Matthew 5:3-10, 14a, and 8:1-4
The young man walked slowly from away from the only place he knew now as home. As he moved through the noisy streets, children scattered, leaving behind the small footprints of play. Their leftover laughter reverberated among the close-walled buildings, echoing in a never-ending reminder of his anguish. The house he had just left was filled with others like him, unwanted, unwashed and weary. Any other person, standing back in the shadows and watching him pass, would think him old, much older than his years. Bent and misshapen, he limped every other step. He wore a tattered robe, hood pulled up over his head and hanging into his face. From a distance, he seemed a ghoul except for the look of melancholy that hung about his eyes. There was no malice in this man, only a deep sense of sadness as he hobbled upon toeless feet. His hands were bent like old tree branches; the bones were thinned down and the distal ends had already begun to dissolve within. Of course, he had no thought of how his finger-bones curled and slowly degenerated; he only knew the pain of his necrotic flesh, the feel of the wounds that festered beneath his extra-large hood. Ancient he seemed, like a withered cedar on a drought drained hill.
There had been a time, not so long ago, that this man had a name and a family. Joseph ben Abraham had once been a successful baker in the village. He had a robust and jolly wife to share his life, and three young children. Not yet thirty, he had not reached his age of wisdom, but he had become respected among the men. Like most other men of his village, Joseph had studied scripture since he was a young boy. He had ideas about the meaning of things, and he held his own in the constant discussion that took place in the corners of the Synagogue in the after-dinner evenings. How he had enjoyed walking those nights alone, having kissed his two daughters and his son good night, squeezed Rebekkah tightly and left her to clean up the dinner mess and tuck the children into bed. The warm breezes always made him stop and think about the sacredness of all; he thought of the breath of the Most High that gave life into the smallest creatures. Some of his thoughts he kept to himself, for he never knew if they might sound silly to the old men chattering beside the Synagogue about the Law.
Now things had changed. He had gotten sick and before long it was clear that he had been cursed. He had become so ugly – a monster who could never again speak to his own children for fear that they too would be cursed with this horrible affliction. This night, he was making a trek toward his home – the home he would never again enter. He had heard the children playing in the streets and thought of his own. His heart had twisted in spasms of pain and anger at his predicament. Why had this happened to him? He had gotten up from his chair, and donning the hooded cloak that acted as a mediocre disguise, had passed through the open door into the evening. It was his new presence in the alleyway that had chased the children away. They feared him, thought him “unclean,” believed that they too might catch this disintegrating disease. With no thought for his utter loneliness, children scattered like so many cockroaches. Adults were not so far behind. Now here he was across the street from the home his heart inhabited. He could see Rebekkah’s profile as she trimmed the lamp-wicks so they would be ready for the evening. It was not yet the Sabbath, so Rebekkah would be planning a busy evening of mending before imparting the wise words of scripture to the children and scooting them off to bed. Joseph stood in the shadows across the street and watched. From somewhere to his left, the direction from which he had come, there was laughter and the sound of running feet. He receded further into the darkness as he watched his son and youngest daughter come running past and right into the building before him. His heart flipped and settled in deeper darkness as he wondered if his children had been among those who had run from him only minutes before. Sighing, he leaned against the shadowed wall. Standing in contemplation, it seemed to Joseph ben Abraham that for one long moment time was suspended. Silence surrounded him, enclosing him like the womb. This was not an empty silence, but the pregnant silence of holiness: he was not alone. Confused, he lifted his eyes and found himself locked in visual contact with a man he had never seen before. The moment passed, and Joseph shook his head to release himself of an overwhelming sense that he had been exposed. Looking to where he had seen the man, he saw that indeed, someone was there – walking away, surrounded by a huge crowd of energetic and talkative followers. Dust puffed up around the bottom of the man’s robe, his feet filthy from walking barefoot on the sand.
Surreptitiously, Joseph followed the clamoring crowd that buzzed around the man. Bees, he thought, they are like a bevy of bees around the queen. Who could this man be who instigated such a fuss? As Joseph followed quietly, more and more people joined the group before him. He began to hear some of the words in the cacophony. As he listened, he gathered that the man they were following was named Jesus. The more he heard, the greater wonder Joseph felt in his heart. Some were saying that this Jesus was a great prophet; others whispered that he was nothing but a Nazarene. Nothing good comes from Nazareth, he heard uttered more than once. Yet, the crowd gathered and followed this Jesus through the village and out to the small hill where visiting preachers and healers often stood. Joseph had seen them before. Many of those who had spoken upon the hill in recent times were zealots – Jews bent on the violent overthrow of the resident Roman regime. Often, these men were arrested before they had completed their speeches. Other times, violence broke out and the men disappeared after a brief encounter with the centurions.
Joseph slowly came to the edge of the crowd at the foot of the hill. He remained along the far edge, aware of the disgust exhibited by those who passed within a few feet of him. From his border vantage point, Joseph could hear the man upon the hill as if from a dream. The words of this man – this Jesus – were astounding! There was no violence in them; rather, they were filled with blessings for the most unobtrusive of individuals. The timbre of his voice rang out clearly. In strong and gentle words, he spoke of love. Love! Not revolution, no words of insurrection fell from the mouth of this man. As Joseph listened, something welled in his heart; a hope he had long forgotten grew like a tiny light in a deep, dark cavern.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” He uttered, and tears ran down the rugged cheeks of bent-backed fishermen.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” He declared, and lone women dressed in black laid their faces in their hands and sobbed.
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” He spoke, and young women with water jars upon their shoulders stopped, and looking up from the ground, smiled.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled,” He announced, and young men bent their foreheads together and wondered.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy,” He cried, and the wives of imprisoned zealots prayed silently for their beloved.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God,” He whispered, and young mothers passed their hands gently over the heads of their babes, and kissed the tiny fingers.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God,” He said, and the grandparents nodded in the understanding of hindsight and the wisdom of the ages.
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” He avowed, and all who sat upon the hill at his feet looked about and shivered in apprehension.
Joseph heard many things uttered that afternoon. Each declaration was as a bellows increasing the light of hope that had ignited in his soul. “You are the light of the world,” he heard Jesus say. Who is this man, Joseph wondered, briefly, as he gazed up at him. Upon the hill, he no longer seemed a lowly prophet with dirty feet. He spoke as if he had the authority to teach them. No, to Joseph, Jesus seemed a great candle brightly glowing, illuminating the darkening evening sky. Joseph ruminated over the meaning of Jesus’ speech as the crowd began to disperse. It was time then, to be home. Rebekkah would now be lighting the lamps, soon to be readying the children for bed. Unless…Joseph looked around, wondering if his wife had joined the throng as they had passed their tiny home before he had followed. There were so many people here, he could not see her. She was a curious woman. It would not surprise him if she had come to hear the words of this charismatic speaker. No matter, he thought. It was only by law that they were husband and wife now.
Turning to head back toward the hovel he now called home, Joseph was surprised to find himself once again locked eye-to-eye with Jesus. Suddenly, the new light in his soul flared to a flame and he was possessed by the unexpected desire to kneel before this man. Unthinking, Joseph fell to his knees and cried out, “Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean!”
Jesus reached out and touched him. Touched him! Joseph drew in his breath, for no one had touched him in a very long time; no one had dared. Yet this Jesus reached out without hesitation and touched him, saying, “I do choose. Be made clean!” And he was! Joseph lifted his hand, and saw that the fingers were full and plump. Reaching his hand to his face, he felt the softness of his cheeks beneath his beard. No festering sores remained. He looked down at his sandaled feet, and saw all ten of his toes, grown back in an instant, all at the command of Jesus. Tears began to run down his cheeks as he looked at Jesus with unspeakable gratitude. Gently, Jesus said to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer the gift that Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.”
Jesus turned then, and walked with his disciples toward Capernaum. Joseph stood upright, hood tossed back. There he remained in silence for a long time, praising God and wondering anew who this man Jesus was, who had such benevolence and power to touch a monster and make him a man.
When Jesus had come down from the mountain, great crowds followed him; and there was a leper who came to him and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean.” He stretched out his hand and touched him, saying “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately his leprosy was cleansed.
Matthew 8:1-4
###
No comments:
Post a Comment