Leper

SAMARITAN LEPER:

“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” That was the first thing we said when we saw him—my fellow lepers and I. I don’t know if it was the right thing to say or the only thing to say. But that’s what we needed more than anything: mercy.

I used to be a leper—something that’s probably really hard for you to understand in the 21st century. Leprosy sounds like something far away and out of memory—like a foreign myth. Or maybe, when you hear the term leprosy, you immediately think of Hansen’s Disease, the disease in India that causes victims’ nerves to die so that their limbs rot and fall off. Mother Theresa famously worked among these so-called “Untouchables.”

Well, in my time, during the 1st century, when Christ walked the earth, leprosy was a catch-all term for a whole slew of skin conditions and diseases—including Hansen’s Disease. But leprosy was also a term for various rashes, sores, and blemishes on the skin, even conditions like eczema and psoriasis. Yet whatever you want to call it, whether in modern-day India or ancient Israel, leprosy made you untouchable—“unclean.”

“Unclean.” That’s what people used to call me. There are two entire chapters in the Law of Moses devoted to all the rules and regulations for how to deal with leprosy. And it basically boils down this: have nothing to do with a leper. Don’t touch him, don’t live with him, don’t let him in your house, don’t eat with him, don’t do anything with him. It doesn’t matter if you have a wife and children at home. If you’re a leper, you are unclean and cast out of the community. In fact, you’re kicked out of town and have to beg for a living on the outskirts of where civilized people dwell. You’re not allowed to cut your hair or change your clothes anymore. And wherever you go, you have to warn people who are coming too close by crying out, “Unclean! Unclean!”

Being a leper means you’re alone. You’re cut off from your family and cut off from your community. You can’t even go to the synagogue to worship so you’re even cut off from God. You’re cut off because you’re unclean. When I met Jesus, I hadn’t seen my family in years—at least not up close. I couldn’t hug or kiss my wife. I couldn’t even touch her with a ten foot pole. I had to watch my daughter grow up from a distance, peering through the city gates in the off chance that I might catch a glimpse of her playing in the street with other children. I didn’t even know if her mother told her about me or just implied that I was dead. Would it matter either way? I was unclean. That’s what it means to be a leper.

I suppose you could say that at least lepers stick together. After all, misery loves company. But in my case, there was yet another fact that separated me even from the lepers: I am a Samaritan. I’m not a Jew. And the Jews have nothing to do with Samaritans. They say we’re dirty and little better than pagans. We’re the wrong race and the wrong religion. In other words, Samaritans are just another kind of “unclean.” So even in the leper colony, I was still an outcaste.

Now you know what I begged for mercy. “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” For me, mercy meant relief from pain and suffering, an end to loneliness, and a chance to go home to my family.

I had heard about Jesus. We’d all heard about his miracles and signs, the way that he gave sight to the blind and fed five thousand people with just a few loaves of bread and a couple fish. Some even said he could raise the dead! What do you suppose he could do for a leper like me?!

“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” We didn’t care who heard us or how many times we had to say it. Meeting Jesus was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and we couldn’t let our encounter with Christ just pass us by. So we cried out again and again and again, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

As he got closer, I could tell that Jesus heard us. Unlike most people, he didn’t ignore us. He actually stopped dead in his tracks, looked straight at us, and spoke to us! He talked to a bunch of lepers!

But what he said in reply was very strange—it almost stung. “Go, and show yourselves to the priests,” Jesus said. “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Now you may not understand the significance of that command, but we certainly did. Lepers went to see the priest on only two occasions: the first time was when your symptoms first appeared, so that the priest could determine if you were sick or not. The next time was only if and when—and that was a very big “if”—you were healed, you could go to the priest to try to prove that you were cleansed so that you could be readmitted to society. But Jesus didn’t touch us or say that he was going to heal us. So why would he tell us to go see the priest? We’d already been there, done that. We already knew we were lepers. We didn’t need Jesus throwing it in our faces!

Once it was clear that Jesus wasn’t going to help us, we turned around and began to walk away. But then—miracle of miracles!—that’s when it happened! I was shuffling away dejected, kicking the stones with my bare feet. Suddenly, I felt my nose itch, and when I raised my arm to scratch it I noticed something different: the skin on my hand and wrists weren’t blemished anymore! At first I was certain that I was mistaken, that it was some trick of the light. So I rolled up my sleeves and lifted up my robe to inspect my arms and legs. And, sure enough, the leprosy was gone! I was clean!

“Look!” I said to the others. “I’m clean!” The other lepers turned and looked at me in astonishment. Their jaws nearly dropped to the floor—and not because they were falling off! And they were clean too! All of our leprosy was gone. We began to jump up and down excitedly, hooting and hollering when we realized what this meant: because we were cleansed, we could go home! We could see our families again and go back to the synagogue.

“But first we must show the priest,” they said, and so off they went. But I couldn’t go show the priest. I’m a Samaritan, not a Jew. Leper or no, the Jewish priest would never let me in the door.

But I knew where I could go, where I should go! I ran back to find Jesus. And when I saw him, I fell down at his feet and thanked him, praising God. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” I said again and again and again. “Oh, thank you, Jesus!”

But Jesus looked around with visible sadness on his face. And in a very disappointed voice he said, “Were not ten cleansed? Then where are the other nine? Was this Samaritan the only one who could praise God?”

Then Jesus reached down his hand to raise me up off my knees. And with the biggest smile full of love he told me, “Get up and go. Your faith has saved you.” I asked Jesus to have mercy on me, and he did! But not just on my body—Jesus had mercy on my soul, too! He forgave my sins and saved my whole person, body and soul!

Now I know that your English language Bible only records Jesus words as “Your faith has made you well.” But what Jesus said was even more powerful than that! Yes, I was healed, but what Jesus actually said was “Your faith has saved you.” The same Greek verb can be used either way. But whether I realized it or not when I begged for Jesus to have mercy on me, I wasn’t just asking for healing. I was asking for him to save me. And save me he did! That’s what Jesus does. That’s who he is. (It’s also what his name means). Jesus saves. And he saved me.

Jesus wants to save you too. “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” is not so very different than what you pray in that fancy prayer you call the Kyrie. Lord, have mercy! Christ, have mercy! Lord, have mercy! Amen. And when you pray that prayer, he does have mercy. Jesus cleanses your heart, washes away your sins, and holds out the promise of ultimate healing in the resurrection on the Last Day. Jesus saves you!

When I first saw Jesus coming, I thought that what I needed more than anything was to be healed of my leprosy. But more than physical healing, I needed to be cured of loneliness—to have my family back in my life and to enjoy community again. And even as wonderful as it was to see my wife and daughter again and to hold them in my arms, what I needed most of all was the mercy and grace of Jesus Christ.

When Jesus healed me—when he saved me!—my heart overflowed with happiness. How could I hold back my joy? How could I not thank and praise him? Like the Lord, I’ll never understand my nine companions who didn’t come back to give thanks. But, then again, that’s how cold and callous human beings can be. We receive everything as a gift from God, but we forget to say “thank you” and give back a little of what we receive.

God has given you so much! You Americans in the twenty-first century are the most healthy, wealthy, and blessed people in the history of the world! Your medical system is so advanced that you’d never even consider kicking a leper like me out of the community. But for all the ways that God blesses you, sometimes you still struggle to praise the Lord and give him thanks for his many gifts.

Of course, the greatest gift of all is your salvation. When you cried out for mercy, God answered and sent his Son Jesus to die for your sins. And now that he himself is risen from the dead, Jesus tells you, “Get up and go! Your faith has saved you.” Jesus has had mercy on you. Jesus saved you! And so I hope you too will bow down in worship and prayer to praise and thank the God who gives you everything. In Jesus’ name, Amen!