INVISIBLE NO MORE

    Eyes, dark and unused to sunlight, squinted past filthy, tattered strips of cloth that covered his face ravaged by time and affliction. Fabric stiffened with grime scraped against the raw skin of his hands tucked inside his robes as he shuffled bare feet across dusty ground. He inched forward, desperate to keep as much of his presence unnoticed as possible, knowing, however, that he was obvious in his attempt at anonymity. And then, the one he was moving toward, both in trepidation and inexplicable hope, turned and looked at him, as people do when they feel someone watching them. 

    All these long years of staying mostly in caves, waiting for someone to place food and water where he could reach them, once the kindhearted person had left... all the years of no one looking directly at him.... And here was this man he'd heard so much about, gazing directly into his eyes. Seeing him. After all these years. Looked at, not with repulsion but with -- not pity -- but with something he couldn't yet assign a word to. It was that unfamiliar a feeling.

    He moved forward faster, unused to approaching anyone, but desperate to not miss this opportunity--the man was always on the move, always had some place he had to go next, or so the rumors went. And though it made no sense, the man seemed to be waiting for him. 

    He picked up his pace, no longer mindful of his calloused feet or gnarled hands causing others to recoil. All he could think was that he had to hurry, that time was growing short. Shorter than what, though, he couldn't fathom. After all, a man in his circumstances wore time like a weighted burden. Silently, he berated himself for not practicing what he'd say.

    One yard away from the man whose gaze had remained fixed on him, he stopped, heart beating hard against his ribs. Through cracked lips and dry tongue, he said, "If you are willing, you can make me clean."

    Had he spoken too boldly? Because some flicker of another thought altered the man's countenance. Only briefly though, and evident solely to him because of how intently he watched and waited for the man's reply. The man moved toward him. Habit born of instinct urged him to move back, to move away, as he was accustomed to doing, but he remained in place. Stayed motionless as the man reached out and lowered the coverings from his leprosy-ravaged face.

    The man wore an expression of resolve and something deeper as he said, "I am willing! Be cleansed!"

    Life instantly returned to his skin and body. He fell to his knees, grabbed the right hand of the man. Gratitude too large and too deep for words sought the only path of expression possible in that moment: tears streamed down his face and onto the man's hand as he kissed it over and over.

    "Tell no one," the man said. 

    So overcome by this immediate healing, he heard little else of what the man said. He stood in silence as he watched the man join those who always traveled with him, now thronged by others, as they walked toward the center of town. 

    Someone to his left said, "Who was that man? By what authority did he do such a thing?"

    "His name is Yeshua." He sucked in a breath. How many times in all his years had he heard that word read from the texts each Sabbath and holy day--yeshua. 

    Yeshua. Translated in Hebrew as Salvation.  

    

                                                        Image: www.bridgemanart.com

    The above is a story based on what I felt as I read Mark 1 this morning. Imagine that man with leprosy--the most physically unclean a human could be--saying to Jesus, "If you are willing, you can make me clean." I imagine that Jesus did pause for but a moment as the weight of that request permeated His entire reason for being here at that time. The man wanted his skin and body clean again. Jesus wanted the man's soul clean for eternity, and there was only one supernaturally legal way to do that: It was imperative He take every next step that brought Him to the Victory of the Cross. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." - John 15:13 KJV

    It wasn't nails that kept the Word of God--Salvation--on the cross: It was love.

                                                        Image: Prince of Peace by Akiane