“Can we pray with you, Paul?”
“Yes. I'll hold your hand.”
Hold my hand. He wants to hold my hand
as we pray. I look at his hand. It is dirty. His hand is dry and
calloused and dirty. His nails are bitten shorter than mine (we
share the same nasty habit) and are black with filth. We have just
had lunch and he is a bit messy when he eats. He wants to hold my
hand. He reaches across the table, past his dirty plate. Expectant.
I scream a little on the inside. My hand is heavy. How much time
has passed? Feels too long. Stop hesitating. What is my face
saying? Fix my face. He needs touch. He desires personal contact.
He needs to know I love him. Like someone jumping into a cold pool,
I hold my breath and take the plunge. I grab his hand. It is warm.
His grip is firm. He bows his head to pray, and we (my coworker and
I) love him.
I have read a few books over the past
couple of years that talk about Jesus' ministry being one that makes
touch a priority. Not on purpose. I didn't go looking for books
that would point out how very unlike Jesus I am in this regard, but
alas, here I am. I said I wanted to be more like Jesus, to love as
He does, and that includes (but is not limited to) touching people.
One author I read last year pointed out that Jesus could have healed
all the people he did without ever laying a hand on them as he did
for the centurion's servant in Matthew 8. But he didn't. Instead, he packed spitty mud
on a blind man's eyes and stuck His fingers in a deaf man's ears. He
touched them where they were sick. He also allowed people to touch
Him. Invited it, even. One woman grabbed his cloak and another kissed
His feet. Matthew 14: 34-36 tells us that a crowd brought all their
sick to Jesus and begged him to let the sick touch at least the
fringe of His robe, and all who touched him were healed. He sat and
let the crowd take turns touching Him. That's amazing to me. Jesus
loved and accepted love through physical touch.
That all brings me to this – what do
my hands look like? They are certainly not perfect. They are small
and always cold. My nails are bitten and sometimes bleeding. I have
hangnails and torn or ragged cuticles. And they are far from clean. My sins
are many. But, because of Jesus' great love, He sees my dirty,
imperfect hand and reaches out without hesitating. For this, I am
thankful.
“One day some parents brought their
little children to Jesus so he could touch and
bless them. But when the disciples saw this, they scolded the
parents for bothering him. Then Jesus called for the children and
said to the disciples, “Let the children come to me.” Luke 18:
15, 16 (emphasis mine)
Chanelle
