St Blaise — Faith That Trusts God with Life and Death

Today’s readings confront us
with one of the hardest realities of human life:
suffering that cannot be fixed,
loss that cannot be reversed,
and pain that no blessing can simply erase.

And yet,
they also reveal
where hope truly lies.

In the first reading from 2 Samuel,
David receives news
he has been dreading.

Absalom is dead.

Not an enemy.
Not a rival king.
But his son.

David’s grief is raw and overwhelming.

“O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom!
Would that I had died instead of you.”

David is inconsolable.

Victory in battle means nothing.
The kingdom is hollow.

This is grief that has no easy answer.

Scripture does not rush past it.
It does not soften it.
It allows us to see a king
utterly broken by loss.

This matters.

Because faith does not protect us
from sorrow.

It gives us somewhere
to bring it.

The Gospel from Mark brings us
into another scene of anguish.

Jairus comes to Jesus
desperate and afraid.

His daughter is dying.

He does not ask politely.
He throws himself at Jesus’ feet.

“Come and lay your hands on her,
so that she may be made well and live.”

On the way,
another crisis interrupts them.

A woman who has been bleeding for twelve years
reaches out to touch Jesus.

She has spent everything.
She has tried everything.

Nothing has helped.

And yet she believes:

“If I touch even his garments,
I will be made well.”

Her faith is quiet,
almost hidden.

But it is real.

Jesus stops.

Not because He must —
but because He wills
to meet her personally.

“Daughter,
your faith has made you well.”

Before Jairus can rejoice,
the news comes.

“Your daughter is dead.
Why trouble the Teacher any further?”

These words echo David’s despair.

What is the point now?

But Jesus says something decisive:

“Do not fear,
only believe.”

Jesus does not promise
that death will never come.

He promises
that death will not have the final word.

He goes to the child.
He takes her by the hand.

“Talitha cumi.”

“Little girl,
I say to you, arise.”

And she does.

Life returns
where all hope seemed lost.

This Gospel is not a guarantee
that every illness will be healed
or every loss reversed.

It is a revelation
of who Jesus is.

He enters suffering.
He confronts death.
He restores life.

This brings us to St Blaise,
whose feast we celebrate today.

Blaise was a bishop and martyr.
He lived at a time
when faith carried real danger.

He is remembered especially
as a healer
and as a protector against illness of the throat.

But we misunderstand St Blaise
if we think of him
as a charm against sickness.

The blessing of throats
is not magic.

It is prayer.

It is the Church asking God
to protect, strengthen, and heal —
according to His will.

St Blaise himself was imprisoned,
tortured,
and killed for his faith.

He was not spared suffering.

But he remained faithful.

The blessing today reminds us
that our bodies matter to God.
That illness is not meaningless.
That prayer is not futile.

But it also reminds us
that faith is not a transaction.

We do not pray to avoid the cross.

We pray
to meet Christ within it.

David’s grief,
Jairus’ fear,
the woman’s desperation,
and Blaise’s witness
all point to the same truth:

God is present
in the places we would rather avoid.

Today, as we receive the blessing,
we are not asking God
to remove all suffering.

We are asking for courage.
For trust.
For healing —
of body,
of heart,
and of soul.

“Do not fear,
only believe.”

That is not an easy command.

But it is spoken
by the One
who has power over life and death.

May St Blaise intercede for us,
that in sickness and in health,
in fear and in hope,
we may place our lives
into the hands of Christ,
who alone brings true healing
and everlasting life.