This morning I was cleaning my home, barely noticing the surfaces I wiped or vacuumed, rushing through in order to get to more enjoyable activities.

I remember years ago when we first moved into this house.  I took great pleasure in polishing the curved faucet in the bathroom, cleaning the freshly laid floors, and vacuuming the carpet which still had the “new” smell to it. But as the years have passed, I realize I have stopped noticing and appreciating.  I am grateful for my home, but I pay less attention to the details, almost blinded to them, as they have become familiar.

FAMILIARITY CAN BLIND US

It seems to me that a similar thing happens when I read familiar stories. I fail to notice detail, I skim.  I assume I already know the point, and don’t engage with the narrative in the same way I would have when hearing or reading it for the first time. 

Recently, though, a very short story made me pause and think again. This account in the Gospel of Luke is a significant event in the life of the main character but has only three short verses devoted to it.  I read them and wanted to know more of the story.

IGNATIAN WISDOM

There is an Ignatian tradition of prayerfully reading Scripture with your imagination as a way to enter into a story more fully, to make it come alive. We try to conjure up the sights, sounds, feelings, smells of the story, and then place ourselves within it.  What if I used this practice to re-read these verses?  What new insights might there be hidden behind the meager outline of this familiar story?

“Lord if you are willing, you can make me clean”[i] were the words Jesus was greeted with that day.  A man full of faith with a body ravaged by disease approaches the great teacher.  He suffers from leprosy, a mutilating skin disease which has meant banishment from his family and community.  Forced to live in isolation to protect those he loves from contracting his ailment, and forever shunned as “unclean”.  His nerves are damaged and no longer alert him to pain, heat, or cold which often leads to loss of limbs and further disfigurement.  He may not feel physical pain but he does ache from being separated and shunned by his community; he feels the agony of longing for human touch. 

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LONGING FOR TOUCH

These days of what we are calling social isolation give us a glimpse of what life may have been like for those with this condition.  I think of health care workers who live separate from their families in order to protect them, so they can do the work of caring for the sick. They must also feel the longing for the comfort of their loved ones’ bodily presence with them. Those in solitary quarantine, those on gurneys in hospital hallways, and those in ICU beds left to fight fears and Covid-19 alone, share in suffering what is know as skin hunger[i], or lack of affectionate touch.

I saw a friend a few days ago, and while not suffering from any disease, is hurting for other reasons.  Everything in me wanted to reach out to enfold her in my arms in an attempt to ease the hurt and provide support in her pain.  But we have been told to stay at least 6 feet away.  I forced myself to stand apart as I watched the tears welling up in her eyes.

Human touch is essential for our well-being. 

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In the biblical narrative of the leper, Jesus stops and does the unthinkable.  He defies the laws of the day and reaches out his hand to this outcast and touches him.  Perhaps he even embraces him.  He could heal the man with only a word, but knows his deep longing for touch and gives this also. 

 I often stop here, at the miracle performed by Jesus, but I let my mind experience the part of the story which has not been told.

I see this man heading toward home, running, half crying and half laughing.  Those he meets along the way - old friends and even strangers - he reaches out to them, clasps a hand, slaps a back, or pulls them in for an embrace.

I see him gathering friends and family around his table.  He studies their faces, overcome with gratitude for each one.  How had he not noticed how dear his brother is to him, how faithful this friend, how beautiful every tanned and lined face?  He had given up hope of ever being amongst his loved ones, but because of the touch of one man, his treasures have been restored.

I watch as he looks deeply into the eyes of his wife, eyes filling and overflowing, spilling down cheeks as they meet to touch.  How sweet the embrace they share.  He drinks her in like a man dying of thirst.  Joy and laughter rise up mingling with tears.  They are dancing, spinning around their very ordinary kitchen, now a ballroom with only these two.

The people and things taken for granted for so many years before his banishment are now precious, glimpses of glory, manna in the wilderness. Like a drowning man, gulping for air, he takes it all in, greedily inhaling.  How had he not seen his boundless riches before this day?

And I wonder, how will these days of restrictions and limits change me?  Will I too, become more aware of the everyday riches that are mine?

[i] Term coined by Dr. Kory Floyd

[i] Luke 5:12

Photo by Jackson David via Unsplash