NOTE: This sermon was originally told as a story not preached. I was a bit apprehensive about presenting a sermon strictly as a story (I’d never tried this before) but the response I got was amazing. One thing I tried to do was make the story come alive for the congregation, perhaps as it was for the original players. Please bear in mind that this is a narrative and often the writing reflects the fact that I intended it to be spoken, not read.
--------------------
The Touch
Tonight I’d like to do something a bit different. Usually I will get up here and expound on a particular passage of Scripture and give you 3, 4, even 7 rhyming or alliterated points for you to digest. I’ll even throw in an illustration or two just to make it all memorable. But not tonight. Tonight I simply want to tell you a story. That’s right, a story. Nothing really difficult or complex. Just a story. So get comfortable, put away your note pads or offering envelopes that you’re doodling on. You can even put away your Bibles. I want to tell you the story of a man that comes from the Bible but just a little differently than you’ll read it.
Picture in your minds eye a man. This is the lead character in our story. He is in 1st century Palestine, Jerusalem to be exact. There are no paved roads, no cars, and no telephones. The summer air is filled with the dust that has been stirred up by the thousands of feet walking about the city. It’s quite hot on this particular day, uncomfortably so. This man looks and acts like just about every other man on the street that day. But this day would change his life forever.
As you stand looking at this man walking down the busy, dusty afternoon street, let me tell you something about him. You may be able to surmise by the large sack on his back full of bread that he is a baker. He bakes many loaves a day and sells them at market to support his wife and two small daughters. They live in a small house in Jerusalem, on the west side of town. Not far from the wall that separates the city form the garbage heap in the Hinnom Valley. It’s not a bad little neighborhood, although it is a bit noisy from all the traffic. And on certain days you can really smell the valley just over the wall. It can be nauseating at times. Nevertheless, it’s his home and he feels comfortable there.
He had not always dreamed of being a baker, even though his good customers always complement him and comment that he is a natural at it. Somehow or other life just seemed to move him into that vocation and he didn’t dislike it. There are other bakers at the market each day, some from out of town, some from the nicer parts of Jerusalem, and one or two that are from his side of town. All have their own secrets, their own way of making bread. And he is no different. He takes great pride in his work. It gives him a sense of purpose. He provides for his own and that feels good to him.
Each day as he works, when he has a spare moment, he thinks of home and his wonderful little family. Oh his wife. She is the most beautiful thing in the world to him. He dreams of her all the time. The smell of her hair and clothes, her kiss, her embrace. He count’s himself truly blessed for having such a woman. No man ever loved a woman more than he loves his wife. And his daughters. What joy they bring him. The older of the two is rather high spirited, she has a mind all her own and does not hesitate to say what she is thinking about. The younger is more pensive. One never knows quite what she is thinking, but she is always thinking. Each day, as he returns home from the market, he can always count on them running to greet him with smiles and kisses. Somehow that makes the hardships of the day melt away.
This day, the dusty, busy, hot day, is not unlike other days. As he rounds the corner onto his street he hears the shrieks of, “Daddy’s home!” followed by hugs and kisses and a million questions about what he saw in town today as the man and his daughters make their way home in glow of the late afternoon sun.
He steps through the door of his home to the smell of a delicious dinner. He can bake just fine, but no one cooks like his wife. They sit down and, after giving thanks, eat dinner just like every other night. Nothing unusual, nothing peculiar. It is an absolutely normal, uneventful evening around the table. Watch the man now! Watch him get up from the table and walk over to his wife. He whispers a few words of gratitude to her and give her a gentle kiss. Each catches the others eye, and their brief gaze speaks a thousand volumes of affection. But what they cannot know in that moment, is that that would be the last such glance, the last such kiss, the last such moment, for a very long time.
She rises from the table to begin cleaning up and he walks to the water basin to do the same. As he washes his hands he ponders the events of the day and anticipates another such day tomorrow. But what’s that? There in the water…Can it be? Blood! Where’s it coming from, the man wonders? Had he cut himself somehow without knowing it? No there are no cuts! Why then is there blood? He slowly rolls his ands around trying to discover the source of the bleeding, all the while wondering, Could it be? God, don’t let it be. Blood seems to be pouring right through his skin now. Small openings appear where none had been before. He tries not to show his panic, but it’s too late. Out of the corner of his eye he notices his wife. Her ashen face says that she too is wondering if it could be. Please God, No! she thinks. Once again they stare into each other’s eyes, this time with a sense of fear rather than love and security. In a voice that is nearly a whisper he tells her to go quickly. Just take the girls and go. We’ll find out tomorrow.
The next day the priest puts the man in confinement, in a safe place, away from the people, outside the city wall, not far from his home…near the city dump. The waiting is intolerable. Now besides smelling the burning garbage he has to watch it day and night. Seven days later he is called before the priest who again examines him. Then the nightmare begins as he is declared permanently unclean…Leprous. "Why? What did I do to deserve this? God couldn’t you just have killed me? Must I be tortured like this? Is this really necessary? God where are you?"
Listen to him! Watch him! Poor wretched creature.
For the next few years things go from bad to worse. He has lost his liveihood his family his home, his friends, even his religion. He has nothing except the sliver of conscience that keeps him from taking his own life. His clothes are rags that he has managed to gather from the trash heap. They hang loosely on him to ease the pain of the open wounds that have covered his entire body. Tending those wounds now takes the place of kneading his bread. It gives him something to do with his time. After a while it becomes second nature to him. He hardly notices himself wrapping his arms and legs each day. But he does notice that he must dig through the garbage for his food. He and the other "lepers". He hates that title. It is so dirty...unclean. He longs for the taste of fresh baked bread once more. But it will not ever be.
Yet even the indignity of eating garbage doesn’t compare with that of having to warn others of his presence. "Someone’s coming!", the other lepers would yell. Quickly, he covers his face and in almost perfect unison they all start yelling “Unclean! Unclean!” Children would recoil in horror at the sight of him. Mothers would grab them and run for safety. The same people he had seen day after day in the market, spoken to, done business with, would go out of their way to stay away from him.
One day he was digging through the garbage by himself when he heard the cry “Unclean!” go up in the distance. He looked up. And he saw her. He was off the regular path so he didn’t say anything for fear of scaring her away. He just sat down low and quiet and watched. She was as beautiful as ever. But she seemed sad and a little aged since he last kissed her. His heart began to beat as she drew closer. Oh just to touch her again. Not since dinner that night so long ago had anyone even touched him. He could almost feel her caress on his face. He thought for a moment he could smell her breath. He was sure she would hear his heart beating in his chest. It was so loud and strong. Then she turned and began walking back toward the city and then disappeared through the gate. That was the last time he saw her. He wiped the tears from his eyes only to have his hand covered in blood from the sores on his cheeks. "I wish I could die", he thinks to himself.
Several months later word begins to spread about a prophet who was in the area. They call him "The Lamb of God". That sounded so clean. But who is he? Crowds follow this prophet everywhere. Even the lepers follow at a safe distance. He speaks with compassion and authority. One day, a particularly hot day, the man noticed the crowd following the Prophet up to the Mount of Olives. He has heard that this man can cast out demons, and heal the sick. Perhaps…no don’t even think it, the man says to himself. But he follows. As he comes to within earshot of the man he is nearly choked by the dust and heat. He is reminded of another such day years ago, of his bakery, his street, his children, his home, and his wife. This day in many respects is just like that.
As the prophet speaks the crowd grows quiet. Such a large number of people, and so quiet, the man thinks. Even though he is at a distance, he can hear what the prophet is saying, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” It’s not possible! Does he see me way over here? Can he know of me in such a large crowd? Surely not! But perhaps…
Again he speaks, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets: I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.”
“Can one man really fulfill the law?”
Daring, for the first time in years to hope, the man asks himself, “Can he do what has not been done since the days of Naaman and Elisha?”
Not since he last saw his beautiful wife has his heart raced like it was now racing. “I can put up with the sickness if only I could be clean! If this prophet, this ’Lamb of God’, can do that I can go home again.”
As the day drags on the people sit and listen intently to the words of this Prophet. The man on the edge of the crowd waits patiently. Finally the Prophet finishes and begins to walk down the mountain. As the crowd moves to make a way for him to pass through the other lepers begin to shout “Unclean” and run to escape contact with the "normal" people. Except for one.
Risking what little he had left in life he pushed through the crowd to find the prophet. “This man can help” When he finally reached Jesus, he falls at his feet and weeps, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean!” A gasp was heard throughout the crowd. A leper dared to talk to Jesus. How could they get the man to go away without touching him? They couldn’t throw him out or drag him away or even pick him up off the ground. They looked to Jesus to discover his response.
Then it happened. Who would have thought…Jesus reached out and actually touched the man. For years no one had touched him. He had been forced to live in exile a stones throw away from his home and family. To live without the handshake of a friend or the kiss of a wife. To live on the edges of society. Until Jesus touched him. When no one else would… Jesus touched him.
Then the man looked up. Once upon a time he had gazed into the eyes of his wife and there found love. Now he gazed into the eyes of the Messiah and there found salvation. “I am willing”, he said, “Be clean!” As Jesus helped the man to his feet, he wiped the tears from his eyes and they were wet, covered with perfectly clear tears. Unstained, untainted, clean.
He had cried out “cleanse me” and so it was…once upon a time.
Like the leper in the story, there are many people suffering on the edges of the crowd. Perhaps you suffer from an illness and no one has visited you. Perhaps you have gone through a bitter divorce and no one will speak to you, “after all what can I say to her” they reason. Or maybe your spouse has passed away and your days and nights are filled with the loneliness of distant memories and fading pictures. You may be suffering from an illness that has wracked your body for what seems like forever. Or you may simply feel “ugly”, “unwanted”, “unloved”, or even “unlovable”. You are not lost in the crowd. Jesus sees you! He cares about what you are going through and he wants to touch you when no one else will.
