Let me quote the actual words of Luke 8:40–48, this time from the New Revised Standard Version:
As he went, the crowds pressed in on him.
Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years; and though she had spent all she had on physicians, no one could cure her. She came up behind him and touched the fringe of his clothes, and immediately her hemorrhage stopped.
Then Jesus asked, “Who touched me?”
When all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the crowds surround you and press in on you.”
But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; for I noticed that power had gone out from me.”
When the woman saw that she could not remain hidden, she came trembling; and falling down before him, she declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched him, and how she had been immediately healed.
He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
This is a story from the Bible about a woman.
This is a story from the Bible about a woman who could not afford health care.
This is a story from the Bible about a woman who could not afford reproductive health care.
This is a story from the Bible about a woman who broke religious rules because she could not afford reproductive health care.
This is a story from the Bible that tells us how Jesus responds to a woman who broke religious rules because she could not afford reproductive health care.
The Gospel of the Lord.
So if some Christian official, authority, scholar, author, activist, advocate, politico, pundit, pastor, priest, bishop, cardinal or pope tries to tell you that religious rules trump women’s need for reproductive health care, ask them about this story. Remind them of it.
Remind them that Jesus rather explicitly showed us otherwise.
Rather than speak out about the connections between folk and country in the war-torn, politically contentious ‘60s, he simply showed up at folk festivals and played, at least when he and Flatt weren’t at the Grand Ole Opry. During the long-hair/ short-hair skirmishes of the ‘60s and ‘70s, he simply showed up and played, with Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and The Byrds. And when staunch fans of bluegrass - a genre that would not exist in a recognizable form without Mr. Scruggs’ banjo - railed against stylistic experimentation, Mr. Scruggs happily jammed away with sax player King Curtis, sitar virtuoso Ravi Shankar, piano man Elton John and anyone else whose music he fancied.