VIEW FROM THE CHURCH STEPS...

Went to church yesterday, and it wasn’t bad.  While walking down the steps Mrs. Grace grabbed my hand with the grip of an arm wrestler.  But she needs to hold on to something or someone while making that treacherous descent.  Cane in one hand, holding on to mine with the other, she made it down safely.  Would that I might prove so useful each Sunday. 
     And lest one think that Mrs. Grace was only on the receiving end of that usefulness, the great gift she gave was touch.  A blessed touch.  Once down the steps and heading to the parking lot, she had me in tow, refusing to let go of my hand until I’d received all she had to give.  Words, to be sure, but the touch, the hand held, the little squeeze, the love and encouragement given through skin on skin.  Energy must flow through touch, though often it goes unrecognized.   The woman touched but the hem of his garment, yet Jesus recognized that he’d been touched, not merely brushed or bumped or jostled, for something had gone out of him into her.   When Mrs. Grace prays for me she holds both my hands; the locks open up and that same something passes through from her hands into my heart.   
     “In an hour I’ll be on the plane,” she said with a stressed, even fearful look which I knew had nothing to do with flying but everything to do with her sister’s release from the hospital and return home, a return she could make only if Beverly was there to care for her.  “They still don’t know if the treatment is working,” and the anxiety could be felt all across the courtyard.  And what to say?  What is one to say to that?  What magic words would fix this?  What pithy saying could possibly bore through the wall of anxiety to bring a moment of respite?  This is when people pray.  A friend of mine would seize this moment and pray audibly, outlaid, nay, at almost full volume, I guess because God is very old and must be nearly deaf.  He would pray for cures and relief and safety and protection by the angels and the banishment of all evil.  I was selfishly praying for something to say, the words, the scripture verse, the line from a poem.... “O Lord, I beseech thee, grant that something comforting and encouraging come tripping off my tongue.”  But it was not to be.  All I could do, all my body would do, was throw open its arms and put them around her.  In this day and age folks aren’t suppose to do that sort of thing, sexual harassment and all; but that is more of a sad commentary on this day and age, for in that hug what I could not  say, and what, even if it were spoken, most probably would not have been heard, found expression.  And since the prayers of the righteous are heard, I’m going to ask my buddy to do what I couldn’t, at least not right then. 
     The slight, seemingly frail sort of older woman with visible beginnings of osteoporosis was making her way toward me, and she looked determined.  But once Diana finds the object of her intention, she always looks determined.  She barged right in front of the lady that was telling me about a trip she’d taken and effectively cut her off.  The arms went out and around my neck and drew me toward her and they were not about to let go.  “Guess where I’ve been?”  She asked. 
     Managing to pull back a bit, but still not anything close to what was comfortable personal space, I asked  her where she’d been.
     “I’ve been at camp,” she exclaimed, “and I had two boyfriends!  Two! 
     “Two?  And at camp?  Diana, that ‘s a lot of boyfriends for one week.”
     “And I’m going to start a new job this week!”
     “Really?  What are you going to be doing?”  I asked, but she was on another subject now.
     “I’ve been washing pots and pans.  I can wash pots and pans.”
     “Well, you need to come over to my house and wash some of my pots and pans.”  I was barely managing to keep up with her train of thought, which was obviously on the fast track today, but now circling back around.
     “A new job and two boyfriends!”  The sheer delight that beamed from her face was not unlike what I imagined the glory of God shining forth from the Ark of the Covenant might be.  And that was it.  She’d told me what she’d come over to tell me and she hugged me once more, turned and walked back to her sister.
     I stood there alone in the crowd for a moment or two, until it hit me that I’d been the recipient of joy.  Pure, unadulterated joy had just been hugged into me, and illuminated all around me.  I had been touched by joy.  And like church that day, it wasn’t bad.