I had long ago lost the ability to feel. Life’s tender sweetness, even its mild disappointments, had all but abandoned me. I was shunned from society and forced to live in isolation. My mind was collapsing inward and the luster of hope, I once held, had faded with the bitter reality of my disease. My scars and disfigurement had become insidious reminders; I was a leper, sentenced to a life of uninvited solitude.
Even my subconscious self was no longer a welcomed companion, lurking in some dark den of its own, hidden away, emerging only to taunt, deride and increase the misery that had come to define my day-to-day existence. I feared the psychological effect of abandonment had begun to disfigure my heart. I was turning into stone. Understanding had fallen silent.
I was fully aware, among the most precious possessions any human being has, is one’s spirit, one’s character, one’s individual freedom, one’s sense of dignity …one’s will to live. Once that has been lost, the opportunity for restoration is lost. I had come to accept that I was no longer living in a world redeemed, rather a world saturated with oppression and misery.
I struggled to get up the day I set out to traverse the hills east of Jordan’s Valley, where it exits the Sea of Galilee to the north to the end of its course, to where it flows into the Dead Sea to the south. The Dead Sea, I brooded, located at the lowest point on earth; disturbingly symbolic.
I made my way to a familiar village, in search of others who, like myself, had been sentenced to a lifetime of affliction and exclusion. As lepers tend to roam together, out of necessity, looking for food, begging for assistance, I sought both refuge and survival in companionship.
Even though we were, by law, banished from the villages, and the roads, which led to them, we usually congregated outside such places, although obliged to keep at a distance.
As I approached the outskirts of the hamlet, burrowed at the base of a plateau, I could see a group of eight or nine lepers huddled near the quarried stone entrance.
No sooner had I reached the cluster than they all erupted in hysteria, pointing to a man who was approaching the village. Through my eyes, he appeared a rather captivating figure.
The others began to call out. I resolved I could not remain silent. I had learned that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silent hurt more. I would not allow this opportunity to slip away. I would not– could not–remain silent. I needed to give voice, be it leprosy’s hoarse whisper, to express my longing, my desperate need. I too, joined their frenetic shouts, calling out, ‘Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!’”
At first I believed he had not heard our cries; or, he, like so many others, chose to heartlessly ignore us.
To my amazement, he drew near. Undaunted, he walked right up to us and, taking a good look at us, said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.”
I thought his words to be strange. According to the Law of Moses, a priest only makes a declaration when a leper has been healed? There were great details of what a priest was to look for, and how a person with the disease could be readmitted to the community, healed, and made whole. To set out for a priest while full of leprosy seemed absurd– unless the rumors we had heard about this man Jesus were true …
As the ten of us began to make our way toward the temple, in search of a priest, I was, with each advancing step, beginning to once again feel. The sensation coursed through my entire body, warmth and vitality enlivened parts of me that had long atrophied.
I was both awed and enlightened by the experience of bodily healing. The overwhelming awareness of my transformation compelled me seek out the one who had restored … no, redeemed my life! How could I not express my thankfulness?
I turned, and ran to find Jesus. I, who had been driven to dance with devils, was now destined to commune with the Divine.
When I reached him, I threw myself at his feet, gasping for breath. Jesus said, “Were not ten healed? Where are the nine? Can none be found to come back and give glory to God, save one?”
Observation …
How easy it is to run away clutching our blessings, and never cast back a thought to the giver! It is regrettable that the numbers of the thankless far surpass those of the thankful.
Be thankful.
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