The touch of his healing hand

 

                                                             He was the only one who dared

                My township rested at the foot of the mountain, a small rural community of low stone houses around a market square. On the outskirts, peaceful sheep and goats grazed on the grassy hills, but no one would employ me. A solitary lesion had spread across my body until my fingers and toes turned white and lost all sensation. No cure existed, and the priest pronounced me ‘unclean.’ To my shame, wherever I roamed, I had to warn everyone of my condition, and they kept their distance, repulsed and disgusted by my hideous disfigurement.

            Since my family also feared me, I was forced to live outside, blistering in the summer sun and shivering in the cold of winter. Lepers were banned from the temple, and the Pharisees, who paraded their wealth, as a sign of God’s blessing, considered me evil. God was punishing me for my sins. The rich shunned the sick and poor, and we scavenged for food on the town rubbish dump or pleaded with the affluent for a coin.

           The commotion raised me from my despair. As I begged by the roadside, a rabbi and his disciples  were coming down the mountain, an inquisitive crowd wandering behind them. Snippets of conversation reached my ears. This rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth, had been teaching his followers to love their enemies and pray for those who persecuted them. The teachers of the Law expected us to keep the rules and offer sacrifices, even if we didn’t have enough to pay for two pigeons as an offering. Jesus also taught his disciples to pray, claiming God as his father, but when the crowd described his miracles, I pricked up my ears. Would he heal me, a scabby, filthy beggar? On rare occasions, wealthy Sadducees made a tremendous display of giving to the poor because it enhanced their image. Was Jesus any different? I had nothing to lose if I dared to approach him.

            “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

             He stood directly in front of me. While my heart pounded against my ribcage, I fell at his feet, kneeling until my head scraped the dust.

           “I am willing. Be clean!”

         My heart leaped at the firm, kind tone of his voice. I looked up, and pure compassion was radiating from the depths of his eyes. He reached out and touched me. Do you get that? He touched me, and the sensation rippled under my skin, through my veins, flooding my heart with joy and acceptance. When had anyone ever touched me, an outcast? I stood up, mesmerized, and as I ran a perfectly restored finger over my arm, my skin was as soft and fresh as a baby’s cheek. He had healed me from head to toe.

          Then I heard his gentle request.

          “Don’t tell anyone, but show yourself to the priest and offer the sacrifices that Moses commanded for your cleansing as a testimony to them.”

          But I couldn’t contain myself. Everywhere I went, I spread the good news about Jesus’ miraculous healing powers because I  wanted to testify to his fearless love and compassion. Even though he no longer walked freely through the town, people flocked to him, and he healed them of their diseases. When they heard my testimony, they searched the countryside until they found him.

          You’ll find this amazing account in Matthew 8:1-4, Mark 1:40-45 and Luke 5:12-16.  Original readers understood that leprosy symbolized sin, which separated the sufferer from worshipping God and living in society. The nature of sin has never changed ever since Adam and Eve bit into the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. That delicious crunch defied God’s protective guidelines and separated them from him. They entered Satan’s territory, and sin spread to their children and each successive generation with no lasting cure. Although the priests offered sacrifices for the people’s sins, they had to repeat them and perform cleansing rituals.

          When Jesus healed the leper, his compassion revealed more than his ability to heal. He was showing everyone that no one was too evil, sick or despised to receive his love, forgiveness and healing. His earthly ministry ended in his death and resurrection, the ultimate expression of his power to heal broken hearts and bodies. While he suffered, he bore the penalty of our sin, the disgusting disease that separated humanity from God, our righteous judge. The blood of Jesus washed away the last guilty stain and forged for us a fresh and permanent bond with his Father. Anyone who accepts his sacrifice is sufficient to atone for their sin receives complete forgiveness from God.

       “I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him and he (or she) with me.” Revelation 3:20.

         This is Jesus’ promise to us, and his invitation has never faltered. Has your sin or that of someone else destroyed you, making you feel dirty and unlovable? Jesus wants to heal you. Will you find the courage to listen to his voice above the distracting cacophony of your world?

         Jesus has challenged me on another level today. If you, like me, grew up in a middle-class home, what passes through your mind when you see a beggar hiding behind a placard on the streets, or when a scruffily dressed person wanders into the worship service at your local church? Have they plucked up the courage to venture through the door, wondering what kind of reception they would receive? My sin and theirs separate us from God, which means everyone needs Jesus’ compassion and forgiveness, the touch of his healing hand. I am no better than they are.

        Are we people of compassion? Are we humble like Jesus?

 ‘Lord Jesus, You are the king of compassion. I praise you and lift your name high above all the earth. Your love washes over me. Help me show compassionate, pray for the needs of others and receive them as your children because you died and rose again for every single one of us. Amen.’