Mercy Triumphs Over Judgment
James 2:13
(Read Mark 1:40-45)
Spiros Zodhiates was a Greek scholar and Christian leader who told of once preaching on the love of God to a leprosy colony in India. Their members were so moved by his message that they came forward to embrace him afterwards. He said that was a moment of truth for him, whether to receive their hugs or to protect himself. He chose to receive their embrace and trust that God would honor his decision, whatever its consequences. I heard him speak soon after that experience, while he was still waiting to see whether he had been infected. Thankfully, he escaped that fate. But I’ve always remembered the great risk he took for the sake of love.
“Filled with compassion,” Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing” to heal you, he said. Leprosy was, of course, one of the most dreaded diseases of that time, and still is today, for that matter, in places like India, which has 60% of the world’s new cases. Hear what the Law in Leviticus commanded of lepers in Israel: “The person with such an infectious disease must wear torn clothes, let his hair be unkempt, cover the lower part of his face, and cry out, ‘Unclean! Unclean!’ As long as he has the infection, he remains unclean. He must live alone; he must live outside the camp” (Leviticus 13:45-46). It would be hard to imagine living a more stigmatized life.
Think about it: torn clothes and ungroomed hair (to convey their sickly status), a cloth over the nose and mouth, always warning others by announcing their unclean condition, and banished from any family or normal social connections. And that’s even aside from all the gruesome deformities and horrific disability that come with leprosy by the wasting of extremities (hands, feet, nose and ears), as well as skin ulcers, nerve damage and muscle weakness. And if all of that wasn’t enough, in much of the conventional thinking at the time, leprosy was also considered God’s judgment for that person’s sins, adding yet another terrible layer of shame and misery.
“Jesus, filled with compassion, reached out his hand and touched the man.” Notice that he didn’t keep a safe distance when he healed him. We’re told by Luke that the man was on his knees “with his face to the ground,” (his forehead touching the ground)—meaning that Jesus would easily have been able to avoid touching him, but “he reached out his hand and touched him,” something he would have had to bend over to do.
That’s a key detail we shouldn’t overlook. To touch a leper brought contamination under the Law of Moses. This was never done. Jesus himself would now be considered unclean and was also exposing himself to contracting leprosy. But his compassion prevailed over everything else: over the Law, over his personal safety, and over any social judgments. And so many of Jesus’ healings were done that way, through personal touch: using spit and mud to heal a blind man, putting his fingers into the ears and spitting on the tongue of a deaf and mute man, and taking Jairus’ daughter by the hand to raise her from the dead. He valued the importance of touch. He wasn’t aloof or removed from common humanity like many of the religious elite in Israel, but his ministry was one of very real contact and closeness with those he healed. His love and compassion drew him close to those in need.
Did you ever stop to think about what kind of reputation Jesus would have had, associating with prostitutes and the greedy, traitorous tax collectors, and no doubt others from the dregs of society who were all attracted to his compassionate, wide-open embrace of mercy? He loved them, first and foremost, by going to them “to seek and to save the lost,” and by receiving them whenever they came to him--even eating with “sinners” and touching lepers, knowing it would provoke a powerful, judgmental reaction. And it certainly did, as we see throughout the Gospels by the reaction of the scribes and Pharisees.
Human nature being what it is, it isn’t hard to imagine the kind of gossip there would have been about how Jesus seemed to prefer the company of fallen women and all sorts of other unsavory characters. How could he be the Messiah, “a glutton and a drunk, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!” (Mt. 11:19). And who were his worst critics? The self-righteous religious leaders, who cared more about their respectability than loving those who need love the most.
A woman tells of an awakening in her life that humbled her to see the outcasts of the world through the eyes of Christ’s compassion:
We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there!” He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled with excitement.
I looked around and saw the source of his amusement. It was a man in baggy pants with a zipper at half mast, and toes poking out of his shoes. His shirt was dirty, and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard, and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. I was sure he smelled, too, but we were at a safe enough distance not to confirm that suspicion.
“Hi there, baby. Hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster,” the man said to Erik.
My husband and I exchanged looks that asked, “What should we do?” Erik continued to laugh and answer, “Hi, hi there.”
Everyone in the restaurant noticed this exchange, looking at us and then at the man. The old guy was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came, and the man began shouting from across the room, “Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo!”
Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, that is, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring derelict, who in turn reciprocated with his comments. We finally got through the meal and got up to leave. My husband went to pay the check, telling me to meet him at the car. The old man sat poised between me and the door. “Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I prayed.
As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back, trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be fouling. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby’s “pick me up” gesture. Before I could stop him, Erik had leaned and pushed himself from my arms and into the man’s.
Suddenly, a very smelly old man and a very young, powdered baby connected in an amazing way. Erik, in an act of total trust, love and submission, laid his tiny head on the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears welling beneath his lashes. His aged hands, full of grime, pain and hard labor, cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back. No two beings ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck.
The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms, and finally his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm, commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.” Somehow I managed, “I will,” through the lump in my throat.
He pried Erik from his chest, unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in physical pain. I received my baby back, and the man said, “God bless you, ma’am. You’ve given me my Christmas gift." I muttered a word of thanks; it was all I could do.
With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband wondered why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I kept saying, “My God, my God, forgive me.”
I had just witnessed Christ’s love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul—whereas I was a Christian mother, who saw only a street person and a sinner. I was blind, but my little boy wasn’t.
“Mercy triumphs over judgment,” in the words of the Apostle James (James 2:13). And that’s great news for all of us—from the great saints to the worst sinners. It’s only God’s compassion and mercy that saves anyone, but somehow we keep forgetting that.
Jesus came to open our eyes to God’s merciful love, and to show us that it’s only because of his kindness and compassion that any of us are saved. And he demonstrated that truth in dramatic ways, over and over again, to make it as clear as possible for us.
“Mercy triumphs over judgment” is one of the most important declarations in all of scripture-- both for our own salvation, and in how we reflect God’s love for a fallen world. May God help us to remember that truth and to live by its spirit.
