Its the sound a disposable rubber glove makes as you try and slip it over your fingers on a humid day in Clarkson.
It was around 2pm. I had finished work for the day and just done the banking. I left ANZ and began to head up the street for an end of work-week coffee. As I walked I sensed something was going on, a small crowd gathering, a man striding off in disgust, shaking his head and then two police arrived on the scene to sort things out.
Just between Rivers and the library I saw the ‘problem’, a man standing there barefoot in tatty brown trakky daks drooping so low as to expose the fact he didn’t have any underwear. His top was a hoody opened up to expose a hairy gut and chest. His beard and long straggly hair didn’t look like it had seen a wash in a while and he stood there – not so much cornered, but in surrender as he wasn’t likely to escape any time soon.
As the police approached they asked him to make himself decent – to pull his pants up over his crotch. He consented, seemingly oblivious to the problem this may have presented. He looked weary, beaten, but also like this was a regular event for him – to be fronted by police, stared at by strangers, to be dishevelled and naked in public.
It was a sad scene, but the moment that struck a note deep in my soul was the application of rubber gloves to deal with the man. It gave a whole new meaning to untouchable.
Still pondering and wondering what this says about who we are now…
You’re making me ponder, too as we get ready to celebrate the one who touched the untouchables and embraced those society hated, or at least kept at arm’s length. How would Jesus have loved that man? What’s the balance between wisdom and truly trusting Him to take care of things like diseases so we can care for people simply by touching them. Great questions that I don’t ponder enough… which is a problem in itself.