I’m usually the one that drives when my wife, Cyndy, and I go somewhere. If we’re going further than a few blocks I almost always roll up the sleeve of my right arm, lay my hand in her lap, and say, “Would you rub my little arm please?”
On the one hand it just feels good and I like it. On the other hand it’s about so much more. I want to be touched. I want to be seen, recognized. I want to be reminded that I am real and that I matter. I want to feel connected to someone and something beyond myself.
“Would you rub my little arm?” She’s heard it a million times. I don’t think I am the only one that asks that. I think all of us, in some way, want our little arm to be rubbed, even if we don’t like being rubbed. You see it’s about more than a physical touch. It’s about the touch that makes us well.
That’s the power of touch. Touch has the power to make well. It’s what Jairus and the hemorrhaging women in today’s gospel (Mark 5:21-43) know.
What if those stories about divine touch, the touch that makes well, are happening all the time today? What if that divine touch is not unique or exclusive to Jesus? What if you and I are also carriers of the divine touch?
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