Recently, I read an article that nearly brought me to tears. The article was about touch. In fact, the title of the article was arresting: “The sacrament of touch.” Mark Etling is the author. I have not heard of Etling, so I was interested at the end of the article when I found a brief biography. We are told he is the spiritual programs coordinator at a Catholic Church in Illinois. He also teaches at the School of Professional Studies at Saint Louis University. But in a way, this has nothing to do with the story he told, which I found so gripping.
He begins his story with a compelling sentence. “Last spring, my wife, Terry, was diagnosed with a Stage 4 glioblastoma brain tumor.” Of course, I do not know Terry, but I immediately felt for her. I have been through cancer; both sides of my family have been through it. And I have offered a great deal of ministry to folks wrestling with this dreaded announcement that cancer is part of the story. We all start the cancer journey with some hope, but the journey sometimes does not turn out the way we might have wished. That’s life---and that’s death. That’s the human journey.
Etling quickly recounts the various treatments Terry has undergone---a great deal of them. The side-effects have been multiple. The effect which triggered this story is narrated in a couple sentences. Etling says, “She's always been an anxious person — now she becomes anxious at the smallest deviation from the day's plan. In social situations, she becomes panicky and wants to leave after just a few minutes.” And then he adds, they regularly attend St Paul de Vincent parish in the St. Louis area.
I continued to read the story without any real expectation that it would be gripping. But that essay title still created its intrigue. Etling describes their attendance at their regular 9:00am Mass. At first, all went well. Terry seemed fine. Perhaps routine was good for her anxiety. But then the plot thickened. “It all started to go south during the presentation of the gifts. "Mark, I have to leave. I won't make it." He tried to reassure her; he wanted to stay for the eucharist which soon would happen.” She became more agitated and Etling suspected he would have to leave. But then something happened.
Etling tells us, “Then I looked back at Terry. She had stopped perseverating. Her anxiety was gone. She sat calmly, at peace, eyes fixed on the altar. What had happened?” That is a great question---a real question for Etling. What had happened? It was a simple act. Etling says, “…I looked down. Sheila, one of the "regulars" who was sitting with her husband and daughter in the pew in front of us, had turned around and was holding Terry's hand. As tears welled up in my eyes, all I could do was look at Sheila and say, ‘Thank you so much.’” It was a touch. Etling said at some point, Jeff, another one of the regulars, took over and was touching Terry.
The Etlings stayed through the remainder of the Mass. Terry was calm, engaged and opted to take communion. I like Etling’s take on the matter. “Terry had been healed — by the simple, sacred act of touching.” It would be easy to misread this story. In fact, Etling does not say anything more about Terry’s condition. We don’t know whether she is still living or, like all of us, has died. Her healing did not mean she will avoid death. But she is healed---healed by the sacred act of touching. No doubt, that is the main story.
Etling reflects on touch. Rightly, he acknowledges, “As we know from the news these days, touching is a profoundly ambiguous gesture. An unwanted touch can be a violent act, an assertion of power, an assault on the bodily integrity of another.” But touch can be love, grace and blessing. In Etling’s words, “touching can be an act of peacemaking, of communion, of healing.”
So often, God deals with us indirectly in miraculous, healing ways. Too often, we plead for a direct hand from God. Typically, God will use the hands of Sheila or Jeff or one of our own friends whom we may know so well. Often our preference is to go one-on-one with God and, yet, God offers is one after another of friends and, maybe, even strangers. I fully agree with Etling when he affirms, “God is waiting for us, God is depending on us to heal one another.”
Maybe that is why they call it “ministry.” Ministry means service. One way we serve each other is by touch---appropriate loving, blessing and healing touch. As such, we become instruments of God’s grace. We are carriers of the divine desire to touch each and every human being.
We are agents of healing. We are all called to the sacred act of touching.
He begins his story with a compelling sentence. “Last spring, my wife, Terry, was diagnosed with a Stage 4 glioblastoma brain tumor.” Of course, I do not know Terry, but I immediately felt for her. I have been through cancer; both sides of my family have been through it. And I have offered a great deal of ministry to folks wrestling with this dreaded announcement that cancer is part of the story. We all start the cancer journey with some hope, but the journey sometimes does not turn out the way we might have wished. That’s life---and that’s death. That’s the human journey.
Etling quickly recounts the various treatments Terry has undergone---a great deal of them. The side-effects have been multiple. The effect which triggered this story is narrated in a couple sentences. Etling says, “She's always been an anxious person — now she becomes anxious at the smallest deviation from the day's plan. In social situations, she becomes panicky and wants to leave after just a few minutes.” And then he adds, they regularly attend St Paul de Vincent parish in the St. Louis area.
I continued to read the story without any real expectation that it would be gripping. But that essay title still created its intrigue. Etling describes their attendance at their regular 9:00am Mass. At first, all went well. Terry seemed fine. Perhaps routine was good for her anxiety. But then the plot thickened. “It all started to go south during the presentation of the gifts. "Mark, I have to leave. I won't make it." He tried to reassure her; he wanted to stay for the eucharist which soon would happen.” She became more agitated and Etling suspected he would have to leave. But then something happened.
Etling tells us, “Then I looked back at Terry. She had stopped perseverating. Her anxiety was gone. She sat calmly, at peace, eyes fixed on the altar. What had happened?” That is a great question---a real question for Etling. What had happened? It was a simple act. Etling says, “…I looked down. Sheila, one of the "regulars" who was sitting with her husband and daughter in the pew in front of us, had turned around and was holding Terry's hand. As tears welled up in my eyes, all I could do was look at Sheila and say, ‘Thank you so much.’” It was a touch. Etling said at some point, Jeff, another one of the regulars, took over and was touching Terry.
The Etlings stayed through the remainder of the Mass. Terry was calm, engaged and opted to take communion. I like Etling’s take on the matter. “Terry had been healed — by the simple, sacred act of touching.” It would be easy to misread this story. In fact, Etling does not say anything more about Terry’s condition. We don’t know whether she is still living or, like all of us, has died. Her healing did not mean she will avoid death. But she is healed---healed by the sacred act of touching. No doubt, that is the main story.
Etling reflects on touch. Rightly, he acknowledges, “As we know from the news these days, touching is a profoundly ambiguous gesture. An unwanted touch can be a violent act, an assertion of power, an assault on the bodily integrity of another.” But touch can be love, grace and blessing. In Etling’s words, “touching can be an act of peacemaking, of communion, of healing.”
So often, God deals with us indirectly in miraculous, healing ways. Too often, we plead for a direct hand from God. Typically, God will use the hands of Sheila or Jeff or one of our own friends whom we may know so well. Often our preference is to go one-on-one with God and, yet, God offers is one after another of friends and, maybe, even strangers. I fully agree with Etling when he affirms, “God is waiting for us, God is depending on us to heal one another.”
Maybe that is why they call it “ministry.” Ministry means service. One way we serve each other is by touch---appropriate loving, blessing and healing touch. As such, we become instruments of God’s grace. We are carriers of the divine desire to touch each and every human being.
We are agents of healing. We are all called to the sacred act of touching.
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