Category: Advent 2013 – Touch

One hot summer day, my husband Gene and I took our oldest son and daughter to a local street festival. Prisca sat in the stroller, securely strapped in, but Tim was walking on his own. Almost 20,000 people had gathered for the event. We were pushing our way through the throngs of people when Gene and I became separated. I had Prisca safely in front of me in the stroller, but after Gene paused to examine the crafts in a booth, he looked up in a panic. Tim was nowhere to be seen. In a matter of seconds our son had disappeared.

In those moments, the story of Mary and Joseph searching for their son in Jerusalem became very real to us. Gene searched frantically this way and that. When he found Tim at the local fire station, surrounded by kindly firemen, Gene swept Tim into his arms. No doubt Mary, after three days of searching, did the same with Jesus. Luke 2:48 reflects some of her fears: “Why have you done this to us?” And even after he explained his absence, Mary and Joseph did not understand. From their perspective, this boy, only 12 years old, needed to be at home, still under the protection of his parents.

Where Mary’s embrace had earlier offered security and comfort, now her touch represented confinement. She was restricting her son, keeping him from his appointed task.

Where does God call you to step out boldly into ministry? And what (or who) holds you back?

When our daughter Prisca was dedicated as an infant at our church, she freely expressed her distress at being held by anyone other than her mother. Her wails, growing louder by the moment, soon filled the sanctuary and flustered the pastor. Anxious to move through the prayer of dedication, in his haste, our pastor lost his concentration and fervently dedicated God to my daughter’s care instead of the other way around! We like to think that God has been in good hands ever since! (The pastor rapidly corrected his prayer before releasing Prisca to my arms!)

In contrast, I grew up in a church where my own father served as the senior pastor. He was no stranger. I always felt like I had a special “in” because I was allowed to go up to the pastor and hug him at any time I wished. I loved rubbing my cheek against the silky fabric of his vestments. In my father’s strong arms I felt secure, content.

How did Jesus feel when Mary passed him into the arms of a stranger at the temple? In Luke 2:28, we read that Simeon took the infant Messiah in his arms and praised God. Did the child express alarm and struggle against the arms that were supporting him? Or did Jesus raise a hand to explore the rough beard of this stranger? We don’t know, but it is clear that this infant offered consolation to the adult: Here at last, after years of waiting, was the answer to Simeon’s prayers.

Today that same Jesus offers comfort to you and me. Do we struggle and fight against him as if we were being held by a stranger, or do we welcome his touch with faith and trust? Rest in those everlasting arms!  In Isaiah 66:13, God offers a forever promise: “I will comfort you there as a child is comforted by his mother.”

Yesterday I dandled a friend’s baby on my lap. What a sweet lump of flesh! Despite drooling and clumsy efforts to hold a toy, he charmed all in sight. What a contrast to a night or two earlier. That night I lay awake in the wee hours of the morning while my son and his wife paced the floor carrying their infant daughter as she howled from the pain of an ear infection. How we wished we could relieve her discomfort!

When Jesus was born, Luke tells us Mary “wrapped him snugly in strips of cloth and laid him in a manger.” Thus Jesus’ first hours in this world offered several new tactile sensations. He felt the warmth and comfort of Mary’s breast, her arms hugging her newborn son. She swaddled her son in strips of cloth, tightly binding his small limbs and providing a sense of security. And perhaps, there in the manger, a renegade piece of hay poked his tender skin, provoking a cry of distress. Hunger and gas pains may have caused him to cry out too. Those first hours offered sensations of security, confinement, and pleasure but also his first taste of discomfort. And when he cried out in the middle of the night, Mary drew him out of the manger and held him close to her breast. Just as my son and his wife rocked their infant daughter as she cried in pain, Mary too comforted her son.

All of these “sense”ations – including discomfort – are normal, expected parts of our experiences also. While we welcome the feelings of comfort and security, however, we often strive to avoid any sensation that is unpleasant. Peter wrote in his first epistle, “Don’t be surprised by fiery trials.” But think! When we cry out in pain, that is the very moment when our Heavenly Father lifts us up and draws us closest to his chest.

Take a moment to read Psalm 116:1-9. Note how tenderly the Father seeks to comfort us when we are in times of distress. You may not be feeling the poke of a piece of straw or the cramps of gas in your tummy, but whatever the cause of your pain, be assured that your Father in heaven is ready to carry you in his arms at any hour of the day or night.