11/30/2016
The stench of the colony, for some reason, overwhelmed me more today than any other time in the past. The foulness of dead rotting skin and remnants of extremities, fingers with bone now showing, toes looking nothing like toes, scattered along the path, was simply more than I could handle as I walked slowly passed those too feeling overwhelmed and with little hope. On the outskirts of our shanty village, in a desperate attempt to lessen the smell that lingered, exaggerated by the noon day heat, I finally reached the fig tree that would offer me a bit of shade. I sat, limp and without energy, as with every day, trying desperately to escape “life” and the reality of my situation that ravished my flesh now scarred from its horrifying effects.
The disfigurement, gradual at first, now consumed me entirely with flesh tumors covering the majority of my body, skin lesions unhindered and the loss of extremities to the point of debilitation. I lifted my hands to my head, or what was left of them with fingers now mostly gone, as my palms cupped my forehead. Without thinking, I moved too quickly, and the simple adjustment of my body caused my skin to tear and stick to my cloak with its moisture. The blood trickled forth, crimson in color, freely and without interference; I sat in disbelief that there was no pain. I had numbed to such yet there was a pain more relentless; that of limited, warm, human contact for so many years.
I simply could no longer go on; I was ready to die and the sooner, I thought, the better. Lifting my eyes towards the mountains and in to the brightness of the sun, the shimmering heat leapt and danced off of the ground. Something moved from the mountains base but I could not tell as to what it might be. The dust clouds, significant in size, took me by surprise as “it” moved ever so slowly. I wiped my tearing eyes in an attempt to focus a bit more and as I cleared them I noticed a large crowd of people heading into the main village still a good distance away. The closer they came within my view I noticed they followed a smaller group of men, a bit ahead of them, and greater still their seemed to be one they all followed.
Could it, possibly be, the man, the man named Jesus, the great miracle worker? My thoughts ran amuck and I stood replaying the stories of demons fleeing with a simple rebuke of his voice and likewise all manner of diseases healed as if they had never existed. The thoughts, too grand for comprehension, lingered, as if suspended in air and capable of being touched. I felt something stir within me and without hesitation I sensed an urgency to see if this was him and if I could somehow speak with him in my humbled state.
As the large crowd approached I knew that it must be Him; his attire was not that of privilege but rather as a common man…one of us. He carried himself with such resolve, steadfast as he walked ever so deliberately now just on the outside of the gate to the village that had been banished me years earlier from its masses. Nearing closer still, I could hear the murmurings begin and the warnings from within and without prompting him, vehemently urging him to not only ignore me but to stay clear of me.
Now overcome by the jeers, the insults penetrating so very deep and the hurling of threats, I turned slowly and began to walk away from the angered crowd. My heart sank. I began to cry, softly, to myself. I had never felt so very dirty both inside and out? My steps slowed and I felt something stir once again within and I simply stopped as I wiped tears streaming down my filthy face.
Without thought, I turned again and ran as fast as I could and fell at his feet, taking the masses by surprise as they screamed at me with great fervor and without hindrance. I cried out, face down before him, “Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.”
I cried now uncontrollably, still prostrate and incapable of looking at him directly. Through my tears, now clouding my sight, I saw his feet move. All was silent, not a word was spoken by anyone, and I feared he was simply going to walk around me. Then it happened.
I felt a hand touch my head gently, the silence still deafening, and his stroke worked its way down the side of my face and his fingers now cupped my chin. With a bit of pressure he lifted my face upward, away from the ground, and our eyes met as he stooped down to the place of my humiliation. I had not experienced the touch of a human hand for so long that I simply reveled in its caress. We looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity and then he spoke, as if the touch were not enough. He quietly said, “I will; be thou clean.”
In an instant a burning sensation encapsulated my entire being and the horrible effects of leprosy reversed themselves right before my very eyes. A simple touch and a kind authoritative word changed me forever…how could I ever thank him for such?!
Father, this passage has impacted me greatly. For many of those that would encounter Jesus, His words, spoken at appointed times would change lives beyond imagination…we have all been recipients of such. Yet there were some Father that experienced Him in a much greater way, with His “touch.” We cannot begin to comprehend what that must have felt like or maybe, just maybe…we can?!
The older I get Lord, it has become so very clear, that the simple touch of a human hand, placed upon a person that is hurting, upon one that is lost, upon one that is lonely, upon one that is afraid, upon one that is despondent and or upon one that has given up, affords us the opportunity to feel what that must have felt like. It is your touch Lord, they are your hands of caress and of an unconditional love through us, channeled down, and upon the very sons and daughters you have selected for us to encounter.
Matthew 9:36-38 screams to us with a sense of urgency Lord, “but when he saw the multitudes, he was moved with compassion on them, because they fainted, and were scattered abroad, as sheep having no shepherd. Then saith he unto his disciples, the harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few. Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth laborers into his harvest.”
Father forgive us, let us look out rather than always looking inward and send us forth to those scattered abroad each day to those of your choosing; put them in our lives and allow our paths to cross. Move us, greatly, with a compassion we have not yet encountered. Let not another day pass Father for there is one that needs a “touch” from someone today!
Undone,
Daniel