Clean

A crowd had formed. Over the years, he could recall only a handful of times people had gathered this close to his home. When people came outside the city en masse the result was often unpleasant. Still groggy, he jumped to his feet nearly losing balance at the wave of pain that swept over his body. Grabbing an extra tunic, his staff, and sandals, he moved to the small opening of his makeshift tent to spy the coming mob.

Led by a man whom he had never seen, the mob was moving to the large hill beyond the slums where he had made his home. At the sight of this man his anxiety was slightly mitigated, enough, at least, that he could put aside his provisions for escape. He knew well that not long into his escape even this small weight would have proven too much. Since that day, his strength was ever decreasing. The pain of waking every morning was, at times, unbearable. He thought of suicide. Most days this was a passing thought. Others, more. But he could never follow through. There was always this precarious hope that he could not quite place.

The leader ascended the hill. Young and strong, this man moved swiftly. Atop the hill, the man sat, legs crossed, to survey the crowd closing in around him. Eased by the calm of the leader, he left the entrance of the tent making his way for the hill.

Walking gingerly toward the crowd, his pain reminded him, yet again, of the constant inner struggle. What of this hope? As far as he was concerned, hope was nothing more than a burden to bear. Hope remained the only barrier preventing him from ending his pain. Yet, somehow deep within him, he knew there was purpose. Not only general purpose in life, but specific purpose for him. No one else would believe it, and he dare not tell a soul, but he sensed purpose in the midst of this bleak existence. Purpose which he railed against. It was this ambiguous purpose for which he yet stumbled through what was left of his miserable life.

By the time he reached the hill, the majority of the crowd had already been seated. Looking for a soft place to sit, his legs buckled sending him to the ground with a painful thud. Pain fired through every bone and joint of his body forcing tears to his eyes. The pain was too much. Attempting to move himself enough to sit, he labored to first lift his head, unaware of the spectacle he had made. He was met with looks of anger and disgust. Their disdainful eyes penetrated to the very depths of his heart, a pain more excruciating than the white sores that covered his body.

They reminded him of her. He could never put away the bittersweet memories of his youth. She had been his dayspring. There, in the marketplace where he first looked upon her, the first beams of sunlight had wakened his world. Beams pregnant with the full day's brilliance that, with time, would lift the shadows to reveal all the beauty and wonder that life could be. He had wasted no time in speaking with her parents and beginning the wonderful journey of engagement. Nothing in life had been more invigorating, more inspiring than the love they shared. A love that nothing, he thought, could ever separate. She was the first. And many more followed with the pronouncement of unclean. In the blink of an eye, the entire world had turned against him.

And now, he crawled under the weight of their stares. They knew he did not belong here. But so did he. Their attention was soon captured by the man now standing at the crest of the hill. Adjusting himself, he was caught with surprise at the eloquence and force of the man's words. Something about the man's speech seemed to tug at the concealed hope inside him. The man spoke with authority, unlike the scribes and pharisees who had beaten him in the streets. What this man said ran counter-intuitive to everything they taught.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
"Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you."
"Do not think that I came to abolish the Law and the Prophets; I did not come to abolish but to fulfill."

He was no fool. For years he had been afforded many hours to himself for his own personal study. He learned long ago the cruelty of the righteous, and instead sought to find productivity in his solace. He knew the holy writings well, especially Leviticus. After all, Leviticus spoke directly to him. For years he had slowly become convinced that the scribes and pharisees were wrong. The segregation was wrong. The excommunication that he undeservedly suffered must have been an abomination to a just God. Perhaps he was a heretic, but the holy writings seemed to major on the doctrine of justice. Leviticus was not written for the purpose of which it was now used.

"For I say to you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven."
"You have heard the ancients were told, 'You shall not commit murder.' But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be guilty before the courts."
"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall not commit adultery'; but I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart."
"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

"Ask, and it will be given to you."

The man spoke to the crowd for hours. The sensation was small at first, but by the end of the sermon, his heart burned within him. His whole life seemed to find its culmination in this one moment. Everything had brought him here. The pain of being a spectacle for everyone who saw him. The physical anguish he had endured for years. The fear. The sorrow. The precarious hope that whispered to him of purpose. This hope that prevented him from killing himself.

Unaware until this point, he lay, face down in the grass, sobbing. He could not be sure how long he had been in this position, yet he remained. He believed every word. This man, this rabbi, understood the Law. This man understood the Prophets. This man understood him. A hush fell among the crowd around him. He looked to find the man standing before him. Gazing up into the teacher's eyes, he found everything he could ever need. Then, weakly, "Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean."

The man smiled. Love permeated the man's entire being. This love, more real than any he had ever experienced. In this man's eyes was the hope for which he had long waited. Precarious. He now understood why this hope had always transcended his understanding. This hope did not find its source in him. It was not his. This hope could only be found in the Creator of everything. The One that now stood before him.

This Man, his Lord, now did the unthinkable. Before he could understand, the Man reached out to hold his face in His hand. A touch. Only one touch. He had longed for the warm touch of another human. A touch of love. A touch of friendship. A touch of camaraderie. The touch was all this and more. Jesus looked into his eyes and spoke words of power, "I am willing, be cleansed."

And it was so.

In this African culture, ritual washing is essential. The people are required to go five times each day to pray. If the man is unclean, he must wash his head, hands, arms, and private areas three times before prayer. If a man relieves himself, he is unclean. If a man consumes anything forbidden, he is unclean. If a man touches someone unclean, he is unclean. For this reason, it is important to avoid becoming unclean.

This can often be used as an excuse to treat people cruelly or to avoid them altogether. The other day, a beggar walked into a small shop where I sat eating a sandwich. Immediately a customer jumped from his seat, grabbed the beggar, and threw him out of the shop. People will give the required alms to the sick and poor on the street, but will not stop to touch or talk to these. The law serves them as functional savior. And the easiest and least costly path toward fulfillment of the law serves as the new righteousness. This is the new pharisaism.

In Matthew 8, Jesus stopped. He loved the leper. He touched the leper.

Do you love those in need enough to get your hands unclean?
Jesus did.