Hands

My freshmen year of college, my roommates and I decided that we would hug each other before we went to sleep each night. We realized that we were used to be hugged by our parents, friends, and pets back home and in this strange land of college, we were feeling deprived.

I go through that from time to time. Withdrawal. Of just needing some human touch. And as everyone is preparing to preach the 2nd week of Easter (the most popular Sunday for seminarians to preach), I think about Thomas just wanting to touch. And my heart calls out for him.

In this society of individualism, of isolation, I fear we have forgotten that we are the body of Christ for one another. Reaching out to touch. Reaching out to hold.

And yet, even as I type this, I think of all the times touch has been used wrongly. Used to hurt and harm. And I weep.

So in the midst of this broken world, I seek Christ. Look for an empty tomb that means Christ lives. I wait to touch the wounds in his side and in his hands.