Touch!

 October 11, 2020

“Touch!” 

“MOM!” 

Linda and I endured this little exchange countless times when Matt and Jess were growing up. He would pester her when she wanted to be left alone, culminating in her saying, “Don’t touch me!” whereupon he would extend a single finger and gently touch her on the shoulder, top of the head, nose, etc. We would be off and running. If Matt is reading this, he would say, “She started it,” but in the world of children, who knows? What’s more, who cares? We sure didn’t!

These little incidents came flooding back today in a Sunday School discussion led by none other than Matt. We were considering Hebrews 6, where the author lists a series of doctrines he considers elementary—things we should be far beyond by now. One of these was “the laying on of hands.” The Bible is quite insistent about this matter. Jesus healed people by laying hands on them (Luke 4:40), Timothy is exhorted to exercise the gift he received in the laying on of hands (2 Tim. 1:6), and in Acts 8:9, Simon offered to pay to have the ability to heal by the laying on of hands. Jesus touched lepers who hadn’t experienced human touch in years, and in the OT, the sins of the people were transferred to the scapegoat by the laying on of hands (Leviticus 16:21). 

I was ordained by the laying on of hands. Bishop Yeakel didn’t pussy-foot around with this. As I knelt before him, he all but pushed me into the ground with the weight of his hands. He wanted me to KNOW I was ordained to the ministry of Word, Sacrament, and Order! I can’t say I felt particularly “gifted,” but there was no doubt about my ordination! 

When we pray for people, we often gather round them, laying hands on them for healing, for dedication, for special anointing, or at least, we used to. Government regulations have quashed this time-honored sacred tradition. It’s hard to lay hands on people while practicing social distancing. 

I feel for our elderly in nursing homes who haven’t been touched skin to skin in months. They’ve been starving for a simple hug. Last January, my mother suggested we place her in a nursing home so she wouldn’t be a bother to my brother and sister in law who were caring for her. My sister in law was scheduled for hip surgery and told mom that she couldn’t even think about it until after it was over. Then COVID hit, and we are so grateful for the timing of my sister in law’s surgery. It’s been tough for Judy, but we hug and kiss mom whenever we visit. 

Elementary teachers used to lay a gentle hand on their students. Linda would give hugs and pats to her special ed kids. Children need touch, but it’s verboten these days. I wonder how much emotional damage is being done in the name of keeping kids safe? I’m not a hugger by nature. I’m especially cautious about hugging women with whom I am not related. I was broken of my reticence years ago when I served on our Board of Ordained Ministry, by Mary Martin, a fiery, almost outlandishly gregarious pastor who wouldn’t let me wiggle out of her extravagant hugs. She knew, as I didn’t, how important touch is in Christian ministry.

So I long for the day when as Christians, we stand up and reclaim the ministry of touch—of the laying on of hands. I suspect when we do, there will be an outpouring of healing for which great praise and thanksgiving will ascend to the Father who refused to socially distance himself from sin-sick humans, sending his Son to touch us close up and personal with grace and mercy.