It occurred to me, as I read John 18 this morning, that when I consider those who touched Jesus, I think of those who honored Him. I think of a woman reaching out to touch the hem of His garment because, by it she believes she will be healed (Mark 5:28). I think of another woman — a woman that “any good church going person” would want nothing to do with — and this woman stands at the feet of Jesus as He is reclined at a supper table . . . and she weeps in contrition . . . the Holy Spirit convicting her of sin and showing her her Savior . . . and as these tears fall on Jesus’ feet she kneels down and washes her feet with her hair and kisses His feet with her lips (Luke 7:38). And I think of yet another woman, who having lost her brother to death, and then received him back after 4 days in the tomb, also touches Jesus . . . pouring out upon Him a fragrant oil of anointing . . . she too, using her hair to wash His feet (John 12:3). That’s where I go first when I think about people touching Jesus.

It’s the wonder of Immanuel . . . God with us . . . Deity in flesh . . . He could be encountered physically. God could be touched . . . brushed up against . . . held . . . hugged . . . anointed. But this morning’s reading also dealt a harsh dose of reality of the other implications of Immanuel being Deity which could be touched . . .

“And when [Jesus] had said these things, one of the officers who stood by struck Jesus with the palm of his hand, saying, ‘Do You answer the high priest like that?’ ” (John 18:22).

The end had begun . . . Jesus had been arrested in the garden and stands before Annas . . . and Annas asks Jesus about His disciples and His doctrine. And Jesus, knowing that He is not before a seeker of truth . . . knowing that Annas is very aware of His teaching because Jesus has proclaimed it openly in the synagogues and in the temple . . . replies that Annas might want to ask those who have heard Jesus what they think. And to that response this unnamed officer of the high priest slaps Jesus across the face (John 18:19-22). Oh, that Deity in flesh should be treated in such a manner . . . kind of makes you cringe.

Jesus, the Son of God . . . the image of the invisible God . . . the One by whom all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth . . . the One in whom all things exist . . . manifest in flesh . . . available for the touching . . . and here, one exercises that blessing with an open hand to His precious face. Oh, right there, had I been Jesus, I might have put my fingers to my lips and whistled the whistle that would call 10,000 angels down from heaven to my rescue . . . I might have called down fire upon that man, right there, right then. How dare He strike the face of God! But, as a songwriter has so aptly written, “Thank God I’m not Jesus.”

But this was only the beginning of many more “touches” that Immanuel would endure over the next several hours. He would be manhandled repeatedly. He would be stripped . . . beaten . . . dressed in mock clothes of royalty . . . stripped again . . . and nailed to a cross . . . all because He allowed Himself to be touched by human hands . . . “and being found in human form, He humbled Himself” (Php. 2:7 ESV). Oh, the humility of Jesus . . . the degree to which He was prepared to be obedient to the Father’s will.

And what did the Father think as He saw that welt form on His Son’s face . . . knowing that this was just the start of something that would end with not just the physical pain and agony of scourging and crucifixion, but the spiritual torment of being “Him who knew no sin to be sin for us” (2Cor. 5:21). Oh, the love of God . . . that He would give heaven’s best for earth’s worst . . . that He would allow the Creator to be abused at the hands of the creation . . . that He would allow Him to be touched in such a manner.

And, I imagine, the Son conveying to heaven a silent prayer at the moment . . . a prayer which I imagine could have been His unceasing prayer over the course of this day . . . the prayer which would eventually be spoken from the cross in that dark hour . . . “Father, forgive this guy, He doesn’t know what He’s doing.” Oh, the grace of Jesus! Oh, the love of God!

Father, I can’t imagine what it was for You to allow Your Son to be so treated . . . Lord Jesus, what longsuffering to endure what You endured . . . I know that it was my hand too that was taken to Your face . . . in ignorance . . . in sin . . . in unbelief. Thank You for the grace which brought me out of such darkness . . . and into such marvelous light. I can’t wait for the day when I will touch You “for real” . . . face to the ground . . . hands outstretched . . . at the feet of Him who gave His life for me . . . thank You Father!