THE TOUCH THAT HEALS
Colossians 3:12; Matthew 8:1-4
Read at beginning of service:
Colossians 3:12 (NIV)
12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.
INTRODUCTION
For the last two weeks I’ve been speaking about Supernatural Transformation. A transformation that God wants to work in all of our lives. It is important to understand – as I’ve emphasized the last two Sundays – that the key to transformation centers on the Heart of Christ. God wants to transform our hearts to be like His heart! I believe that as we fix our eyes on Christ we are able to see His heart in action and recognize areas of our heart that need to be replaced by His heart. There is an interesting statement I found that illustrates the kind of transformation that God wants to take place in our hearts.
God’s desire for us to be transformed can be better understood through the use of a thermometer and a thermostat. We are being conformed to the world when we live as a thermometer and simply reveal the climate around us. Transformation means living like a thermostat so that God works through you to set the climate of the environment in which you live. (TRANSFORMATION, Autoillustrator.com)Think about this statement for a minute. God wants to work through YOU to change the climate of the environment in which you live. And He does this by changing your heart.
When Jesus walked this planet it was quite evident by His life that he lived like a thermostat – not a thermometer. You find that even though Jesus went where the "sinners" were – He did not reflect the environment that He was in but instead affected change in the hearts that many considered hopeless cases. And He still does this today.
Last week we talked about a characteristic of Christ’s heart that when applied to our hearts proves essential in freeing us from the pain, bitterness, rage, and anger towards others for what they have done to us. It frees us from the trapped feeling of being "stuck" with someone. It frees us from the injuries and emotional scars that relive themselves in the screen of our minds. It is not fleeing, it is not fighting, it is forgiving. Christ has a heart of forgiveness and when we give Him freedom to plant forgiveness in our hearts allowing us to forgive as He has forgiven we are now able to experience the release of the hold "stuckititis" (unforgiveness) has had on our lives. Forgiveness is the characteristic that brings freedom in our own lives.
Today, I’d like to talk about a characteristic of Christ’s heart that goes hand in hand with forgiveness. Whereas forgiveness is the characteristic that helps the pain we carry – compassion helps the pain others carry.
To illustrate the compassion found in Jesus’ heart we are going to look at the story found in Matthew 8:1-4.
Matthew 8:1-4 (NIV)
1 When he came down from the mountainside, large crowds followed him. 2 A man with leprosy came and knelt before him and said, "Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean." 3 Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. "I am willing," he said. "Be clean!" Immediately he was cured of his leprosy. 4 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."
PRAY
THE OUTCAST
At first glance this story is yet another account of a remarkable, miraculous encounter between a person in need of healing and Jesus Christ. The New Testament is filled with such encounters and as we read this story we often catalogue it away in our minds, "Yup, uh-huh, here we go – another one – the crowds followed Jeus…yada-yada-yada and poof Miracle number 165!"
But we must remember that to us what is merely a miraculous healing is to the man a life-changing love-filled compassionate touch.
Think about this for a minute – what would this man who had leprosy have felt when Jesus reached out and not only healed him but touched Him. To help us have a little bit more insight into what has happened in this story I’d like to read Max Lucado’s thoughts about what this man’s life story might have been.
For five years no one touched me. No one. Not one person. Not my wife. Not my child. Not my friends. No one touched me. They saw me. They spoke to me. I sensed love in their voices. I saw concern in their eyes. But I didn’t feel their touch. There was no touch. Not once. No one touched me.
What is common to you, I coveted. Handshakes. Warm embraces. A tap on the shoulder to get my attention. A kiss on the lips to steal a heart. Such moments were taken from my world. No one touched me. No one bumped into me. What I would have given to be bumped into, to be caught in a crowd, for my shoulder to brush against another’s. But for five years it has not happened. How could it? I was not allowed on the streets. Even the rabbis kept their distance from me. I was not permitted in a synagogue. Not even welcome in my own house.
I was untouchable. I was a leper. And no one touched me. Until today
In New Testament times, leprosy was the most dreaded disease. It caused the body to decay into a mass of ulcers and sores. All the bodies extremities such as fingers and toes would curl and become clenched. There would be skin blotches appear that were discolored and reek of death. Some types of leprosy numbed never endings making the person insensitive to the loss of fingers, toes or other parts of the body. The worst thing about leprosy is that it was really a extremely slow death. It was like living in a corpse.
But there were not only physical consequences to leprosy—the social consequences were just as if not even more severe. Because leprosy was considered contagious, the leper was quarantined, banished to a leper colony.
The memory of this man must have been sharp and painful.
One year during harvest my grip on the scythe seemed weak. The tips of my fingers numbed. First one finger then another. Within a short time I could grip the tool but scarcely feel it. By the end of the season, I felt nothing at all. The hand grasping the handle might as well have belonged to someone else – the feeling was gone. I said nothing to my wife, but I know she suspected something. How could she not? I carried my hand against my body like a wounded bird.
One afternoon I plunged my hands into a basin of water intending to wash my face. The water reddened. My finger was bleeding, bleeding freely. I didn’t even know I was wounded. How did I cut myself? On a knife? Did my hand slide across the sharp edge of metal? It must have, but I didn’t feel anything.
"It’s on your clothes, too," my wife said softly. She was behind me. Before looking at her, I looked down at the crimson spots on my robe. For the longest time I stood over the basin, staring at my hand. Somehow I knew my life was begin forever altered."Shall I go with you to tell the priest?" she asked.
"No," I sighed, "I’ll go alone."
I turned a looked into her moist eyes. Standing next to her was our three-year-old daughter. Squatting, I gazed into her face and stroked her cheek, saying nothing. What could I say? I stood and looked again at my wife. She touched my shoulder, and with my good hand, I touched hers. I would be our final touch.
Five years have passed, and no one has touched me since, until today.
The priest didn’t touch me. He looked at my hand, now wrapped in a rag. He looked at my face, now shadowed in sorrow. I’ve never faulted him for what he said. He was only doing as he was instructed. He covered his mouth and extended his hand, palm forward. "You are unclean," he told me. With one pronouncement I lost my family, my farm, my future, my friends.
My wife met me at the city gates with a sack of clothing and bread and coins. She didn’t speak. By now friends had gathered. What I saw in their eyes was a precursor to what I’ve seen in every eye since: fearful pity. As I stepped out, they stepped back. Their horror of my disease was greater than their concern for my heart—so they, and everyone else I have seen since, stepped back.To us, the social banishment of a leper seems harsh and cruel. But this is not the only culture to do so. We may not build colonies or cover our mouths in their presence, but we certainly build walls and duck our eyes. And a person needn’t have leprosy to feel quarantined.
The truth is folks, we live in a world filled with people who feel isolated like lepers. People who need a compassionate touch.
There once was a man who was so despondent, his spirit so torn up by care and worry, that he decided to end it all. He started to walk across the city to a bridge, from which he planned to jump. However, as he walked, he made another decision. He said to himself, "If, on the way, I should meet someone with a friendly disposition, someone whose manner would bring a ray of hope into in my life, I will turn back." End of story. We don’t know whether the man jumped or not. But the story begs the question: If, while walking toward the bridge, that man had met you, what would he have done? (Autoillustrator.com, COMPASSION/HIS LAST CHANCE)Compassion is the difference between life and death in some people’s lives.
I can think back to my childhood at the cruelties that were often played on some of my classmates because they were a little bit different than the rest of us or because they came from homes that were of a lower social class. I remember one boy in particular who was always made fun of because He was a hyperactive kid and because of this He was easily disturbed and would lose his temper frequently. Like the leper this kid suffered from a condition he didn’t create and like the leper, he was put outside of the village.
People who have been divorced know this feeling. The handicapped know this feeling. The unemployed have felt it, as have the less educated. Some people shy away from unmarried moms or from families who have a troubled history. We like to keep our distance from the depressed and the terminally ill. There are nursing homes for the elderly, and centers for the addicted. Have you ever walked down a street and seen a handicapped person that is known for their overt friendliness and avoided looking in their face so as not to have to carry on a conversation with this person. Or have you ever been trapped in a conversation with someone you don’t want to be with and have looked around hoping that no one else thinks you actually started it!
Only God knows how many people there are who are in voluntary exile—individuals living quiet, lonely lives infected by their fear of rejection and their memories of the last time they tried. They choose not to be touched at all rather than risk being hurt again.
Folks, compassion is needed in a world filled with little.
Oh, how I repulsed those who saw me. Five years of leprosy had left my hands gnarled. Tips of my fingers were missing as were portions of an ear and my nose. At the sight of me, fathers grabbed their children. Mothers covered their faces. Children pointed and stared.
The rags on my body couldn’t hide my sores. Nor could the wrap on my face hide the rage in my eyes. I didn’t even try to hide it. How many nights did I shake my crippled fist at the silent sky? "What did I do to deserve this?" But never a reply.
Some think I sinned. Some think my parents sinned. I don’t know. All I know is that I grew so tired of it all: sleeping in the colony, smelling the stench. I grew so tired of the damnable bell I was required to wear around my neck to warn people of my presence. As if I needed it. One glance and the announcements began, "Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!"
Several weeks ago I dared walk the road to my village. I had no intent of entering. Heaven knows I only wanted to look again upon my fields. Gaze again upon my home. And see, perchance, the face of my wife. I did not see her. But I saw some children playing in a pasture. I hid behind a tree and watched them scamper and run. Their faces were so joyful and their laughter so contagious that for a moment, for just a moment, I was no longer a leper. I was a farmer. I was a father. I was a man.
Infused with their happiness, I stepped out from behind the tree, straightened my back, breathed deeply...and they saw me. Before I could retreat, they saw me. And they screamed. And they scattered. One lingered, though, behind the others. One paused and looked in my direction. I don’t know, and I can’t say for sure, but I think, I really think, she was my daughter. And I don’t know, I really can’t say for sure. But I think she was looking for her father.
That look is what made me take the step I took today. Of course it was reckless. Of course it was risky. But what did I have to lose? He calls himself God’s Son. Either he will hear my complaint and kill me or accept my demands and heal me. Those were my thoughts. I came to him as a defiant man. Moved not by faith but by a desperate anger. God had wrought this calamity on my body, and he would either fix it or end it.
But then I saw him, and when I saw him, I was changed. You must remember, I’m a farmer, not a poet, so I cannot find the words to describe what I saw. All I can say is that the Judean mornings are sometimes so fresh and the sunrises so glorious that to look at them is to forget the heat of the day before and the hurt of times past. When I looked at his face, I saw a Judean morning.
Before he spoke, I knew he cared. Somehow I knew he hated this disease as much as, no—more—than I hate it. My rage became trust, and my anger became hope.
From behind a rock, I watched him descend a hill. Throngs of people followed him. I waited until he was only paces from me, then I stepped out.
"Master!"
He stopped and looked in my direction as did dozens of others. A flood of fear swept across the crowd. Arms flew in front of faces. Children ducked behind parents. "Unclean!" someone shouted. Again, I don’t blame them. I was a huddled mass of death. But I scarcely heard them. I scarcely saw them. Their panic I’d seen a thousand times. His compassion, however, I’d never beheld. Everyone stepped back except him. He stepped toward me. Toward me.Five years ago my wife had stepped toward me. She was the last to do so. Now he did. I did not move. I just spoke. "Lord, you can heal me if you will." Had he healed me with a word, I would have been thrilled. Had he cured me with a prayer, I would have rejoiced. But he wasn’t satisfied with speaking to me. He drew near me. He touched me. Five years ago my wife had touched me. NO one had touched me since. Until today."I will." His words were as tender as his touch. "Be healed!"
Energy flooded my body like water through a furrowed field. In an instant, in a moment, I felt warmth where there had been numbness. I felt strength where there had been atrophy. My back straightened, and my head lifted. Where I had been eye level with his belt, I now stood eye level with his face. His smiling face.
He cupped his hands on my cheeks and drew me so near I could feel the warmth of his breath and see the wetness in his eyes. "Don’t tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done."
And so that is where I am going. I will show myself to my priest and embrace him. I will show myself to my wife, and I will embrace her. I will pick up my daughter, and I will embrace her. And I will never forget the one who dared to touch me. He could have healed me with a word. But he wanted to do more than heal me. He wanted to honor me, to validate me, to christen me. Imagine that…unworthy of the touch of a man, yet worthy of the touch of God.
(all italicised text [except scripture quotations] is taken from Max Lucado’s book, Just Like Jesus)the touch that heals
What is so significant about the touch of Christ in this man’s life is not that the man was healed—in fact it wasn’t even the touch that healed him, it was the words of Christ—was that the loneliness that this had carried around with him for so long was lifted.
The isolation that he had felt for so long as a leper was replaced by a feeling of belonging. That is the healing power that is found in a compassionate touch.
Mark 1:40-44 (NIV)
40 A man with leprosy came to him and begged him on his knees, "If you are willing, you can make me clean." 41 Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. "I am willing," he said. "Be clean!" 42 Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cured. 43 Jesus sent him away at once with a strong warning: 44 "See that you don’t tell this to anyone. But go, show yourself to the priest and offer the sacrifices that Moses commanded for your cleansing, as a testimony to them."
As Mark writes in his account, it was with compassion that Jesus reached out and touched this man. In fact it was compassion that actually moved Him to the act.
Compassion is a powerful force in two ways – it moves the one who feels it to action – and it brings comfort to the once receiving it.
Have you ever known the power of compassion in your life? Have you ever felt it through a hand or a look or an action by someone that communicated to you their concern on more than a level of pity. Have you ever had a hand holding yours at a funeral? Have you ever had a hand on your shoulder during a trial? Have you ever had a handshake of welcome at a new job? Have you ever had someone approach you in a roomful of unfamiliar people and introduce themselves and make you feel welcome?
If you know how it feels can you not do the same back?
Some people do. For some compassion seems to be a inherited trait – something that is easily done. Some of you may have already discovered the power of a compassionate touch and are always looking for opportunities to see it in action through you.
But then theirs others of us who find difficulty with this. Our hearts are okay – it’s just that our memories are bad – we forget how significant that one touch was in our life. Or we become afraid for saying the wrong thing or acting the wrong way – so rather than do it incorrectly, we do nothing at all.
Remember – there are people in our world who need a compassionate touch – rather than looking at it from your perspective – look at it from theirs. They aren’t picky. They aren’t finicky. They’re just lonely. They need to know someone cares.
Think of some ways in which you can share a compassionate touch in your life with the people around you today.
CONCLUSION
A messenger was once sent by his king to deliver vital information to a distant city in the kingdom. Since the messenger bore the king’s authority, he was rehearsed over and over to be sure he had the message right and could deliver it without error. At the appointed time, the messenger set out upon his journey of many days. The first day went well, with good speed and few distractions. At the end of it the messenger again rehearsed the information in his care, to keep it fresh and accurate.
On the second day the messenger met a lost child who begged to be restored to her family, and though, not without anxiety about the cost of time and concentration, he took the child along a different route to find her home. That night he rehearsed the message with greater difficulty and the began to be concerned that he might have lost small parts of it.
The third day brought the messenger into a village whose well had gone dry, leaving its inhabitants too weak even to send for help. They begged him to take word to the next town, lest they all perish of thirst and disease, and the messenger reluctantly agreed to do so. That night the message was in parts unclear and his worry increased.
Each day thereafter found the messenger more distracted, more interrupted. People talked to him, beseeched him, clutched at him, and in his decency he responded as best he could. But each evening, when he rehearsed the king’s message, it became less accurate, less clear.When he finally reached his destination, he was in agony, for he knew that he could not deliver what he had been sent to say, and he knew too that the penalty for his carelessness would be severe.
To the governor of the distant town he presented himself and told his tale; reciting in succession the agonies that had distracted him; beating his breast in repentance for getting himself so misled from his sworn duty as agent of the king; and ending with his confession that he could not now say the vital words he had so carefully rehearsed in the king’s presence. The governor reached out to the by now trembling messenger and bade him rise from where he had fallen in his shame and fear. "You were not the only messenger, my son," he said. "Our king, on the day of your departure dispatched yet another servant, unskilled in memory or perception but carrying in written form the same message entrusted to you. You may read what it says." The message was as follows:
My Dear Governor:
There is great suffering in the land, but our people’s hearts are hardened. I must find someone with eyes to see, a will to respond, and the courage to share the pain that lies about us to act as my vicar. Pray, tell me if you have such a person, and send him to me at all speed, for the time is short and the responsibility heavy.
The messenger looked up in confusion; his understanding grew as the governor said, "Until you came, I had no such person to send, but now it is clear that you are he. Return to the royal service of your king, for you have brought the message ten times over and are more clearly than ever the one to rehearse it." (Autoillustrator.com, COMPASSION/TORN BY DUTIES, quoted from The Restoring Word by J. Randall Nichols)
"The world will not care what we know until they know we care" (Gene Barron)
Jesus touched the untouchables of the world. Will you do the same?
This sermon was preached by Darren Ethier at Hanover Pentecostal Church on January 21, 2001. This message is Part 3 of the sermon series: Supernatural Transformation. It is recommended that the book, Just Like Jesus by Max Lucado be read as it served as the inspiration for much of this series. This outline for this particular message has been taken almost entirely from the chapter in his book entitled, "The Touch of God". All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION, Copyright © 1873, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.
