Luke 24:36-48

"Touch Me and See."

Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Touching can be as routine as a handshake or a high five. It can be as exploitive as a lustful pawing, as threatening as a clenched fist. Or, as the Easter account in Luke 24 proclaims, touching can be the means whereby the risen Lord Jesus chooses to make himself known. After Jesus’ appearance on the road to Emmaus, the two disciples hurry back to Jerusalem, where their excited report falls flat. Then Jesus’ sudden appearance scares them out of their wits – a reaction that would have been ours as well. He shows them his hands and his feet and says, "Touch me and see that it is I myself; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have."

If you’ve ever struggled with your faith and wondered why it doesn’t seem to connect with the everyday, gritty circumstances of life – this story from Luke is for you. If you’ve every struggled with your faith and wondered why it feels disconnected from the personal issues with which you wrestle day to day – this story is for you. If you’ve ever yearned in your faith journey for something to grab onto, something which is applicable for your daily living, something to hold onto to give you direction and grounding, this Easter story is for you.

The resurrected Christ, the text declares, is not the product of the disciples’ overheated imagination. He is no ghost, no apparition. He is real, alive, flesh and blood, and he invites us to touch him. Our God is a touchable God. Not removed, not distant, not separate from us; God embeds God’s self into our world and invites us, years for us, calls to us to touch and see the risen Christ. In the beginning, as Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel masterpiece portrays it, God touched humanity into being. In Jesus’ ministry the children climbed up into his lap in response to his welcome. The lepers, made outcasts by their disease, were restored by Christ’s healing touch. Our God is touchable in God’s son – Jesus Christ – who forgives and understands our doubts and mistrust of his presence/his touch in our lives.

Touch me and see. Touch reconciles. In Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son, the waiting father does not hold back in tight-lipped reticence, eager to lecture the returning son. The father runs toward his child, eager to embrace, to hold the lost child back into his arms. That embrace of reconciling love says it all. It speaks of a love strong enough to bear a cross and to say with authority to frightened disciples, touch me and see. Through the open arms of forgiven and forgiving people, the deepest wounds are set upon a path of healing.

Touch me and see. Touch has the power to heal. Jesus stretched out his hands and touched the untouchable around him. Lepers, blind and lame, the deaf and mute, the crazed and confused, received healing through his touch. But not just healing, hope and new life through the act of his flesh touching theirs.

Touch me and see. Touch can be sacramental. The presence of Christ is in our touch when we reach out to greet one another. Many of us take the nurturing touch right into our liturgy, joining hands and embracing others in the passing of the peace of Christ. Never take such touching for granted.. Acceptance, encouragement, trust and hope come through in the touch of hand upon hands as the risen Lord touches us through others.

Touch me and see. Touch points us to our daily living. From every side and in the most unexpected ways, the Christ meets us in the call to touch lives that ask so little yet need so much.

Our hands are for reaching the hungry, imprisoned, naked, sick, the children, the aged, the anxious and the broken – all those in whom Jesus meets us.

Medical scientists have shown in their research the power of touch – human touch – has healing, soothing, therapeutic qualities for people. Touch nurtures. In hospitals or orphanages, when there is not enough nursing staff or volunteers to attend to the babies – the ones who are not held and stroked and touched do not develop as quickly as the babies who are held more often. The power of touch.

In nursing and convalescent homes, patients unresponsive to other stimuli, respond to having their hair combed, their cheek stroked, hands held on a consistent basis – even if it is just a few minutes each day. The power of touch. It reminds me of a poem written by Donna Swanson entitled: "Minnie Remembers."

God,

My hands are old.

I’ve never said that out loud before, but they are.

I was so proud of them once.

They were soft like the velvet smoothness of a firm, ripe peach.

Now the softness is like worn-out sheets of withered leaves.

When did these, slender, graceful hands

become gnarled, shrunken?

When, God?

They lie here in my lap;

Naked reminders of the rest of this old body

that has served me too well.

How long has it been since someone touched me?

Twenty years?

Twenty years I’ve been a widow. Respected. Smiled at.

But never touched.

Never held close to another body.

Never held so close and warm that loneliness was blotted out.

I remember how my Mother used to hold me, God.

When I was hurt in spirit or flesh,

She would gather me close,

stroke my silky hair and caress my back with her warm hands.

O God, I’m so lonely.

I remember the first boy who ever kissed me.

We were both so new at that.

The taste of young lips and popcorn.

The feeling deep inside of mysteries to come.

I remember Hank and the babies.

How can I remember them but together?

Out of the fumbling, awkward attempt of

new lovers came the babies.

And as they grew, so did our love.

And God, Hank didn’t seem to care if my body

thickened and faded a little.

He still loved it, and touched it.

And we didn’t mind if we were no longer "beautiful."

And the children hugged me a lot.

O God, I’m so lonely.

Why didn’t we raise the kids to be silly and affectionate

as well as dignified and proper?

You see, they do their duty.

They’d rive up in their fine cars.

They come to my room to pay their respects.

They chatter brightly and reminisce. But they don’t touch me.

They call me "Mom" or "Grandma."

Never "Minnie." My mother called me "Minnie." And my friends.

Hank called me "Minnie" too.

But they’re gone. And so is Minnie.

Only Grandma is here.

And God! She’s lonely!.

As we work for peace in our families, seek reconciliation in our communities, visit those whoa re sick, comfort those who are distressed, welcome the stranger, teach the faith to our children, speak the good news to those who do not know it, whisper encouragement to those who doubt, provide food for the hungry, and do the thousands of everyday acts of obedience that make up the Christian life, it is here along this road that the risen Lord comes to us. It is in those faithful actions, that we respond to Jesus’ words: Touch and see.

In the tasting of th meal and celebrating the splash of water on our foreheads, we know God to be touchable – to be available – to be present with us in the everyday, mundane, intimate and sacramental activities in our lives.