Who Touched Me?

For the past four years, my office has been right off the school cafeteria. When Kindergarten and First Grade classes line up to return to their classrooms after eating, they line up right outside my door, often banging or kicking it; there is no question that they’re there.

Also most of my years at this school, I’ve had a planning period on one side or the other of my lunch period. So I have the opportunity to eat a little more slowly as I work at my desk or on the computer. That makes the rest of the day go by a little easier.

However, it is not uncommon for me to spend part of this time out with the students who are eating. Except for the Kindergarten classes, the classroom teachers do not eat with their students at lunch. Instead, in half-hour shifts two other staff members will “ride herd” on the seven or eight classes of students as they eat. Each staff member has several assigned duties outside their normal teaching responsibilities. Lunchroom duty lands on many people’s plates. So, if I finish eating early, I go out to help whoever has duty when I’m finished.

Lunchroom duty has several aspects: dismissing classes after eating, retrieving forgotten utensils or condiments, getting a custodian when things get spilled, and, most importantly, keeping the hum of voices from becoming cacophonic bedlam. Theoretically, the children are to talk to their immediate neighbors. When, from my office, I start identifying individual voices, I know it is time for me to come out. I’m sometimes referred to “the bear that lives under the stairs.”

As I roam between tables, I try to interact gently with many students, encouraging them to eat, greeting them by name, generally trying to keep things moving softly and quietly. From time to time, as I pass groups of students, I’ll hear someone call out my name. Often I recognized the voice, sometimes not. In any case, I turn around frowning, and say, “Quien me toca?” which literally means, “Who touched me?” And the children all laugh, for they know the drill. The child who called me will proceed with whatever they wanted. I’m always willing to listen and learn. I’ve learned that so many of our children need someone to talk to. And you never know what you’ll learn. The important thing is that I listen and give as good a response as I can.

Of course, the saying “Who touched me” is scriptural. In both Mark 5 and Luke 8 we find the story of the desperately ill woman who, through the throng of people was able to reach out and touch the hem of Christ’s garment to receive healing. And as soon as it happened, Christ turned and said, “Who touched me?” Not because He didn’t know, but because he wanted to recognize her great faith.

We can’t overlook the question the disciples asked Him. “Lord, with this great big crowd of people who’ve been jostling you all day, why do you suddenly want to know who touched you?” There is an important point to this question that is often overlooked. If touching the hem of His garment could bring the woman immediate healing, where was the healing for all the multitude that had rubbed shoulders and clasped His hand the rest of the time? The answer lies with the praise Christ gave the woman – “Your faith has made you whole.” The rest of the crowd was satisfied with touching Him, or perhaps just seeing Him; believing in Him wasn’t high on their priority lists. Too bad.

When I turn around and ask my question, it isn’t uncommon to see two, three or even four hands shoot up, all claiming to have been responsible. They know I’m their friend and that they can trust me. And Jesus is an even better friend.

We need to believe in Him, and reach out to touch Him, too.

Dr. G