It has been weeks since I have hugged one of my grandchildren. I have seen them – like looking “through a glass darkly.” I have seen them through patio doors; I have seen them by means of FaceTime and Zoom and Go2Meeting; I even have seen some of them in person, with a distance of about 6 feet between us. But it has been weeks since I grabbed them, wrestled with them, hugged them, or tousled their hair. And it’s killing me. I am away a lot, so when I am home, I love to spend every moment I can with my family. Now, here I am home, and there is a large percentage of that family I cannot be with. I know there are others in a far worse position, and I am thankful that I have children and grandchildren. It’s just that this lack of contact is getting really old and really tiresome, even though it is voluntary and self-imposed (for their safety).
You cannot read the record of the Lord’s life without being impressed by how accessible He was – how available He was for sinners. Self-righteous Simon, the Pharisee, was appalled at that. Luke records, “Now when the Pharisee which had bidden Him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, 'This Man, if He were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth Him: for she is a sinner.'” Every Sunday School scholar knows about the hemorrhagic woman who came to Him with the thought in her mind, (if not the words on her lips), “If I may but touch His garment, I shall be whole.” And Mark records a scene that must have been thrilling to behold: “And whithersoever He entered, into villages, or cities, or country, they laid the sick in the streets, and besought Him that they might touch if it were but the border of His garment: and as many as touched Him were made whole” (Mark 6:56).
That the Creator, before Whose face a seraph veils its eyes, would make Himself available to crude commoners and sick supplicants is a display of the unrivaled grace of His heart. Compare that (or rather contrast that) with the perfunctory handwaves of dignitaries from the comfort of a limo or from behind the safety of a police or army cordon. But He, the Lord of Glory, the Son of God’s love, moves through the crowd of needy sinners – right down amongst them, surrounded by them – with compassion and pity, allowing Himself to be touched – clutched! – by scores of coarse, dust-caked and calloused hands. Moses, in awe of God’s greatness, said, “There is none like unto the God of Jeshurun, Who rideth upon the heaven in thy help, and in His excellency on the sky” (Deut 33:26). But what awe should be in our hearts as we watch the God of Jeshurun not riding upon the heaven but walking on the earth; not in His excellency on the sky but in His ministry on a tear-filled planet of diseased and dying creatures; touched by their hands even as their dire need touched His compassionate heart! Israelites trembled at the base of Sinai and were warned that just a touch of the mountain would mean death. Uzzah’s body lay lifeless beside the ox-drawn cart, slain for touching what was merely a figure of the Lord. God warned heathen kings, “Touch not My anointed and do My prophets no harm.” But This was no failing patriarch or finite prophet. This was the Lord from Heaven, the Maker of Arcturus and atoms, of Mercury, Mars and molecules, of planets and protons. Yet He allows them to “touch” Him. Could anything more vividly display His grace? ……. Yes!
Think of those whom He touched!
A dying leper: “And Jesus put forth His hand, and touched him, saying, 'I will; be thou clean.' And immediately his leprosy was cleansed" (Mat 8:3).
A fevered woman: “And He touched her hand, and the fever left her: and she arose, and ministered unto them” (Mat 8:15).
Two blind men: “Then touched He their eyes, saying, ‘According to your faith be it unto you’” (Mat 9:29).
Three frightened disciples: “And Jesus came and touched them, and said, ‘Arise, and be not afraid’” (Mat 17:7).
Two blind beggars: “Jesus had compassion on them, and touched their eyes: and immediately their eyes received sight, and they followed Him” (Mat 20:34).
A deaf mute: “And He took him aside from the multitude, and put His fingers into his ears, and He spit, and touched his tongue” (Mar 7:33).
Young children: “And they brought young children to Him, that He should touch them: and His disciples rebuked those that brought them" (Mar 10:13).
A funeral bier: “And He came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And He said, 'Young man, I say unto thee, Arise'” (Luke 7:14).
One of His would-be captors: “And Jesus answered and said, 'Suffer ye thus far.' And He touched his ear, and healed him” (Luke 22:51).
An exiled disciple: “And when I saw Him, I fell at His feet as dead. And He laid His right hand upon me, saying unto me, ‘Fear not; I am the first and the last’” (Rev 1:17).
His was a touch of power and pity, compassion and might, grace and mercy. Christians rightly sing, “No one ever cared for me like Jesus, there’s no other Friend so kind as He.”
On April 14, 1865, when US President Abraham Lincoln was shot, he was moved from Ford’s Theater to a house across the street. Dr. Charles Leale was the physician who responded first, and never left his side, (except to check on Mrs. Lincoln, who was sitting in another room), until Lincoln’s death the following morning. In his book, “Lincoln’s Last Hours,” the doctor wrote, “I passed the room where Secretary Stanton sat at his official table and returning took the hand of the dying President in mine – the hand that had signed the Emancipation Proclamation liberating 4,000,000 slaves.”
In his own hand, he held the hand of the man to whom 4,000,000 people owed their freedom. For him, it was a sufficiently significant moment to note in his book. How significant do you think it will be to you when you stand, at last, in the presence of the One to Whom untold billions owe their freedom, and among those billions … you? What will you do? How will you react? When the Lord Jesus rose from the dead, and before His ascension, the disciples, “came and held Him by the feet, and worshipped Him.” I know it was to disbelieving Thomas that the Lord said, “Reach hither thy hand,” (and there is no record that the overwhelmed disciple ever did that). But listen to His words to the other disciples in the upper room: “Behold My hands and My feet, that it is I Myself: handle Me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see Me have. And when He had thus spoken, He shewed them His hands and His feet” (Luke 24:39, 40). Please don’t imagine Heaven as your being on the fringe of an enormous crowd, struggling to catch a glimpse of your Redeemer every century or so. Please don’t imagine that the Lord Jesus is more personal to each of us down here than He will be up there. Please don’t imagine that you have Him all to yourself down here but will have to share Him with billions up there. I cannot tell you whether we will take Him by the feet and worship Him as the disciples did. I cannot tell you that He will say, “Handle Me and see for a spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see Me have.” I cannot say that Joseph’s gracious words to his brothers, “Come near to me,” are a foreshadowing of what the Lord Jesus will say to you. But the only reason I “cannot” say those things is because I do not want to say a syllable that might even begin to border on irreverence. But I know what I think … I just want you to think about this tangible, touchable Savior finally having His beloved people actually with Him, around Him, by His side, and I will let you do the imagining – within the bounds of humble reverence – of what He will say to you when at last He realizes His heart’s desire and He has you by His side.
Who is this Who comes to meet me on the desert way,
As the Morning Star foretelling God's unclouded day?
He it is Who came to win me on the Cross of shame;
In His glory well I know Him evermore the same.
O the blessed joy of meeting all the desert past!
O the wondrous words of greeting He shall speak at last!
He and I together ent'ring those bright courts above;
He and I together sharing all the Father's love.
He, Who in the hour of sorrow bore the curse alone;
I, who through the lonely desert trod where He had gone.
He and I in that bright glory one deep joy shall share;
Mine to be forever with Him, His, that I am there.
Written by Gene Higgins