I was twelve years old when I first got my period. I remember it distinctly because it was the sixth-grade end-of-year pool party at a friend’s house and I had to decide if I wanted to wear a tampon (a terrifying thought for one so new to menstruating!). But I also remember the feeling of pride I felt in myself and saw in my mother’s eyes and how very connected I felt to my body. Of course, as someone raised and conditioned as a female in the United States, I was already familiar with how disconnected from my body I could feel – the disappointment that it didn’t live up to impossible standards set before me and the ways in which I felt inadequate. But with my first period, I felt powerful and adult.
In my experience, most people who menstruate have a complicated relationship to their bodies and that function in particular. First periods can be celebrated like mine was or hidden in shame. Periods can signal relief or grief depending on one’s fertility or family planning intentions. They can be painful, and often show up at inopportune moments. But they are part of how the bodies of over 50% of the world’s population function. To ignore the reality of periods is to ignore the embodied experience of so many of our neighbors.
One of my favorite stories of Jesus is the story of the hemorrhaging woman and Jairus’ daughter, found in Matthew, Mark, and Luke (the “synoptic gospels” for Bible nerds). A woman who had been hemorrhaging, presumably from her uterus, for twelve years is desperate for relief. Doctors and religious leaders had written her off as untreatable, not able to offer her relief from the pain in her body and separated her from the community because of ritual cleanliness restrictions. Jesus is her last resort.
Yet, she doesn’t go directly to Jesus. The years of shame and disappointment perhaps have convinced her that her need is not worthy of his time. But she says to herself, “If I only touch his cloak...” She is convinced that a mere graze will be enough to bring relief.
And she’s right. A simple touch from Jesus brings healing to a twelve-year pain. However, it’s not the quiet, unobtrusive act she had hoped. Jesus stops the crowd in its tracks to ask who has touched him. He brings this woman front and center, looks her in the eyes with grace and compassion, and in doing so brings healing not only to her body but to her heart and spirit.
This story is embedded in the story of Jesus healing Jairus’ daughter, who was twelve-years-old and dying. It is the rush to her bedside that the unnamed woman interrupts. Word then reaches Jesus that the girl is dead. Once again, Jesus doesn’t let the girl simply slip away, but continues to her side and calls to her, “Talitha cum,” “little girl, get up.” And the twelve-year-old girl lives.
These two women are connected by several story points – twelve years, their body failing them, their need for Jesus’ intervention. And in both cases, I’m struck by Jesus’ deep care for the whole of their plight. One can easily imagine how many times the woman might have heard “God won’t give you more than you can handle...” in her struggle or how many “God just needed another angel” condolences were forming on the lips of well-intentioned neighbors in response to the girl’s death. But Jesus is not content with empty spiritual platitudes. He offers real, bodily relief and healing.
These stories point us to a Savior who cares about our bodies and brings healing and wholeness spiritually and physically. They point to a Savior who understands the complexities of having a female body in patriarchal systems, and who seeks to free us from those constraints. And they point to a Savior who is unafraid of the needs of women and girls and those who transcend gender norms.
So as LAMPa kicks off our campaign to address period poverty in Pennsylvania (on March 8 - my birthday!), we lift up these stories of Jesus as our example and our grounding. Jesus looks at this woman in need of healing with compassion, at Jairus’ daughter in need of raising up with determination, and at twelve-year-old Erin entering the complexities of menstruation with concern for the whole of what that means. Providing period products in schools is one way to care for the bodies of menstruating students, making sure they don’t have to miss school because they can’t afford what many take for granted. It’s not all that’s needed to end period poverty, but it is a step to show that we follow our Savior in caring about the reality of these bodily needs.
If Jesus cares about the body of the hemorrhaging woman and of Jairus’ daughter, then he cares about mine, and I am called to care about others. Thinking about my first period helps me remember how scary and exhilarating and complicated being a menstruating person is, and if we can take even a small step to make that less scary for students today, we should. Providing period products in schools might seem like a small step, but it might be like the small touch of a cloak, just enough to give healing and dignity where others would not dare to go.
Jesus is calling, “talitha cum;” let’s rise and follow him in our care for the experience of students to help them feel connected and whole in their bodies and in their spirit.
Action: LAMPa is holding a postcard campaign to encourage the inclusion of $3 million to provide period products in public schools. Go here to find out more and to host a postcard writing campaign in your community!
Further Learning: Point of privilege from Pastor Erin – If this sort of thing is your jam, follow my friend, Rev. Karie Charlton, the Period Pastor for more writings on the intersection of faith and menstruation, and listen to her as a guest on Spirited Animation, a podcast I do with my husband, where we discuss the movie Turning Red.