While travelling, a Samaritan approached and, seeing the victim, was moved with compassion. After bandaging the wounds, pouring oil and wine on them, and placing the victim on his own animal, the Samaritan led them to an inn to take care of the one who had been injured. Luke 10:33-34
Who remains untouchable in your life?
Have you ever seen
precious people plagued by merciless disease?
Have you looked
into the anguished faces
of families facing indescribable loss?
Have you noticed the quiet courage
of medical workers and body bearers
defying danger to tend carefully to diseased bodies?
To the lost Christ shows his face;
to the unloved He gives His embrace;
to those who cry in pain or disgrace,
Christ, makes, with His friends, a touching place. John Bell
When curious children come close
to someone’s wound—a cut, a graze, a burn—
instinctively they fear that by touching it they will share the pain.
As adults, we recoil from people in distress,
we might be implicated; drawn into their suffering or shame.
And now the aberration of abuse has eroded trust
and left us fearful;
suspicious of physicality; the touching sacrament that heals.
When Jesus touched leprous skin and blinded eyes,
or took a dead child by the hand,
he opened himself to contamination; being declared unclean.
But didn’t he also
need to make love a real;
palpable and physical connection?
Could he feel
through warm fingertips
the stories carried by the skin?
Did he caress the isolation of illness?
Would he feel the indignities of infirmity?
Could he share the powerlessness of poverty?
The house of God is not a safe place. It is a cross where time and eternity meet, and where we are – or should be – challenged to live more vulnerably, more interdependently. Madeleine L’Engle
Suffering cries out to be shared.
There is no healing
without the risk of holding and being held.
Surely you have felt
the pulsing warmth
of another hand in yours?
Such fragile, mysterious gifts are we;
messengers of a Holy One embodied;
to feel through us the burn of love.
Every human palm,
saturated with sensate receptors,
can stretch out to hold, to feel and reach in to know and heal.
Consider your own hands
that have borne suffering
and been stung by violence.
Hands that have inflicted pain
and been calloused
by rejection or disdain.
These hands have brought consolation
and have known
the touch of tenderness.
Strong and gentle,
anointed to care and caress,
and bring the healing Realm close at hand.
God of day and darkness,
bless these holy hands for the tasks of restoration:
the holding, healing, feeding, and forgiving work of the Gospel.
True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it understands that an edifice that produces beggars needs restructuring. Martin Luther King Jr.
Will you risk being touched by the suffering within the reach of your hands?