And Touched The Man

 When Jesus came down from the mountainside, large crowds followed him. A man with leprosy came and knelt before him and said, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” Immediately he was cleansed of his leprosy. Then Jesus said to him, “See that you don’t tell anyone. But go, show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” (Matthew 8:1-4)

 

After reading Matthew Henry’s commentary on this passage decades go, I just can’t get over “Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man.” Lepers weren’t to be touched. Doing so made one unclean, and a procedure had to be followed to be clean again. Scripture doesn’t say Jesus followed it, but there’s no real reason to think He didn’t. But the description of leprosy – as it existed at the time – is such that most people wouldn’t want to touch a victim. Maybe this victim wasn’t as gruesome as some, but given that I’m not one who touches others, and being squeamish, I’m in awe that Jesus could touch the leper.  

It could have been years since anyone touched the man. What’s more, it’s possible that the means by which the man communicated love was through touch. Or, he simply needed what he had been denied for some time.  Yesterday, I challenged those who visit my Facebook wall to be honest with themselves in considering what their soul needs. This guy needed to be healed, but Jesus could have done that from ten miles away, blindfolded, and with his hands tied behind his back. So the touching probably had nothing to do with eliminating leprosy from the man’s body. The man needed to be touched. It restored his humanity in a way nothing else could have.

As much as I want God to miraculously fix my refrigerator and inspire my story, He doesn’t seem willing to do that. That doesn’t mean the refrigerator won’t be fixed or replaced, and that I won’t figure out what to do with my story. But He could do that from ten miles away, blindfolded, and with both hands tied behind his back. The point is not about the refrigerator or the story – it’s about doing something in my life that restores my humanity (or yours)  – that creates His image in us. That’s His touch – in whatever form He chooses.