Imagine the scene if you will. Our Lord walking along one of the dusty, clay roads in Israel, surrounded by a noisy bunch of hangers-on, Pharisees looking to trip Him up and condemn Him,  the curious and the faithful, a crowd speaking to each other about “Who is He?” and “Did you hear what He did last week?”  They bump up against Him, pushed by others into the Lord, who ignores the constant thumping against His body as He calmly walks in the way which His Father has set before Him. Even the picture above does not really show how close the crowd must have pressed in on Him in their curiosity and desire. The Scriptures paint a not-so-flattering picture of the people who followed after the Lord, many of whom wanted miracles to satisfy their disbelief or to enhance their well-being, such as those who just wanted more bread to satisfy their carnal hunger. Yet despite the multitude of ignoble desires, wrongful curiosity, and outright hatred in the crowd surrounding Him, He loves each and every one of them with that immense divine love which will soon send Him to the Cross to die for their – and our – sins.

No wonder the Apostles were perplexed when Jesus suddenly stops and says to the now quiet crowd, who believe He has something of importance to say because He has ceased His walk,  “Who touched me?”

Eyes search, heads turn, confusion reigns. What could He mean, “Who touched me?” Why, everyone within a foot of you was touching you, Master! What do you mean by asking this question?

It is the touch of faith, of belief that there is something more here than a mere man or teacher returning from his travels to minister healing to all the villages around Jerusalem. The woman – whom legend says was Veronica, the same Veronica who wiped Christ’s face of the blood as He staggered towards Calvary bearing the weight of human sin – was filled with the faith that if she could just touch the hem of his garment, she would be healed. She is not a Pharisee or someone important in the religious rituals of Israel. We have no prior knowledge of her, so perhaps she is just an ordinary citizen who has heard of this Jesus of Nazareth and upon seeing Him, is filled with a faith that if she can just touch His garment, she will be healed.

Yes, she touches His garment, but in truth, she touches something much more than the hem of His garment – she touches God. Christ is God, walking among us in the coarseness of the flesh of man, and those who touch God are never the same. It is a life-altering experience, testified to by the thousands of saints whose lives stand out as beacons to us as we negotiate the journey of life on earth towards reunion with God. The sad part is how very few of the billions of people who claim to be Christians have actually touched Christ.

How does a man or woman touch Christ and not become filled with His love? It is the love of God which changes all that it touches – and all that touches Him. Christ is manifestly the love of God the Father who walks among us.  Those who in faith place the hand of faith upon the hem of His garment cannot but be changed, yet as I look around, I see a terrible sea of professing Christians who manifest no change in their lives at all. They are – for the most part – indistinguishable from the people of the world, the people of no faith in Christ at all.

Just the most cursory glance at the history of Christianity brings forth a multitude of evils done by “Christians” to non-Christians, such as the manner in which Native Americans were treated by Christian missionaries. There are the numerous wars in Europe between so called “Christian countries” and “Christians kings.” For a people who are supposed to be followers of the “Prince of Peace,” we have an odd delight in warfare and answering problems through violence.

Let us not forget the the bizarre Christian justification of slavery as in the New World, the criteria for enslavement increasingly shifted from non-Christian to non-European. As Europeans began emphasizing religious, racial, and ethnic differences between themselves and American Indians and Africans, this boundary moved further, from non-European to non-“white,” particularly to enable the enslavement of “black” Africans and their African American descendants. I find myself wondering how the Christian hierarchy justified such practices when the Scriptures condemn kidnapping – which is what involuntary servitude is – and state that kidnappers are to be given the death penalty.

But to bring this into the twenty-first century, there are still those today who dutifully tote their Bibles to their chosen assembly, sing the ditties of the faith, and then Monday morning resume their lives of blaming the poor for their misery rather than helping them, accumulating wealth that would make Henry VIII green with envy, and supporting politicians and political whims that are more in line with the murderous policies of the Third Reich than of a “Christian America.”  I am appalled at politicians who claim to be followers of Christ and yet support abortion,  war on demand, the trashing of the environment,  and the persecution of the poor and needy.  The only thing worse than these evil men are those who blindly support them with their votes, enabling them to continue in their evil ways. America is behaviorally perhaps the most non-Christian nation in the world for a nation that keeps insisting that it is a “Christian Nation.” It is not. It is a kleptocracy, a country club for the rich who toggle the elections every four years to make sure that their cronies are kept in office so policies can be enacted that will keep them wealthy at the expense of everyone else.

As we approach once more the celebration of  our Lord’s Incarnation, we will be treated to a continual barrage of insidious and noisy advertisements, designed to remind us that Christmas is all about fulfilling our greedy little lives with as many toys as we can manage to wheedle out of those who love us.