Touch

It is traditional on the Sunday after Easter to read the gospel of John, the well-known "doubting Thomas” story that we have just heard. Even though all the other readings are on a three-year cycle, this reading always comes up right after Easter. It is as if, the church in her wisdom says, we know that Christians believe in the resurrection, but just in case there are a few doubters in the room, we’ll throw this story at you every year to quell any second thoughts. But of course that wouldn’t apply to us would it? 

It probably does apply to all of us at times, and maybe to some of us today, to the extent that it is hard for us modern scientific types to really understand and accept the Resurrection. But as we see, it was hard for the early church too. The story of Thomas, with a mysterious body of the Lord, and a disciple who gets to touch him, was written for skeptics of any age, yet it may leave us with more questions than answers. 

The first reading, also from the gospel of John, is one chosen especially for today’s theme of touch.  It is the story of Jesus washing the feet of the disciples. You will note that for John, this story takes the place of the last meal, which Jesus shared with his disciples. For John, this is theologically profound:  the washing of the feet is considered to be the equivalent of the sacred meal, the origin of our holy communion. For John, being ministered to by Jesus in a very visceral and bodily way is the same as sharing the bread and drinking the cup.  In both our readings, the question before us is what does it mean to   be touched by the Holy? 

Will you pray with me?

May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all our hearts, praise you,  O God, as we meditate on your wisdom for the benefit of our lives together and our service to You. Amen. 

Have you ever strained a muscle on a hike or playing tennis? Or pulled your back when lifting a package? Felt the pain of a frozen shoulder or an aching hip? If cold or heat, pain relievers, and rest don’t help, then orthopedics, physical therapy, a chiropracty, or a massage therapy might.  When we are in pain, the one thing on our mind is the desire for it to end.  We want to go away from the pain, or more precisely, have the pain go away from us.  We don’t like to be in pain. 

But we often find is that the more we want pain to go away, the more we resist, the more it persists.  The more we push against pain, the more it pushes back towards us. Some treatments for muscular pain require us do just the opposite of what we would naturally do. So a physical therapist will put pressure on the muscle that is hurting and a massage therapist will push down on the trigger points—the knots and the aches and the tight places—in order to release them.  

When that happens, there is relief. But the treatment itself can hurt.  Going right into the places of pain can be unpleasant.  But to get out of pain you may have to feel more deeply into your pain. And therapists know this: They have to touch us in these vulnerable places so that they can help us heal. 

In today’s stories, we have two examples of how Jesus touches his disciples. In the first story, he washes their feet, getting close to them in their most sweaty, dusty and rough places and ministering to them in exactly the way that they would reject. So much so that Peter practically jumps out of his skin with anxiety when it is his turn to be washed. He can’t abide the idea that Jesus wants to touch him in this most down to earth place.

Now, over time we Christians we have been ambivalent about this story, probably because it has a similar effect on us as did Peter.  In some churches, the washing of the feet does take place on Maundy Thursday, but in a highly ritualized way. Catholic priests wash the feet of 12 persons in the congregation. Often only the men.  In some Episcopal churches, any one can come forward to have feet washed by the clergy.  But most don’t go with really dirty feet. The rite is meant to show a pattern of service. It isn’t a practical act or a way to get your feet clean.

In the Church of the Brethren, a less liturgically oriented community, foot washing is held once or twice a year, in a mindful way, imitating the Christ and bringing the community to a full embodiment of this gospel story. It actually replaces Holy Communion for the Brethren.  They take out towels and bowls and pitchers and each person is attended to with great care.   I once participated in such a ceremony and found it quite moving. And yes, I did go there with clean feet, but came away cleansed.    

The disciples came as they were, straight from the dusty roads of Jerusalem, with calluses and dirt between toes and under toenails. And Jesus washed them, just as they were.  Ministered them as he found them. In the painful places where the sandals rubbed and the blisters chaffed. And touched them, just as they were.  

In our second reading, the scene is different, but touch is also significant. It is after the resurrection, in another room, the Lord appears to the disciples.  They rejoice to see him. Thomas is not there. Later, he learns of the Lord’s appearance. He must have been terribly disappointed. Can you imagine missing such an opportunity? He finds himself frustrated, and wracked by doubt.  Rather than run away, he does the opposite: he goes toward his feelings. He demands more. He wants to see for himself and he wants to touch the Christ so that he can be sure.  A week later, his request is met.   The Christ tells him, touch me, touch the wounds, and put your hand in my side. And Thomas does, going forward with questions and wonderings and finding his answer in the encounter with Christ.

The story goes on to make a point:  “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” As we recall the history we realize that the early church had a problem. Those first witnesses, the first generation that had seen the Lord was dying and the second coming didn’t arrive as quickly as they expected.  So to help people to go on, to rally the faithful, this story was developed.  They needed help to believe, and so do we. 

But we all know that being told to do something is not very convincing. We have to come to it on our own, and that is where touch joins touch. We can never have that proof that Thomas demanded but no proof will ever reach us if we have not been already touched in a different way, in a personal way. 

Upon reflection, our way of thinking of this story may be backwards. Its not because we touch that we believe but because we have been touched.  It may not be about touching God but being touched by God, especially when we are most vulnerable and needy and in pain.  Perhaps what we want is to feel something, feel a connection, and be touched in a way that can make a difference in the way we live our lives.   

If our faith means anything, in the face of adversity and unsolvable problems, when a cure is not available, when rupture cannot be repaired our challenge is to feel that God is with us through and in the situation. Rather than feel alone or abandoned and disconnected from God, we want to be touched by God in our pain. 

And, if our faith means anything, in our daily life, it means to find a presence in the little things and not outside of them. I was reminded of this last week at the Deacons meeting, when Susie Hawthorne led devotions. She recounted how in preparation, she searched in her memory and experience for just the right words to express an Aha moment for her fellow deacons.  But those words didn’t come. So instead she told of the small moments that touched her, from a conversation with her grandson to connecting with Chris over a game and reminiscing with her Dad while looking through her theatre scrapbook. And she ended her reflection with this quote from the writer and theologian Frederick Buechner: “Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is, in the boredom and pain of it, not less than in the excitement and gladness. Touch taste and smell your way to the holy and hidden parts of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments and life itself is grace.” 

Touch taste and smell your way… 

It was a lovely reflection of how all the moments of life are filled with grace and can touch us, if we are willing to go towards them in faith.  The little moments aren’t so little, are they?

As embodied persons, we touch things around us all the time --a hot stove, the hard pew beneath our bodies, the press of the gas pedal and the force of the brake. We use touch to navigate the social relationships we have and if we don't get enough hugs and handshakes, we suffer.  We need touch to thrive, from our parents, our lovers, friends, and even the touch of an angel or two from time to time. Without physical touch we wouldn’t really be human--we would be disembodied and simply spiritual beings, with no place to put our feet up and call home. 

But beyond physical touch, we also want to be touched by meaning, music, art, and nature.  And most especially when we hurt, even as we resist the touch that hits right on the spot that aches, that is where we need to be touched the most.  

And it is here that our stories join. In the first, in the upper room, Jesus touches the disciples when he washes their dirty, sweaty feet. The parts that they would rather keep from him. They protest, with Peter giving voice: Jesus, don’t wash my feet, ever!   Jesus rebukes him and says that he must, and moreover, that the disciples should wash each other’s feet, as Jesus has done. 

And in the second story, after the Resurrection, Thomas learns that from touching that he has been touched by grace.  The wounds of Christ heal him from unbelief and doubt; internal states of pain that now are relieved. He has taken the risk to show his need and uncertainty and is met by the Christ who touches him with love and not criticism.  

In being touched and touching the wounds we find belief in Presence and belief in new life. We learn that the places that hurt are the places of healing. And come to know that the mystery of suffering cannot be grasped fully but can be acknowledged and even accepted in faith, when one has a personal encounter with Christ. 

When we go towards our pain, open ourselves beyond embarrassment or vulnerability, we find God meets us there. The parts that we would hide and conceal, and don’t want God to know, are met by a wounded Christ who calls to us to touch him and be touched by him.  Perhaps, then in conclusion, we can add something new to the list of beatitudes that Jesus once spoke : Blessed are we who ask to be touched, for we will be. Alleluia and Amen.