{"id":33189,"date":"2005-08-26T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2005-08-26T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.christianitytoday.com\/pastors\/preaching\/sermons\/touch-of-christ\/"},"modified":"2005-08-26T00:00:00","modified_gmt":"2005-08-26T00:00:00","slug":"touch-of-christ","status":"publish","type":"sermons","link":"https:\/\/www.christianitytoday.com\/pastors\/preaching\/sermons\/touch-of-christ\/","title":{"rendered":"Touch of Christ"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-audio\"><audio controls src=\"https:\/\/www.christianitytoday.com\/pastors\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/19\/2005\/08\/19095.mp3\"><\/audio><\/figure>\n\n<p>I would like to begin by\nasking you to look at your hand for a moment. Maybe it has been a while since\nyou have looked at it. Why don&#8217;t you get reacquainted? Look at the back of your\nhand. Look at the palm. Look at the fingers. Rub your thumb over the knuckles.\nWhat if someone were to film a documentary on your hand? What would the film\ntell us?<\/p>\n    <p>I suppose the film would\nbegin showing an infant&#8217;s fist, then a  of a tiny hand wrapped around\nMommy&#8217;s finger. Then what? Holding onto a chair as we learn to stand, or maybe\nhandling a spoon as we learn to eat. We wouldn&#8217;t be far into the feature before\nwe would see your hand showing affection, reaching up to touch Daddy&#8217;s cheek or\nreaching out to pet a puppy or a kitty. Nor would it be too long before we see\nthe hand exhibiting aggression, grabbing a toy or pushing baby brother away.\nAll of us learn early that the hand is suited for more than just basic\nprovision. It&#8217;s suited for expression. The same hand can help or hurt,\nencourage or discourage, help someone up or push someone down.<\/p>\n    <p>Were we to show this\ndocumentary to your friends, chances are you&#8217;d be proud of some of your hand&#8217;s\nmoments. Maybe the moment you put a ring on her finger, the moment you doctored\na wound, the moment that you folded your hands in prayer, or the moment that\nyou wiped the perspiration from the brow of someone in a hospital bed. You&#8217;d be\nproud of some moments. But wouldn&#8217;t each of us be embarrassed about other\nmoments?<\/p>\n    <p>Then there have been times\nwhen our hands have been more accusing than encouraging, more abusive than\nhelpful, more taking than giving. Leave them unbridled and unmanaged and they,\nlike the tongue, can be weapons of destruction and lust. But let them be\nsubmitted to God himself, and these hands become the very hands of God. They\nare his hands. They can be so surrendered to him that when we touch he is\ntouching, and when we encourage he is encouraging.<\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Illustration:<\/em> Some\nyears ago after I&#8217;d been in my first ministry for a few months I went to visit\nthe wife of an older man who had just passed away. He was a Bible teacher in\nour Sunday school class, and I really liked him. He was a gracious fellow, and\nit was a sad day for all of us when he passed away. It&#8217;s been almost ten years\nnow. As she was walking me down the hallway to the room where we were going to\nplan the funeral, we passed a gallery of photographs. <\/p>\n    <p>I noticed something familiar\nout of the corner of my eye. Tacked on the wall were notes that I had written.\nI said, &#8220;I don&#8217;t understand this. John or somebody tacked all these notes that\nI wrote him on the wall.&#8221; She said, &#8220;John did that. It meant so much to him\nthat the minister wrote him a note.&#8221; I was 33 years old; he was 74. I was\n in the ministry; he had been in the church and forgotten more than\nI&#8217;d ever learned. He had served as an elder in three or four congregations on\ntwo different continents. But there was still something about the hand of the\nminister that had touched him.<\/p>\n    <p>Oh, the power of these\nhands, how they can touch and how they can encourage. When surrendered to God\nthey become the very hands of God.<\/p>\n    <p>Last year our church spent\nquite a bit of time studying the body of Christ. We asked ourselves the question\n<em>If I had eyes like Jesus, what would I see? If I had feet like Jesus, where\nwould I go? <\/em>One Sunday we discussed, <em>If I had a hand like Christ&#8217;s, how\nwould I touch?<\/em><\/p>\n    <p>Were we to see a documentary\nabout the hands of Christ, we wouldn&#8217;t see abuse, we wouldn&#8217;t see slaps, we\nwouldn&#8217;t see greedy clutching, we wouldn&#8217;t see  yanking. We would\nsee one warm occasion after another of the kind hand of Christ on people as\ntheir lives were changed&#8212;infants being brought to Christ, parents coming in for\nencouragement; each one touched, each one changed. But none were touched or\nchanged more than the leper in Matthew 8:<\/p>\n    <p>When Jesus came down from the hill, great crowds followed\nhim. And then a man with a skin disease came to Jesus. And the man bowed before\nhim and said, &#8220;Lord, you can heal me if you will.&#8221; And Jesus reached out his\nhand and touched the man and said, &#8220;I will. Be healed.&#8221; And immediately the man\nwas healed from his disease. And Jesus said to him, &#8220;Don&#8217;t tell anyone about\nthis but go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded\nfor people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done.&#8221;<\/p>\n    <p>Mark and Luke tell the same\nstory. But with apologies to all three writers, none of them tell us enough.\nThe fellow appears and disappears, and we don&#8217;t even know his name. We know his\ndisease. We know his decision. But we are left with questions about the rest.\nSo tonight I want to wonder with you about this guy.<\/p>\n    <p>\n      <strong>For five years, no one\ntouched me.<\/strong>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>Let&#8217;s just put ourselves in\nthis man&#8217;s sandals. What brought him to this point when he cried out from the\nside of the road for the touch of Christ and the touch came and he was healed?\nI wonder if his story went something like this:<\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>For five years no one\ntouched me&#8212;not my wife, not my child, not my friends. They saw me. They spoke\nto me. I sensed love in their voices. I saw concern in their eyes, but I didn&#8217;t\nfeel their touch. There was no touch, not once. What is common to you, I\ncoveted&#8212;handshakes, warm embraces, a tap on the shoulder to get my attention, a\nkiss on the lips. Such moments were taken from my world. No one touched me. No\none even bumped into me. Oh, what I would have given to be bumped into, to be\ncaught in a crowd where my shoulder could brush against another&#8217;s. But for five\nyears it has not happened. How could it have? I was not allowed on the street.\nEven the rabbis kept their distance from me. I was not permitted in my\nsynagogue, not welcome in my own house. I was untouchable. I was a leper, and\nno one had touched me until today.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>We wonder about this man\nbecause leprosy was the most dreaded of diseases in New Testament times. The\ncondition rendered the body a mass of ulcers and decay. Fingers would curl and\ngnarl. Blotches of skin would discolor and stink. There were even certain types\nof leprosy that would numb nerve endings, leading to losses of extremities and\n a whole hand or a foot. Leprosy, as one man said, was death by\ninches.<\/p>\n    <p>The social consequences were\nsevere. Since they were considered contagious, lepers were quarantined or\nbanished, usually to a leper colony. Throughout Scripture the leper is\nrepresentative and symbolic of the ultimate outcast. He stands for any person\nin any nation in any era who has been set out, kicked out or turned away. He is\navoided by people he does not know and condemned to a future he cannot bear. In\nthe memory of each leper must be that day he discovered the truth about his\ncondition.<\/p>\n    <p>Back to our leper&#8217;s story: <em>One\nyear during harvest my grip on the scythe seemed to weaken. The tips of my\nfingers numbed, first one finger, then the other. Within a short time I could\ngrip the tool but scarcely feel it. By the end of the season I felt nothing at\nall. The hand grasping the handle might as well have belonged to someone else. The\nfeeling was gone. I said nothing to my wife, but I know she suspected\nsomething. How could she not? I carried my hand against my body like a wounded\nbird.<\/em><\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>One afternoon I plunged\nmy hands into a basin of water intending to wash my face, and the water reddened.\nMy finger was bleeding, bleeding freely. I didn&#8217;t even know I was wounded. How\ndid I cut myself? On a knife? Had I slid my hand across a sharp edge of metal?\nI must have, but I hadn&#8217;t felt anything.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>&#8220;It&#8217;s on your clothes,\ntoo,&#8221; my wife said softly. She was behind me. Before looking at her I looked\ndown at the crimson spots on my robe. For the longest time I stood over the\nbasin staring at my hand, and somehow I knew that my life was to be forever\naltered.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>&#8220;Shall I go with you to\ntell the priest?&#8221; she asks. &#8220;No,&#8221; I sighed. &#8220;I&#8217;ll go alone.&#8221; I turned and\nlooked into her moist eyes. Standing next to her was my \ndaughter. Squatting, I gazed into her face and stroked her cheek with my good\nhand. What could I say? I stood and looked again at my wife. She touched my\nshoulder, and I touched hers. It would be our final touch.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Five years have passed\nand no one has touched me since, until today. The priest didn&#8217;t touch me. He\nlooked at my hand, now wrapped in a rag. He looked at my face, now sadder than\nsorrow. I&#8217;ve never faulted him for what he said. He was only doing as he had\nbeen instructed. He covered his mouth and extended his hand palm forward. &#8220;You\nare unclean,&#8221; he told me. With that one pronouncement I lost my family, my\nfarm, my future, and my friends.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>My wife met me at the\ncity gates with a sack of clothing, bread and some coins. She didn&#8217;t speak. By\nnow friends had gathered. What I saw in their eyes was a precursor to what I&#8217;ve\nseen in every eye since&#8212;fearful pity. As I stepped out, they stepped back. The\nhorror they felt as a result of my disease overtook their concern for my heart.\n<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>Seems harsh, doesn&#8217;t it. The\nbanishing of a leper seems unnecessary. Of course, the ancient East isn&#8217;t the\nonly culture to isolate their wounded. We may not build colonies or cover our\nmouths in their presence, but we certainly build walls and avoid eye contact.<\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Illustration:<\/em> Some\nyears ago, David Robinson, who plays basketball in San Antonio, visited our\nchurch. He&#8217;s not a member of our church, but he shows up occasionally. You can\nimagine the stir that occurred when that  striking fellow walked into\nthe auditorium. We have two worship services, and he came to the first one. At\nthe end of it, people mobbed him. Kids all wanted his autograph. Dads wanted\nthings signed for their kids, but we all knew who really wanted it. The\nbrouhaha finally settled down and David went his way, and we began the second\nservice.<\/p>\n    <p>In the second service that\nday, I was standing to do the announcements when something happened that has\nnever happened since. A homeless person walked in the back of the auditorium,\ncame down the center aisle with his backpack, ratty jeans, torn T,\nunshaven face, and distinct odor. He walked down to the front, and he sat down.<\/p>\n    <p>The contrast struck me. When\nDavid Robinson entered, he was immediately swarmed. People wanted to touch him\nand be close to him, be next to him. However, I&#8217;m sad to say that nobody jumped\nup to run and sit next to the homeless man. After two or three awkward minutes\nin which I was trying to act like nothing was happening, one of our elders got\nup from his seat and sat by the man and touched him. I was struck. Wouldn&#8217;t you\nhave been as well?<\/p>\n    <p>The message that I received\nin my heart that morning was, through touching which of these men do you touch\nJesus? If you want to touch Jesus, whom do you touch? Jesus said, &#8220;Whatever\nyou&#8217;ve done for the least of these, my brethren, you&#8217;ve done also to me.&#8221; So if\nwe want to touch Jesus, we would encourage all people that we would find\nspecial purpose in seeking out those forgotten and ignored people who are\nuntouched like this man, and touch them.<\/p>\n    <p>The divorced know this\nfeeling, don&#8217;t they? So do the handicapped. The unemployed have felt it, and\nthe less educated. Some unmarried moms feel shunned. We keep our distance from\ndepressed people. We avoid the terminally ill. We have neighborhoods for\nimmigrants and convalescent homes for the elderly, schools for the simple,\ncenters for the addicted, prisons for the criminal. Any of the other\nuntouchables simply try to get away from us. Only God knows how many there are\nliving quiet, lonely lives, infected by their fear of rejection and their\nmemories of the last time they tried. So they choose not to be touched at all,\nrather than risk being hurt by ever being touched again.<\/p>\n    <p>The leper continues:<em> Oh,\nhow I repulsed those who saw me. Five years of leprosy left my hands gnarled.\nThe tips of my fingers were missing, as were portions of an ear and my nose. At\nthe sight of me fathers grabbed their children and mothers covered their eyes.\nChildren pointed and stared. The rags on my body couldn&#8217;t hide my sores nor\ncould the wrap on my face hide the rage in my eyes. I didn&#8217;t even try to hide\nit. How many nights had I shaken my crippled fists at the silent sky. &#8220;What did\nI do to deserve this?&#8221; But never a reply.<\/em><\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>I grew so tired of it\nall, sleeping in the colony, smelling the stench, so tired of the damnable bell\nI was required to wear on my neck to warn people of my presence. As if I needed\nit! One glance and the announcements began. &#8220;Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!&#8221;<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <strong>Then Jesus drew near and\ntouched me. <\/strong>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Several weeks ago I dared\nwalk the road to my village. I had no intent of entering. Heaven knows. I only\nwanted to look upon my fields and gaze again upon my home and see perhaps the\nface of my wife. I did not see her, but I saw some children playing in the\npasture. I hid behind the tree and watched them scamper away. Their faces were\nso joyful and their laughter so contagious that for a moment, for just a moment\nI was no longer a leper. I was a farmer. I was a father. I was a man. Infused\nwith their happiness I stepped out from behind the tree and I straightened my\nback and I breathed deeply, and they saw me. Before I could retreat, they saw\nme. They screamed, and they scattered.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>One lingered, though,\nbehind the others. One paused and looked in my direction. I really can&#8217;t say\nfor sure, but I think she was my daughter. I don&#8217;t know, but I think she was\nlooking for her father.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>That look is what made me\ntake the step I took today. Of course it was reckless. Of course it was risky.\nBut what did I have to lose? He calls himself God&#8217;s son. Either he will hear my\ncomplaints and kill me, or accept my demands and heal me. Those were my\nthoughts. I came to him as a defiant man moved not by faith but by desperate\nanger. God had wrought this calamity on my body, and he would either fix it or\nend it.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>But then I saw him. It\nwas when I saw him that I was changed. You must remember, I&#8217;m a farmer, not a\npoet. So I cannot find the words to describe what I saw. All I can say is that\nthe Judean mornings are sometimes so fresh and the sunrise so glorious that to\nlook at them is to forget the heat from the day before and the hurt from times\npast. When I looked at his face I saw a Judean morning. Before he spoke, I knew\nhe cared. Somehow I knew he hated this disease as much asnomore than I did.\nMy rage became trust, and my anger became hope. From behind a rock I watched\nhim descend a hill. Throngs of people followed him.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>I waited until he was\njust paces from me, and I stepped out. &#8220;Master, Master.&#8221; He stopped and looked\nin my direction, as did dozens of others. A flood of fear swept across the\ncrowd. People&#8217;s arms flew in front of their faces. Children ducked behind their\nparents. &#8220;Unclean!&#8221; someone shouted. Again, I don&#8217;t blame them. I was a huddled\nmass of death. But I scarcely heard them. I scarcely saw them. I&#8217;d seen the\npanic a thousand times. His compassion, however, I had never seen before.\nEveryone stepped back except him. He stepped toward metoward me! Five years\nago my wife stepped toward me. She was the last to do so. Now he did. I did not\nmove; I just spoke.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>&#8220;Lord, you can heal me if\nyou will.&#8221; Had he healed me with a word I would have been thrilled. Had he cured\nme with a prayer I would have rejoiced. But he wasn&#8217;t satisfied with speaking\nto me. He drew near me. He touched me. Five years ago my wife had touched me.\nNo one has touched me since until today. &#8220;I will,&#8221; he said, so close that he\nhad to whisper. &#8220;Be healed!&#8221;<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Energy flooded my body\nlike water through a furrowed field. In an instant, in a moment I felt warmth\nwhere there had been numbness. I felt strength where there had been atrophy. My\nback straightened and my head lifted. Where I had been eye level with his belt\nI now stood eye level with his smiling face. He cupped his hands on my cheeks\nand drew me so near I could feel the warmth of his breath and see the wetness\nin his eyes. He smiled. &#8220;Don&#8217;t tell anyone about this. Go and show yourself to\nthe priest and offer the gift that Moses commanded for people who are made\nwell.&#8221; Then I think he winked, and he said, &#8220;This will show people what I have\ndone.&#8221;<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>So that is where I am\ngoing. I will show myself to my priest, and I will embrace him. I will show\nmyself to my wife, and I will embrace her. I will pick up my daughter. She is\nolder now, but I will pick her up and I will embrace her. I will never forget\nthe one who dared to touch me.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>He could have healed me\nwith a word, but he wanted to do more than heal me. He wanted to honor me, to\nvalidate me, to christen me. Imagine that. Unworthy of the touch of man, yet\nworthy of the touch of God.<\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>Jesus&#8217; touch did not heal\nthe disease, you know. Matthew is very careful to mention in the text that it\nwas the <em>pronouncement,<\/em> not the <em>touch<\/em> of Jesus that healed the\ndisease. &#8220;Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man and said, &#8216;I will. Be\nhealed.&#8217; Immediately the man was healed from his disease.&#8221; The healing of the\ndisease came with his words, but the healing of my heart came with the touch of\nhis hand.<\/p>\n    <p>Oh, the power of a godly\ntouch. Haven&#8217;t you felt someone reach out and take your hand&#8212;a physician, an\nelder, a fellow minister, a listener? The touch, the authentication, the\nacceptance that comes from a touch is amazing.<\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Illustration:<\/em> When\nyou touch those people, you are touching Jesus himself. When St. Francis of\nAssisi turned his back on worldly wealth and walked out of his village, he was\nstripped naked. As he left the city, he saw a leper standing on the edge of the\npath, and he embraced the man, then turned and continued his journey. Looking\nback one final time, he saw that the leper was gone. For the rest of his life\nSt. Francis of Assisi was convinced that the leper was Jesus Christ, and who is\nto say he was wrong? &#8220;For whatever you&#8217;ve done for the least of these, my\nbrethren, you&#8217;ve done also for me.&#8221;<\/p>\n    <p>Let us not forget the power\nof a touch. Let&#8217;s not forget the powerful work of the Holy Spirit that can\nresult when as God&#8217;s minister you reach out and touch someone and say, <em>be\nhealed.<\/em><\/p>\n    <p>\n      <strong>Conclusion<\/strong>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>I wonder as I bring this to\na close how long it has been since you&#8217;ve been touched. I know we&#8217;ve each had a\nfew fingers shaken at us. But how long has it been since somebody reached out\nand put a hand on your shoulder and said, &#8220;I&#8217;m going to pray for you; I&#8217;m going\nto encourage you&#8221;? When someone takes the time to touch you, you can almost\nsense something traveling through his arm and out his fingertips. Perhaps\nthat&#8217;s why the anointing in the New Testament was always received with the\nlaying on of hands. Not that we put any power in the flesh of man, but it\npleases God when God&#8217;s people touch God&#8217;s people.<\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Illustration:<\/em> A\ncouple of days ago I looked out the back room of our house, and I saw our three\ndaughters playing together. I never see that because two of them are teenagers\nand one of them is an , and those three just don&#8217;t mix. But I saw\nthem bouncing on the trampoline just like they were little again, and my heart\nliterally jumped inside. I thought, <em>Oh, isn&#8217;t it great. My children are\nplaying together. <\/em>I could almost hear God saying, <em>That&#8217;s how I feel when\nI see you reaching out and touching and encouraging each other.<\/em><\/p>\n    <p>Oh, the power of a godly\ntouch.<\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Illustration:<\/em> Once\nwhen I was 19 years old, I was in a pickup truck in Andrews, Texas, a west\nTexas town close to Muleshoe and Lorenzo and No Trees. You&#8217;ve all been there.\nJames, my best friend, and I had shared a case of beer that night. I was to the\npoint where I could drink a  and not feel it. I was so accustomed to\nthe alcohol that it took more and more and more to get me drunk every night. I\nturned to James that night in July and I said, &#8220;James, there&#8217;s got to be\nsomething more to life than this.&#8221; I believe that husky prayer of a \nalcoholic was heard that night. I felt something on my shoulder. It was some\ntime later before I identified who it was. But I knew that night I was forever\nbeing changed. Something happened because Christ touched my heart, and I felt\nhim touch me with his hand.<\/p>\n    <p>\n      <em>Max Lucado, a\n author, serves as pulpit minister of Oak Hills Church in San\nAntonio, Texas. <\/em>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>\nMax Lucado<\/p>\n    <h2 class=\"wp-block-heading is-style-article-subhead2\">\n      <em>\n        <span style=\"\" class=\"subhead\">Preaching Today<\/span>\n      <\/em>\n      <span style=\"\" class=\"subhead\"> Tape # 179<\/span>\n    <\/h2>\n    <p>\n      <a href=\"http:\/\/www.preachingtodaysermons.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">www.PreachingTodaySermons.com<\/a>\n    <\/p>\n    <p>A\nresource of Christianity Today International<\/p>","protected":false},"author":30,"featured_media":0,"template":"","tax_ctp_audience":[306],"tax_ctp_authors":[2486],"tax_ctp_categories":[165],"tax_ctp_field_guide_subcategory":[],"tax_ctp_field_guides":[],"tax_ctp_format":[170],"tax_ctp_multimedia":[412],"tax_ctp_point_editor":[],"tax_publications":[140],"tax_ctp_sermon_series":[],"tax_ctp_tags":[4127,4140,4141,4693,4790],"tax_ctp_topics":[],"class_list":["post-33189","sermons","type-sermons","status-publish","hentry","tax_ctp_authors-max-lucado","tax_publications-ct-pastors","tax_ctp_tags-healing","tax_ctp_tags-help","tax_ctp_tags-help-from-god","tax_ctp_tags-prejudice","tax_ctp_tags-rejection"],"acf":{"scripture_references":[{"first_verse":null,"add_second_verse":false,"second_verse":null}]},"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v22.9 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Touch of Christ - CT Pastors<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.christianitytoday.com\/pastors\/preaching\/sermons\/touch-of-christ\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Touch of Christ - CT Pastors\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"I would like to begin by asking you to look at your hand for a moment. Maybe it has been a while since you have looked at it. Why don&#8217;t you get reacquainted? Look at the back of your hand. Look at the palm. Look at the fingers. Rub your thumb over the knuckles. 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