While we always run the risk of anthropomorphising our
pets, it does seem that some creatures—cats and dogs
especially—like to touch. This is the first time I have
owned a dog so I suppose the novelty of this type of
interaction may have worn off for the seasoned owner. But
I am still fascinated by how much Tonwen wants to make
contact – begging to sit on my lap, lying on the floor
touching my husband’s foot or snuggling in between us on
the sofa. And she is quite happy to do the same to other
human beings too, as anyone who has called by the
Vicarage or the Church Office will attest, she is keen to say
hello.
Touch is important to human beings too—making contact
with another person assures us of being there, occupying
the space if you like. I am of course referring here to
appropriate touch—where the person is happy to receive
the touch of another. We live in a world where any
discussion of touch must acknowledge that we must be
careful and sensitive to how others perceive even the
simplest human contact. This is a right and proper
acknowledgement of the fact that we all have the right to
decide to accept or reject touch.
And it is also the case that some people—no matter how
much they might want a simple hug or a handshake, find
themselves bereft of this human contact. There are many
people in our world who are cut off f rom the
acknowledgement of their humanity, their ‘being there’
that is communicated when one human being reaches out
to another. I remember an elderly lady speaking to me
about this when I was on placement at a hospital during
my ordination training. She described how she had been
surrounded by loving touch all her life—a hug and a kiss
from her husband (now deceased), a cuddle from her
children (now moved away), a tap on the arm or squeeze of
her hand from a lifelong neighbour (now in sheltered
housing some distance away). I had come to say hello but I
think what she really wanted was for me to just hold her
hand.
Appropriate touch affirms us in our humanity and is vital
for good and whole relationships. Perhaps some here today
will remember the press interest in April 1987 when
Princess Diana visited a newly created wing in the London
Middlesex Hospital for patients with HIV/Aids. As she
met the patients she reached out to shake hands with the
men—to touch them—helping to challenge the idea that
the virus could be transmitted by touch.
Being ‘made well’ can involve medical attention and
healing, but sometimes it also involves being reincorporated
into society, where the social and family
bonds are strengthened and deepened. Greeting one
another when we gather together is part of human
interaction—be it a handshake, a bow, a hug or a kiss. In
each culture there will be a range of methods of signifying
bonds and kinship.
In the society of Jesus’s earthly life there were also codes
to follow and rules to obey. This makes the approach of the
woman suffering from haemorrhaging even more shocking
and transgressive. Her flow of blood makes her ritually
unclean, because any woman with a flow of blood was
ritually unclean for a number of days each month and the
Levitical restrictions concerning such times were severe.
For a woman with a constant flow of blood socialising was
nigh on impossible. No one would sit where she had sat,
no one would take a cup or plate from her hand. Food that
she prepared would not have been fit to eat. One might
even go so far as to say that she was effectively ‘dead’ to
society. Yet this woman ran the risk of pushing through a
crowd of people—this woman on the fringes dares to
touch the fringe of his garment. This is doubly
transgressive—touching a man and also making him
ritually unclean by her illness.
Jesus’s reaction is not only to heal her, but to name her
‘daughter’—to restore her to full kinship with her family, to
repair relationships, to reach out to her and to redeem her
from the fringes, from the margins. He names her
‘daughter’ just as precious and beloved as Jairus’s daughter,
lying on her deathbed whose hand Jesus takes in what one
writer describes as ‘a flash of precious intimacy’. This
second action would also have made him ritually unclean—
for to touch someone thought to be dead made the person
impure. This pair of stories—a woman 12 years unclean, a
child of 12 thought to be dead—show us that Jesus was not
willing to be separated from those in need by the norms of
society at the time. He was not repelled or disgusted by
the body and its functions, he was not willing to be
separated from human beings by illness or any perceived
taint.
The God who came to us in flesh—fully human and fully
divine—who was willing to embrace our humanity,
redeems from the margins those who are seen as unclean
or beyond redemption. He speaks with lepers, he dines
with prostitutes or tax collectors, he is fully alive to the
humanity of everyone he meets, asking only that they in
turn are brave enough to face what being human really
means—being made in the image of God.
We are increasingly cut off from this kind of brave,
vulnerable encounter. We sit behind iphones and laptops,
so much of our communication is virtual. This Gospel
passage challenges to look differently, to see others with
eyes of compassion. Both the little girl and the woman in
this story are not amongst the most highly regarded in
their society. Neither of them have any power to speak of.
Yet Jesus, in his compassion, sees their needs and judges
them worthy of his attention, worthy of his touch.
Touch can restore, touch can enable community and affirm
humanity. As we go out into this new week may we too be
attentive to where the touch of a kind word or a smile
might mean all the difference to someone we meet.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit