Who touched me?

By James R. Henderson

It had been a hard day in the unforgiving heat of the Ugandan sun.

The drive to the Ugandan congregation was long, and the border crossing from Kenya hectic and a hassle as usual.

No respite. No cool water. Just a pounding headache. I had not stopped for six hours--smiling and laughing on arrival, worship leading, a sermon, fellowship, counseling, praying, then more hand-shaking and more fellowship. Continuous interaction just like the two previous days. They do not get many visiting preachers, and were determined to get the most out of this trip.

But I felt tired and somehow on display. Everyone expecting the best I could give. No one seemed to understand how I felt.

Four of the leaders gathered around me, asking questions, hoping I would sort out some local dispute. I didn't want to listen, but faked a smile, furrowed eyebrows masking the throbbing pain around the temples. Suddenly from behind someone touched my left leg.

"Who touched me?" I asked.

Jesus had days when he was weary, sometimes from travel as in the incident at the well with the woman of Samaria, and at other times after the relentless attention of the crowds and the speaking and the teaching.

Once, having weathered several days of constant activity, Jesus was in the midst of a teeming crowd, all wanting to see him and to hear what he had to say. The Bible notes "as he went, the multitudes thronged him" (Luke 8:42). I wonder what he was thinking. Crowds can be exhilarating, but they can also be exhausting.

Out of the blue a woman, who had a problem with hemorrhaging, pushed her way through the bustling sea of humanity, and from behind reached out and touched the hem of Christ's garment. She was healed instantly, and Jesus felt the power go out of him.

"Who touched me?" he asked the disciples. No one would own up, and the disciples told him not to ask such a question--he was surrounded and pressed on every side and he asks who touched him?

All of us in ministry feel drained from time to time. The energy drains out of us. Just one question too many, one person needing our help when we feel there is nothing left to give. And we don't want to be touched by them or their problems.

I know I felt that way in Uganda when someone touched me--it seemed like the last straw, the breaking point.

The woman, frightened and insecure, admitted she had touched Jesus. He didn't snap at her. He didn't make her feel more uncomfortable. He didn't ignore her and just walk on by. Instead our Savior said: "Daughter, be of good cheer: your faith has made you well. Go in peace." Personal, uplifting words even when she had added to his weariness.

When we can't face one more moment, one more anticipated Christian response, we can turn to Jesus Christ for his help. He knows just how we feel.

I turned around and looked down. A little girl was pawing at my left leg as she looked up at me. She was dirty, and obviously had a streaming cold. I wanted her to go away; in fact, I wanted everyone to go away.

Despite myself, my face broke into a smile. "Hello," I said. "How are you? What is your name?" And I bent down and shook her outstretched hand.

Did I do this, or was it Jesus within me? I believe Jesus did it. In my moment of weariness, my Savior, who in his grace touches me with his unconditional constant love, saved the day, and helped me to be gracious when I just wanted to quit.

Thank God. The same weary Jesus who gave the encouraging answer 2,000 years ago to a woman in need of help was with me that day in Uganda. I was finished--exhausted. But Jesus Christ is always gracious, always able to give to one more person.

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