visibility.  

He calls her family.  

And I think that is important because healing in the Gospels is rarely just about physical cure. It is also about restoration to community. Jesus does not simply remove her suffering. He reminds her-publicly- that she belongs.  

And I think that raises an important question for us today: 

Who are the people in our world who begin to feel invisible because their suffering lasts too long? Because the truth is, we are often very good at responding to crises in the short term.  

We bring casseroles.  

We send cards.  

We offer prayers.  

But prolonged suffering can make people quietly disappear.  

People suffering from chronic illness, depression or loneliness.  

Folks exhausted from the physical and emotional toll of caregiving.  

Folks unsure how they will pay their mortgage or deal with the rising cost of groceries and gas this month.  

After enough time passes, the world tends to move on- even when the person’s pain has not. And sometimes the church struggles with this too.  

We prefer stories with quick resolutions. We like healing that happens immediately and cleanly. We are more comfortable with people who can say, “I was struggling, but now everything is fine.” 

But many people do not live there. Many people are still waiting. Still hurting. Still carrying burdens nobody else can fully see. And this Gospel story reminds us that Jesus does not turn away from people in the middle of ongoing pain. Jesus notices them, Jesus stops for them. Jesus speaks to them with tenderness and dignity.  

And perhaps part of our calling as the church is to become the kind of community that does the same.  

A community where people do not have to hide their wounds.  

A community where suffering does not make someone less welcome.  

A community where people are treated with compassion even when their healing is incomplete.  

Because the good news of the Gospel is not that only perfectly healed people belong to God. The good news is that Christ continues to draw near to wounded people with mercy, compassion, and love.  

Which brings us to this table.  

In just a few moments, we will be invited to receive with open hands from the bread and cup.  

And the beautiful thing about communion is that none of us comes to this table because we have everything figured out.  

We come hungry. 

We come weary.  

We come carrying griefs and worries and wounds that other people may or may not be able to see.  

Some of us come today feeling strong in faith. Others come with faith that feels much more like this woman’s faith- fragile, cautious, quietly reaching out and hoping that Christ might meet us here.  

And the good news is that Jesus does not turn fragile people away.  

At Christ’s table, there is room for people who are still healing. Room for people who are tired. Room for people carrying burdens that have lasted far longer than they ever expected. Room for people who feel overlooked or isolated or uncertain.  

Because at this table, no one is untouchable.  

Here, Christ meets us with mercy. 

Here, Christ calls us beloved.  

Here, Christ reminds us that we belong.  

And so today, like the woman reaching for the hem of Jesus’ cloak, we reach toward Christ again. Trusting that even in our weariness, even in our longing, even in our unfinished healing, the grace of God is still able to make us whole.  

There is room at the table for all of us.  

In Jesus’ name, 

Amen.