We don't even know his name.
This guy? We've got nothing. He was a vagrant. He had no name, no home, no family. His identity could be expressed in one word: leper.
If he were killed while resisting arrest, there probably wouldn't even be an inquest.
Leprosy is a relentless, unforgiving disease. It kills nerve endings so that those who have it feel no pain when they're injured. Burns don't burn. Cuts don't smart. And when you don’t know you’re hurt, your injuries get worse. Bruises blossom like flowers. Nicks and cyts fester snd become open wounds. As the disease runs its course, it disfigures its victims more and more.
In order to keep the disease from spreading, and (let’s be honest, to spare people the sight) many ancient societies -- and even modern ones -- would send lepers into colonies away from human habitation, where they posed no threat to the health and welfare of anyone else. If a leper came into town or even just met someone on the open road, people crossed the street to avoid them. If they got too close the people would even throw stones at them to drive them away.
In biblical times, the lepers even had to ring a bell to warn people they were coming and to stay away. "Outcast!" they would shout. "Leper! Unclean!"
Our unnamed hero took a different approach. When he recognized the stranger on the road was Jesus, he cried out, probably with more than a little desperation, "Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean!"
Jesus, you see, had gained a reputation by this point. He was someone who could heal lepers, and did. But what he did with our hero was even bigger than that.
People have an innate and inescapable need to be touched. For infants, touch is an instinctive part of the bond they share with their mothers. Put a struggling newborn in skin-to-skin contact with her mother, and her temperature will stabilize, her racing pulse will slow, and she'll trade her agita for serenity.
This fundamental need for touch continues throughout life. We gauge the trustworthiness of others with a handshake, thrill to the feathery touch of fingers on our arms, relish the intimacy of holding the hand of a loved one, relax amid a backscratch or massage, and draw strength from a hug. And sex is overwhelimingly about touch from the start of foreplay to the warm glow of aftercare as you lie wrapped in your partner and the two of you drift off together.
Deny someone the intimacy of touch, and you can watch them start to fidget and make up for the loss. They crack their knuckles, they hug themselves. They'll run fingers over their own hands and over their own arms. It's all an exercise in self-soothing, but it's a losing battle. People suffering from skin hunger often will slide into anxiety and depression, and are at an elevated risk of mental and physical illness.
This man was a leper. No one would touch him.
"Lord," he cried, desperate to get Jesus' attention. "If you are willing, you can heal me."
Jesus had all sorts of ways of healing people. Sometimes they were gross, like the time he spit in the dirt and smeared mud across the blind man's eyes. Sometimes he used his dramatic voice, like when he stood outside the tomb of his friend and called "Lazarus, come forth!" Other times he just gave the word, and healing was done. The gospels record that he even healed lepers this way.
Not this time.
"If I am willing?" he asked, disbelieving. "I'm willing. Be clean!"
With that, the evangelist writes, Jesus reached out and touched the man.
By that point, healing the leprosy would have been an afterthought.
Copyright 2022 by David Learn. Used with permission.
No comments:
Post a Comment