Touch can be a touchy topic in churches. For wise, sensitive, pastoral reasons. There are always some in congregations who long to give a big squishy hug to friends, or even strangers; and others who want to run a mile from that kind of thing, however well intended. Many dither somewhere in-between; a handclasp at the Peace or a gentle stroke on the shoulder probably being okay; but many variables still come into play. Does person X carry a history of being physically abused, perhaps? If so, nothing that happens in church should revive horrific memories and wound even more. Does person Y seek out opportunities for physical contact in church in a way that raises questions about their background and motivations? Safeguarding awareness and training is vital in forming us to be ‘as wise as serpents and gentle as doves’. Touch is complex. Nobody walks in somebody else’s skin.

Did Jesus object to the touch he received when a woman, tormented by uncontrolled bleeding, sneaked up behind him and grabbed the fringe of his cloak? She would have been regarded as ritually unclean after all. In the Gospel of Luke’s account of this healing (chapter 8) Jesus clearly asks, ‘Who touched me?’ Was that an angry word? But back in Matthew’s account Jesus simply turns and affirms the woman who dared to touch. Her motivation, remember, was only that she longed to be well. Lifted from the curse of the bleeding, of course, but to know restoration in society and fullness of life also. She knew enough of Jesus to see that he embodied God’s powers and here was possibility. So, she reached out to touch. Why wouldn’t she? And her choice to do that was daring, risky, exposing in the extreme and, in the religious context of her time, just wrong. Amazingly, Jesus safeguards that choice by first encouraging her, ‘Take heart.’ And then by affirming her, ‘Your faith has made you well.’ The touch and faith combo worked, in this instance.

A girl-child, daughter of an unnamed leader, is the focus of the other healing story today. When Mark tells the story, Dad is named as a synagogue leader called Jairus. Here, a father specifically requests healing touch for his daughter who, he says, has just died. Imagine the rawness of his shock and the passionate energy flowing from him to do anything to bring her back. He appeals to Jesus, ‘Come and lay your hand on her and she will live.’ The safe, gentle, powerful, Godly touch of Jesus is needed here, requested by a trusting parent. It’s worth noting, though, that we don’t hear the daughter’s voice at all. Jesus chooses to dismiss those already busy with noisy rituals of mourning – and he’s mocked for that – so he can visit the child at home and take her hand in his, with parental permission. Jesus is trusted to bring into that situation, through touch, only what is wholesome, life-giving and restorative. The girl’s flesh, blood, bones and breath are revived. She gets up to face the day. It seems her father knew where to go, whom to trust and what was safe and right to ask for so that her life, far from being damaged, would be restored and blessed with fresh hope.

Do you suppose the woman who reached out for healing touch on her own initiative and the daughter who received healing touch at the request of her dad ever had a conversation with each other? I’d love to have been a silent listener-in if so. Do you suppose, recalling their experiences, that those women, the older and the younger, ever found themselves needing to process things in later life? ‘The jostling and insults of that crowd; their jeers are still in my nightmares.’ ‘The shock of that stranger with his hand in mine as I suddenly woke up; I sat bolt upright!’

Whether the two of them recollected together or not, our hope and prayer for them, and for all who reach out for wholeness today, is that touch in Jesus’ name and that of Christ’s Church should only ever heal not harm. May we continue to learn the lessons we need to learn from one another and from the heart of God.