Who Touched Me?
October 15, 2016 | Reflections from Sr Antonia
Have you ever heard Jesus say these words and trembled, knowing it was you who touched him? Have you ever tentatively reached out to Him with a trembling hand or a quavering voice, afraid because of your unworthiness yet desperate because of your need for healing?
She did. She dared to touch Him.
Touching someone is a daring thing to do, especially in this day and age of heightened awareness to abuse. Yet… we as human beings touch and are touched in many ways, not all of which are physical.
A beautiful scene touches us,
A pitiful sight touches us,
The loyalty and devotion of a canine friend touches us,
The kindness of a stranger touches us,
The simplicity of a child touches us,
Beautiful music touches us,
and all without a single expression of the physical sense of touch.
Something or someone touches us and we are moved; something moves us and we are touched; something is elicited from deep within us and we are changed.
I sometimes wonder whether we are afraid of allowing goodness in all its forms touch us. I sometime wonder if we are afraid of allowing ourselves to really, really be touched by beauty, by the suffering of others. Do we hold back? Does our society disdain real depth of feeling in favour of the superficial sentimentality and artificiality of relationships and their disposability; of people once difficulties are encountered? Do we really want to be involved when there is heartbreak to be acknowledged, physical dependability to be embraced, human beings to simply be loved without expecting anything in return?
This melting moment was a sudden and unexpected one for me, perhaps a little like the moment when Jesus’ heart melted in response to the touch of the woman with the haemorrhage. I was walking along the cloister, rather hurriedly and with a certain air of preoccupation, when I glanced absentmindedly at the periodical stand as I passed. And there is was.
A painting ‘Who Touched Me’ by Ed de Guzman.
I was spellbound. Yes it was the artwork itself in all its magnificence, but even more it was the words, so impelling; so vibrant; as vibrant as the painting they captioned. “Who touched me”?