ON HAVING LEPROSY

I have leprosy.

The priest in our village was the one who broke the news that I had to leave my wife and kids. I had leprosy.

I don’t know where or how I got it, but I got it.

It began on the side of my head – above my right ear. It was a lump – a hard skinned lump – composed of a dark something. It itched at times. I scratched it at times. It bled at times. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

Then the same thing appeared on my right leg above my ankle and then my back. It was like I was getting camel skin.

I was supposed to head for the hills: “Leave!” “Go!” “Disappear!”

Well, I left. I didn’t want to. Who would? But I had to.

At first, I didn’t go too far from our village.

I camped myself behind this rock – on a hill just above our village. It allowed me to watch our house from a distance.

Sometimes at night, my oldest son would come half way up the hill – half way up to me – and we would talk from a distance – about what was going on. It had to be at night – and even that was risky – because in a small town everyone knew everything – warts and all.

My wife was like a widow. She felt isolated like me – becoming what I had become – because of me – but without leprosy. She remained inside our tiny house most of the time. She continued to weave baskets and make bread – but my five kids had to bring the bread and baskets to a market in the next village which was about 7 miles away – if they wanted to sell them.

They needed money – daily bread and daily coins – and it would have been nice if daily forgiveness came along with them. It did from some, but others would point out my wife from the other side of the street, “There’s the woman whose husband has leprosy and had to leave her. They must have done something wrong for God to punish them like this."

In the meanwhile, what do you do to put food on the table?

I felt helpless – isolated – stupid – and all alone. My wife didn’t understand any of this either. I don’t blame her. It killed me. I itched more. I scratched more.

Then word got out that I was hiding just above our village.

The priest – whose job it was to bark out such orders – came half way up the hill and told me that I had to leave the area.

“Unclean!” “Unclean!”

It must be tough being a priest.

I left. It wasn’t easy. But I did.

Finally, I found a group of men who had what I had: leprosy.

They hung out in these “Godforsaken” caves – high up in the hills.

They had little gardens – some sheep and goats – and were able to make it – with a lot of difficulty.

In the evenings we could laugh at times. Two men in our small group could play a flute – and three were good with bells – so the dozen of us or so – could sing and laugh at times.

However, when it came time to sleep, we were a sorry bunch – all alone – sleeping with the feeling of rejection and not being wanted.

In the morning some would wash up – but some had given up even that. What’s the use? It was good there weren’t mirrors. However, it’s always easy to see the other person’s lumps and cuts and dirt more than one’s own.

Each new lump – each new sore – lowered our expectations and our hopes about life.

We had to say, “Unclean!” if some shepherd or kid wandered into our camp in the hills.

We had to wear a bell around our neck and ring it if we ran into a caravan or stranger on a road we might be traveling.

I was ugly. I was alone. I was miserable.

Then this crazy guy – who didn’t care about us or anyone – went to the synagogue in Capernaum and met a man named, “Jesus of Nazareth.”

And Jesus healed him. Jesus healed him and he went outside and told everyone in the market – in the carpenter shops – in the inns – as well as in the hills – that he had met Jesus and Jesus healed him.

Hearing that I heard hope.

Hearing that I gathered up my stuff, said, “Good bye!’ to the men in our camp, and headed in the direction of Jesus. I had to find him. I had bundled myself up and wore a turban. I covered all my sores.

I asked folks on the roads, “Do you know where Jesus of Nazareth is?” Some hadn't heard of him; some had and pointed me in his direction. I just missed him two times.

Good News.

There he was – all alone – early in the morning. I knew it was him. I just knew it.

Surprise!

I followed him. He didn’t see me. This was up in the hills. He rested behind a rock. I could identify with that. It looked like he was praying. I watched and watched.

After about an hour he stood up – bowed to the heavens – and headed back down to the road. Well, here was my chance.

I yelled to him, “Jesus of Nazareth!”

He turned.

I said, “If you want to, you can cure me!”

Jesus looked at me. He looked me in the eye – even though my tendency by now was to constantly be looking at the ground. I felt ugly – very ugly – and not worth anything.

Jesus walked towards me. He reached out and touched me. He then said, “I want to heal you. You’re cured.”

I could feel something happen to my skull above my right ear. I could feel tingle in the sores on my feet. I could feel the sores on my back itch in a new way. Something was happening to them.

Jesus said, “Don’t tell anyone. Go back to your priest and make the offering that Moses prescribed. That should be a proof for anyone who thinks you still have leprosy.”

I stood still for a moment – shocked, surprised, stunned.

Jesus hugged me and then he headed back towards where his disciples were encamped.

There was a stream of water nearby. I headed for it and washed myself and my clothes completely and rung them out to dry. While waiting for them to dry in the sun I found myself singing. I felt as clean as a naked new born baby. Then I dressed – singing like I used to love to sing when I was a kid.

First thing I did? You know it. Everyone I met on the road I told my story. They thought I was another crazy person. I headed back to my camp. There were ten people there with leprosy. I told them what happened. They quickly got together their stuff and headed in the direction I told them Jesus went.

I went home. I went to the priest and told him what happened. He was skeptical till I showed him the side of my head – above my right ear – and my feet and my back. I was a brand new person.

He was dumbstruck – a priest with nothing to say. Amazing.
Then I headed home to my wife and 5 kids.

Then the celebration began.

[This Sunday in the Archdiocese of Baltimore we had the Archbishop's Annual Appeal 2009, so we didn't have a sermon - so I wrote this reflective story on today's first and third readings for this 6th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B: Leviticus 13:, 1-2, 44-46; Mark 1: 40-45]