SERMON XV. CHRIST TOUCHED.

St. Mark, v., 30.

And Jesus, immediately knowing in Himself that virtue had gone out of Him, turned Him about in the press, and said, Who touched my clothes?

A crowd always waited on our Lord when He taught or walked openly. In this case, there was an unusually great crowd following and thronging Him, because it had become known that He was on His way to work the miracle of raising up a child from the point of death. It is not hard to guess what were the elements of this crowd. First, there were the idle, curious multitude ever to be found where novelty or excitement is promised. Then there were those who knew not why they were come together, who were there because others were, who had no mind or interest in the matter. (There are always many of these in every crowd.) Then there were the scribes and lawyers, always talking about, listening to, or disputing religious truths—never coming, or caring to come, to the knowledge and practice of the truth. Then there were the seekers after loaves and fishes, who hoped to get something by coming. Then there were the entrappers and enemies of our Lord, seeking for witness against Him, hoping to see some work done, to hear some word said which might form the ground of accusation against Him. And, lastly, there were some—a few only—whom faith impelled to seek from Him the healing of their diseases, the relief of their burthens; and whom love drew after Him, to see Him, to serve Him, to dwell upon the gracious words that proceeded out of His mouth. Of the last class was a woman who had been afflicted with a grievous malady for twelve years, who had tried all earthly means of relief, and had grown worse under them, who was despised and shut out from the company of mankind by reason of her visitation, who had become destitute in seeking cure. All things were against her. Her misfortunes were what many would describe as more than could be borne. Her case was hopeless. Nothing seemed left to her but to succumb to helpless misery, and wait in groans and tears for death—when, lo! a sudden gleam of brightest hope burst upon her, there was a Physician Who could cure all diseases, and His remedy was to be had without price! It does not appear whether the fame of Jesus had reached her in some remote place, whence she had dragged her poor afflicted body, sighing and groaning, wandering many days, searching in many places; or whether, being “accidentally,” as men say, near where the crowd passed, she had now heard, for the first time, of the new Prophet; and, gathering from the passers-by that He was going to restore a dying damsel, concluded that the possessor of such power, so graciously exercised, could and would heal her too. Be that as it may, she had full faith in His ability: “If I may but touch his clothes I shall be whole.” And, having such faith, she resolved to act upon it, making her way through the crowd, and doing that, through which her faith suggested the power would be transmitted. How she came to propose to herself, or who proposed to her, such a course, how much of ignorance and superstition there was in it, is beside our present consideration. Her faith, her perseverance, her humility, are rather the things to be noted. Her faith, which was so strongly convinced of the existence in Jesus, and the certainty of being able to obtain from Him the grace of healing. Her perseverance, poor, feeble, tottering woman! which was not overawed by the greatness of the crowd, and did not give up when she was dragged hither and thither, hard pressed here, shut out there—perhaps even thrown down and trampled on more than once. Her humility, which—eager as she was for cure, bent, too, as she was upon having it—made her fear the eyes of the crowd, though she cared nothing for their thrusts and hard usage, which dared not face her Healer; which caused her to shrink back from the first touch, and seek to hide herself, and steal away with the blessing.

Pausing here for a moment, brethren, to consider that this woman, in her malady, is a type of all who are affected with the disease of sin; that in the fruitless issue of her recourse to earthly physicians, she allegorises the vanity, the mockery, of all human expedients to restore or ameliorate moral distempers; showing that such “remedies” do but cause to suffer more, and make worse—pausing, I say, to consider this, and to reflect that herein we have a representation of ourselves as sinners, of our helplessness but for Christ, of our greater suffering and sure deterioration, through our very efforts to become better without Christ; reflecting on this, realising it, and feeling it, are we able to go on and see in her discovering of the right Healer, in her efforts to be healed by Him, in her faith, and perseverance, and humility, what we have discovered, what we believe, and what we do, and what we feel? O what a pitiable sufferer is that, who hears with indifference or with lukewarm inactive belief, that there is a Physician that can make well; who knows that He is ready, that restoration is to be had, and yet does not seek it; who even pleads infirmity as a reason for not striving to be cured; who is deterred by the sight of a crowd that must be got through; who is discouraged by the first obstacle, and gets up and goes back after the first fall! And how blinded are the senses, and how dead the feelings of the sinner, who does not feel the degradation of his state, but makes open display of himself before the crowd, and with a bold front and unshrinking touch, comes to the All-pure and All-holy to be healed! Learn, fellow sinners, from this poor woman, what your sin is, how defiling, how miserable, how sure to grow worse under human treatment. Learn, too, by Whom alone it can be healed, and with what efforts, and what feelings, you must seek the healing. For, consider how the All-seeing eye and the All sympathising heart beheld and loved that woman, for her deeds and feelings. Before she touched Him, the virtue, the power of healing, was made ready to flow; and, as soon as she had touched, she was called forth, and commended, and owned, and further blessed: “Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.”

Partly, no doubt, for the sake of others, this manifestation and speech were made. Jesus generally hid His wondrous works from the gaze of the masses, and forbade that they should even hear of them by the hearing of the ear: just as He concealed the meaning of His speech by veiling it in parables, hard to be understood, that mere curiosity might not be indulged, that faith might have some privilege over want of faith, that needless provocation of His enemies might be avoided, and witness against Him withheld, that those who He knew would see and hear in vain, might be spared the greater condemnation of beholding and despising. Sometimes, however, an exception was made, and Jesus spoke and acted openly; that those present might see, and those absent might hear of Him, and so come unto Him and be saved. This may have been the case here. Or, more probably, the manifestation was not so much for the multitude, it was for the inner circle; for Jairus, whose faith needed to be prepared, for the shock of the coming announcement—“Thy daughter is dead, why troublest thou the Master any more?” or for better heeding of the injunction, “Be not afraid, only believe;” for the disciples, too, whom He would thus confirm in the faith, and prepare for their mission and sufferings, whom He would thus enable to record for our instruction and comfort, the things which Jesus has done, which He is ever ready to do again. But, specially, it was for the woman herself; that she might not suppose that she had obtained unknown possession of a blessing, or that it was the mere touch which cured her, and not the All-knowing Healer, pleased by her faith and so making effectual an otherwise useless act; that she might become acquainted with Him, and so learn to love Him, and gratefully remember Him, and by and by, when she came to know his will, might delight to do it; that she might have something more than she sought—this is ever the rule of Christ’s giving—the “Go in peace,” as well as the “Be whole of thy plague;” that she might be taught, and we, through her, that Divine mercy is ever to be acknowledged, and open glory to be given to God.

The history is replete with profitable suggestions—lessons of faith and practice. Let us select three for present consideration.

First, let us observe, that we may throng and press Jesus, and yet not touch Him. “Thou seest the multitude thronging Thee, and sayest Thou who touched me?” Even so! The idle, curious, controversial, captious thronging is nothing accounted of: it is the touch of eager desire and humble faith which alone is noticed. At first, brethren, we are tempted to think, that the most strangely indifferent, the most unblessed of men, are those who do not join the throng, and press about the Lord Jesus. That He is in the sanctuary, and men do not enter into His presence there; that He is teaching the way of life, and men will not hear sermons nor read the Bible; that He may be conversed with, and yet men will not pray; that He may be touched, and yet sacraments are not received: this, we think, is as strange as it is sad. And so, indeed, it is. But it is stranger and sadder, that any should come into the Sanctuary, and not perceive Christ’s presence; that they should hear and read without learning; that they should use words of prayer and yet not be heard; that they should press and throng Jesus in ordinances, and never touch Him; deriving no benefit from Him, because they seek it not aright; being beneath His eye, and yet unnoticed; crowding around Him, and upon Him, and yet unfelt! But assuredly, as of old it was, so it is now. If mere idleness brings men to the Sanctuary, mere observance of a decent fashion, if they come only to hear and see something new, to wile away the time which hangs wearily upon them, to gain themselves a good name as respectable and pious, if they are watching to see, what may be criticised, what may be talked about and condemned, if they are rendering merely a formal obedience, and offering only an outward service—then, I was going to say, Christ takes no more notice of them than if they were not present; but I should rather say, He is wrathful against them for being present. He blinds their eyes, and turns away His own. He is dumb to them; they deaf to Him. He yields nothing to them, though they seem like Moses to have cleft the rock. He feels them not, though they squeeze and press! My brethren, it may be that some of you have long been in the company of Christ, have missed very few opportunities of public worship, have become very familiar with the Scriptures, have often repeated prayers and psalms, have been frequent communicants, and yet are none the better in feeling and desire, have experienced no spiritual relief, have no more love or perception of the truth, than if you had been utter strangers to Christ, and never been near Him nor heard of Him. Hence it may be that religion is to you but a name: it profits you not, it affords you no delight, it exercises no influence upon you. Would you know why? Because you have been but thronging and pressing, because you have had no real sense of your misery, have entertained no real desire to be relieved and blessed, and so have made no well-directed, persevering effort to touch Christ! You are, as you feel, no better, no wiser, than if there were no Christ, or you had never been near Him! And you will never be wiser and better, however much you press and throng, till you realise your want, and are convinced that Christ alone can relieve it, and come to Him faithfully, resolutely, humbly, to touch the hem of His garment, and be healed of your plague. First, then, strive to know what you want, and to be convinced that Christ can and will grant it; and, then, feeling the desire of it, being sure from Whom alone it can be had, and how it must be sought, draw near—with the feeling of necessity, with the perseverance of desire, with the consciousness of unworthiness—and effect the touch of faith. You shall not, in that case, remain unblessed; your plague shall be stayed, your faith shall be commended, your effort crowned, your humility exalted; you shall have more than you sought; enlarge your desire as you will, it shall be more than satisfied: and He whom you would but touch, and then shrink away, shall call you forth, and own, and bless you, and give you everlasting peace and perfect salvation.

Next, let us observe, that nothing can keep back and nothing hide from Christ. We are sometimes tempted, in the deep sense of our unworthiness, in review of the distance between us and the Healer, of the many obstacles which intervene, to give up in despair, and say to ourselves, “It is of no use trying, I am not fit for such a blessing, and if I were, I cannot reach it.” Now, consider, who could be more unfit, and who more unable to approach Christ than this poor woman. There was a positive law which forbade her coming; her touch was pollution: yet Christ reproached her not with disregarding that law, nor refused her because of it; and when she touched He did not recoil, but encouraged her. For us there is no excommunicating law. From us Christ is pledged not to recoil. “Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden,” is an invitation, a positive command. “Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out,” is a most solemn pledge. Why, then, should we shrink? What shall we fear? And as for difficulties and hindrances, our own infirmities, the opposition of the world or the Devil, the sneers of despisers, the distance, the crowd, the hurrying on, can aught compare with what threatened this woman, and what she overcame? O are we not ashamed to forego salvation, to keep away from Christ, to desist from determination to reach Him, by any plea of personal infirmity, or of difficulty in the way? What in ourselves is worse than the twelve years’ growing, enfeebling, overwhelming malady of this woman? What in aught around us is more impenetrable than the great crowd? and whenever was Christ as distant from us as He was from her? And then as to the discouragement which Satan would suggest to us, that in our age we cannot, like this poor woman, get anything from Christ by stealth; that the power to heal flows not unconsciously; that He must see, and approve, and stay for us, and even anticipate us; and that by reason of our insignificance and the wide extent of His dominion, it is not reasonable to suppose that we shall be observed—brethren, are we not assured, by the fact that she was discerned, and watched for, and singled out from the great multitude, that the gaze which is comprehensive enough to include all is particular enough to distinguish each; that there is nothing beneath His notice; that He can get through, and will get through, all that stands between us and Him: that He who keeps vast globes in their orbits, takes thought even for sparrows; that He counts the hairs of each individual’s head; that He hears each sigh, and feels each sorrow; that the roar of the universe is not louder in His ear than the feeblest cry of distress from the lowest of His creatures? O it is a blessed assurance, and one for which we should be heartily thankful, that it was always when there was most to distract, that Christ was most closely attentive; that it was in the most dazzling glare that He saw most clearly; that it was when He seemed most absorbed in other aims, that His notice and help were most readily secured; that in the way to raise the daughter of Jairus, He was so easily stopped to heal and bless the woman with the issue of blood! No sight too insignificant to escape His eye; no sound too faint to reach His ear; no crowd so great as to hide the individual; no object so engrossing as to exclude from notice, or to hurry on from concern for the least, the unworthiest of other objects!

Lastly, let us observe that power to heal was ready to flow wherever there was a channel made for it. We are not, of course, to understand that Christ healed unconsciously; that any mere formal touch secured, as it were, without the violation of His will, the grace which He was anointed to bestow; but we are to understand, that such is the law of grace, that where there is a demand there is a supply; that like as the thirsty sand surely drinks in the rising wave, like as a sponge absorbs the water into which it is plunged, so the sensibly void heart, the yearning desire, the faithful effort, the moral fitness, is sure of what it wants and seeks, if it is found in the place where what it wants exists. It is one of the most wonderful, most mysterious, and at the same time most sure effects of Christ’s incarnation that human nature, needing and desiring, put into communion with Him, possessing, overflowing, shall have by the necessary operation of an invariable law, the thing which it wants, and which He has to bestow. There is no chance, no mere probability in the case: Christ is the ever-flowing fountain; if you stand beneath, the water must come over you. He is the root full of sap, if you are one of the branches joined to Him, the sap shall flow into and permeate you.

It is this which makes ordinances effectual signs of grace; means, not by which grace may perhaps be bestowed, but by which it is sure to be bestowed, if they are rightly used. The woman, whose history we have been considering, might have been disappointed in her hope: for Christ had not taught her, nor made her any promise, nor prescribed to her any course; but He has so enlightened us in the mystery of His Incarnation; He has so pledged to us His grace; He has so shown us how to obtain it, that we may most confidently say, “If I may but touch, I shall be whole.” Grace, the manifold grace of Christ’s glorified body—the source of sanctification and every blessing, is ready to flow, and will flow as soon as He is touched. Of course, as we have seen, this touch must be directed by right feeling; but still, observe, there must be a touch. “Thy faith hath saved thee.” Not because it kept thee still, sighing for, talking of, waiting for Me, but because it roused thee, and made thee encounter so much, and do so much to come and touch Me. Faith gives quality to the touch, but, after all, the touch secures the blessing. So it ever is. The touch necessary, and the touch effectual. “He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.” “Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink His blood, ye have no life in you.” The water of Baptism is the laver of regeneration. The bread which we break, and the cup which we bless, are the Communion of the Body and Blood of Christ. Using the outward part rightly, you do certainly receive the inward grace: for as soon as Christ is rightly touched, and these are appointed ways of touching, immediately—as it were, spontaneously—virtue to heal goes out of Him.

Let it not, however, be supposed, that this view of the way of healing and sanctifying makes Christ a servant of grace instead of the Lord of grace; that it directs us to a mere storehouse to help ourselves, instead of sending us to a living, loving, discerning Saviour, of Whom we are to crave the help and blessing which are His to give as He will. No, brethren, it exalts ordinances, but only because they are Christ’s ordinances, the clothes in which He is clad, as He walks among us, the garments through which power to heal is transmitted from Him to us. The use of these things without a sense of unworthiness, without humility and faith, is like the thronging of Christ by the crowd, not only unprofitable, but rude and profane; and this sense of unworthiness, this humility and faith, together with the power and perseverance to act upon them, are all the gifts of Christ, seed sown, increase given by Him according to His will. Look, then, to the Physician, as well as to the remedy, to the Giver of grace as well as to the Channel of grace; and, knowing that without Him you can do nothing, and except from Him receive nothing, beseech Him to enable you to seek grace rightly, and then to bestow it freely, not for any worthiness, for any feeling, for any deed; but simply because of your necessity, out of His boundless love.