The Leper

The Leper

For five years no one has touched me.  No one!  Not one person!  Not my wife!  Not my child! Not my friends!  No one has touched me! They saw me. They have spoken to me. I even sensed the love in their voices. I saw concern in their faces as they talked. But there was no touch. Not once! No one touched me!

What is common to you, I want. Handshakes, a warm hug. A tap on the shoulder. A kiss on the lips. Such moments have been taken from my world. No one touched me! No one bumped into me!  What I would have given to have been bumped into – to be caught in the crowd. For my shoulder to brush someone elses. But for five years it has not happened.

How could it!  I am not allowed on the streets.  I am not permitted in my own synagogue. Not even welcome in my own house. I was untouchable.  A LEPER.  And no one touched me, until today.

One year during the harvest, my grip on the scythe seemed weak. The tips of my fingers numbed. First one finger, then another.  Within a short time I could grip the tool but not feel it. By the end of the season, I felt nothing at all. I said nothing to my wife, but I knew she suspected something!  How could she not.  I carried this hand against my wounded body like a wounded bird.

One afternoon I put my hands in the wash basin to wash my face. The water turned red. My finger was bleeding. I didn’t know I was wounded. How did I cut myself?  On a knife?  Did my hand slide across the sharp edge and me not feel it? It must have, but I didn’t feel anything!  “It’s on your clothes, too,” my wife said softly. Before looking at her, I looked down and saw my clothes. BLOOD. I knew my life was forever altered.

“Shall I go with you to tell the priest?” she said.  “No, I’ll go alone.”

I turned and looked into her eyes. She had started crying. Standing next to her was our three-year-old daughter. I squatted down and touched her cheek. I stood up and with my good hand I touched my wife. It would be our final touch.

Five years have passed and no one has touched me since – until today. The priest didn’t touch me. He looked at my hand now wrapped in cloth. He looked in my face. I never faulted him for what he said. He was just doing his job. He extended his hand, palm forward and said, ‘YOU ARE UNCLEAN.”  With one sentence he made me know that I had lost everything – my family, my farm, my future, and my friends.

My wife met me at the city gates with a sack of clothing and bread and coins. She didn’t speak. My friends had gathered. What I saw in their eyes is what I have seen since – pity!  As I stepped out, they stepped back.

Oh, how I repulsed those who saw me. Five years of leprosy had left my hands gnarled and the tips of my fingers were missing as were portions of my nose and left ear. At the sight of me, people would pick up their kids and head in the other direction. Children pointed and stared.  I could not hide my sores with my clothes – they were too many. The clothes could not hide the rage in my eyes either.

Many nights I just shook my fist and yelled, “Why me, what did I do?” But never a reply. Some think that I sinned. Some think it was my parents’ sin.  I don’t know. All that I know was that I was tired of it  all.  I grew tired of the bell that I had to wear around my neck to let people know about me. As if I needed it. One look at me and it began – ‘UNCLEAN, UNCLEAN.”

Several weeks ago, I walked to my village. I could still see them working in the fields. I hoped I could see her, my wife, but she was not anywhere that I could see. I could see kids playing and... and for a moment... just a moment... I forgot about myself and watched with enjoyment. I was no longer a leper – just a farmer, a man, a father.

I was so enjoying their happiness that I stepped out from behind the tree and it happened: “LEPER, LEPER, GOOOO AWAY.” I left as quickly as I could, trying to get away rapidly.

BUT THEN I SAW HIM! When I saw Him, I was changed. I can’t explain it, but it happened. One of those mornings that I faintly remembered, it happened. It was one of those beautiful mornings. The sun was up and it was beautiful. I just can’t describe it. When I looked at His face I saw that sunrise.

Before He spoke, I knew He cared. Somehow I knew He hated this disease more than I do.  My anger became hope. I watched from behind a rock as He descended down a hill. A large crowd of people followed Him. 

I watched and then it happened. He was only a step away from the rock and I stepped out and said, “Master!” He stopped and looked at me as did all the others. A flood of fear swept across the crowd as they saw me. ‘UNCLEAN, UNCLEAN,” they said.

Everyone stepped back except Him. It just came out. “Lord, you can heal me if it is your will.” Had he healed me with a word, I would have been thrilled. Had He cured me with a prayer, I would have rejoiced. But He was not satisfied with speaking to me. He drew near. He TOUCHED ME!  Five years ago my wife had touched me – no one had touched me since... until today!  “I WILL!  BE HEALED!”

Energy flowed through my body, like water in a dry field. In a moment, I felt warmth where there had been numbness. I felt strength where there had not been any. My back straightened and my head lifted. I now stood eye level with His face – His smiling face. He cupped His hands and drew me so near, I could feel His breath on my cheek and see the wetness in His eyes, and He said: “Don’t tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift that Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done.”

And so this is what I am going to do, I will show myself to the priest and embrace him. I will show myself to my wife and embrace her. I will pick up my daughter and embrace her. And I will never forget who dared to touch me!

He could have healed me with His word, but He wanted to do more.  He wanted to honor me, to christen me.

IMAGINE THAT... unworthy of the touch of man... yet worthy of the touch of God.

(Author unknown)