Jesus told the leper, ‘Mind you say nothing to anyone.’
We live in a world of public stories
We hear tales and get impressions of what goes on
We form opinions from what we hear
We have views on everything under the sun
In our modern media world
But this is not life
Life is personal connection
When I look at you and you look at me
When we converse
When we connect
Then life happens
I have the power to affect your life
With every look and every thing I say
With how I smile and bring sunshine in your life
With how I pause and stay the thoughtless comment
With how I care that you and I should live
Our personal sorrows cause us to live
Outside the community
Grief can bring us down
And we are helpless to help ourselves alone
But you Lord can cure me
And I won’t shout
About what you have done
I will use my healing to bring sunshine on others
By every look
And every word I say
Mark 1:40-45
We have two law-breakers here: The man with leprosy, and Jesus.
The man was forbidden to approach “clean” people. (Presumably he could approach others with the same condition.) And Jesus could have sent him away, condemned him for his wickedness.
“Unclean” referred in the first instance to the man’s physical condition, but, more important, it referred to his perceived status with God. Only the unblemished could approach the divine. Whatever the cause of the sickness (unlikely to be leprosy as we diagnose it today), the most difficult burden was being cut off from his community; and being cut off from the gatherings of his people in synagogue or temple. Sickness isolates. The man was untouchable. Far more so than any advice given to us to be cautious so as not to spread the flu.
Where there is visible disfigurement, others are repelled. I remember visiting a child seriously ill in hospital, a child I had known since she was very young; we were close. She had been given medication to which she had a bad reaction, and her face was covered with flaky scales. As soon as I entered the room she saw me and welcomed me with open arms: she needed a hug. I was surprised at my own reaction, a temptation to keep my distance; but I also knew that that would be the very worst thing I could do. Her love for me, more than my love for her, made it possible.
The man must have been terrified. But Jesus touched him. Jesus was “moved with pity, compassion; but the Greek word is graphic: his guts were stirred up. Perhaps Jesus, fully human, experienced fear, even revulsion. The man with leprosy perhaps had not felt human touch for weeks or months or longer. His trust in Jesus drew the response: Jesus touched him.
Then Jesus told him to do the impossible: show yourself to the priest. Their encounter is in Galilee. There would be local rabbis at local synagogues; but a priest? Not like our parishes spread over the countryside. The temple was in Jerusalem, more than two days’ walk away. I don’t know whether there was a priest living in Galilee at the time.
So now the man had two or more days to get to a priest. How could he possibly stay quiet? Put yourself in his shoes. To me there’s humour here. He could not contain himself. He could re-enter everyday life, the synagogue, the temple again! Winning the lottery was nothing to it. And now, from the man who was banished for human company, Jesus becomes the one who cannot enter a town openly! Opening our hearts to the rejected has its price, but the consolation prize is beyond measure.
Is there anyone at Mass today who feels untouchable? Whom nobody has said a word to yet today? Who may look glum and unfriendly of off-putting? Who looks as if you’d get your nose bitten off if you dare interrupt their prayer? Is it worth the risk? Even if you only get a growl in reply? Sometimes we need to step beyond the letter of the law to unleash the spirit. Even a word of greeting is a way of touching. You might find it’s the hem of the cloak of Jesus you touch.
Or maybe it’s you who is having a really bad day and feeling untouchable. Like the man who approached Jesus, let it not be your prison.
And what about the “shut-ins” as they used to be called on the other side of the Atlantic (or maybe not any more)? Those confined to home. If the sickness lasts a long time, even close neighbours begin to “lose touch”, not deliberately, but just as a natural result of not seeing them around. “I must drop in some day …”
Wouldn’t it be great if, going off home from Mass today, we just couldn’t contain ourselves? Our encounter in faith with the real presence of Jesus in his living body, the gathered church, and in the bread of life which creates a bond of unity which no uncleanliness can shatter. Come looking for good news, and it could be good news that you could never have anticipated. Even discover that you are the good news.
The healing of the leper
Mark 1:40-45
Jesus told the leper, ‘Mind you say nothing to anyone.’
We live in a world of public stories
We hear tales and get impressions of what goes on
We form opinions from what we hear
We have views on everything under the sun
In our modern media world
But this is not life
Life is personal connection
When I look at you and you look at me
When we converse
When we connect
Then life happens
I have the power to affect your life
With every look and every thing I say
With how I smile and bring sunshine in your life
With how I pause and stay the thoughtless comment
With how I care that you and I should live
Our personal sorrows cause us to live
Outside the community
Grief can bring us down
And we are helpless to help ourselves alone
But you Lord can cure me
And I won’t shout
About what you have done
I will use my healing to bring sunshine on others
By every look
And every word I say
Brian Fahy
10 February 2018
Mark 1:40-45
We have two law-breakers here: The man with leprosy, and Jesus.
The man was forbidden to approach “clean” people. (Presumably he could approach others with the same condition.) And Jesus could have sent him away, condemned him for his wickedness.
“Unclean” referred in the first instance to the man’s physical condition, but, more important, it referred to his perceived status with God. Only the unblemished could approach the divine. Whatever the cause of the sickness (unlikely to be leprosy as we diagnose it today), the most difficult burden was being cut off from his community; and being cut off from the gatherings of his people in synagogue or temple. Sickness isolates. The man was untouchable. Far more so than any advice given to us to be cautious so as not to spread the flu.
Where there is visible disfigurement, others are repelled. I remember visiting a child seriously ill in hospital, a child I had known since she was very young; we were close. She had been given medication to which she had a bad reaction, and her face was covered with flaky scales. As soon as I entered the room she saw me and welcomed me with open arms: she needed a hug. I was surprised at my own reaction, a temptation to keep my distance; but I also knew that that would be the very worst thing I could do. Her love for me, more than my love for her, made it possible.
The man must have been terrified. But Jesus touched him. Jesus was “moved with pity, compassion; but the Greek word is graphic: his guts were stirred up. Perhaps Jesus, fully human, experienced fear, even revulsion. The man with leprosy perhaps had not felt human touch for weeks or months or longer. His trust in Jesus drew the response: Jesus touched him.
Then Jesus told him to do the impossible: show yourself to the priest. Their encounter is in Galilee. There would be local rabbis at local synagogues; but a priest? Not like our parishes spread over the countryside. The temple was in Jerusalem, more than two days’ walk away. I don’t know whether there was a priest living in Galilee at the time.
So now the man had two or more days to get to a priest. How could he possibly stay quiet? Put yourself in his shoes. To me there’s humour here. He could not contain himself. He could re-enter everyday life, the synagogue, the temple again! Winning the lottery was nothing to it. And now, from the man who was banished for human company, Jesus becomes the one who cannot enter a town openly! Opening our hearts to the rejected has its price, but the consolation prize is beyond measure.
Is there anyone at Mass today who feels untouchable? Whom nobody has said a word to yet today? Who may look glum and unfriendly of off-putting? Who looks as if you’d get your nose bitten off if you dare interrupt their prayer? Is it worth the risk? Even if you only get a growl in reply? Sometimes we need to step beyond the letter of the law to unleash the spirit. Even a word of greeting is a way of touching. You might find it’s the hem of the cloak of Jesus you touch.
Or maybe it’s you who is having a really bad day and feeling untouchable. Like the man who approached Jesus, let it not be your prison.
And what about the “shut-ins” as they used to be called on the other side of the Atlantic (or maybe not any more)? Those confined to home. If the sickness lasts a long time, even close neighbours begin to “lose touch”, not deliberately, but just as a natural result of not seeing them around. “I must drop in some day …”
Wouldn’t it be great if, going off home from Mass today, we just couldn’t contain ourselves? Our encounter in faith with the real presence of Jesus in his living body, the gathered church, and in the bread of life which creates a bond of unity which no uncleanliness can shatter. Come looking for good news, and it could be good news that you could never have anticipated. Even discover that you are the good news.