24-Lepers-A

And We Thought We Knew You:
Soul Journey With the Real Jesus

Lepers

HAZE OF HOPELESSNESS

Summer AD 27
A town somewhere in Galilee

�� Someone's life is about to fly out of control.� Into a world of decay and a living death.� He will try to stop it.� He will fail.

�� "The priest said he wants to see you."� It is Abigail.� Her husband has not been allowed at the synagogue for a week. [1]� What if he has a dreaded disease?� What if he has...?� But the word cannot be spoken aloud.� It must not be spoken aloud.

�� "How could I have burned myself burning that scrap lumber?� I've been a carpenter all my life."

�� "Dear, accidents happen."

�� "But it was two months ago that it happened.� It should have healed by now." [2]

�� Amos begins to think.� Thinking is dangerous.� His subconscious mind rushes in to take control.� He must do everything to maintain the normal, the average, the typical, even the mundane.� He must postpone knowing.� What if he has, well, that unspeakable disease?� His life will never be the same.� He cannot allow that to happen.� He must stall.� He must table the whole possibility for now.

�� "Well, let me see.� I've got to meet with the owner of the house tomorrow about an added bedroom.� And my haircut is tomorrow night ~ always on Wednesdays. �Then, let's see, Thursday I have to buy more nails.� Friday's out for obvious reasons."

�� "What if we just go see the priest tomorrow?"

�� Amos is jittery.� Anxiety lifts him up with pinpoints and shifts him from world to world, from imagination to imagination.� He laughs nervously and mutters a "yeah."

�� "By the way, Zephaniah was standing in his doorway next door when I passed.� He told me to tell you to have a good day."

�� "Have a good day?� My world could be turning inside out and he says, 'Have a good day?'"

�� "Amos, are you ready for dinner?"

�� Whirling back to reality, Amos hides himself in a delicious every-day task.

�� Amos and Abigail sleep fitfully that night.� They dream erratically.� They turn and fluff their pillow sporadically.� They fight to not think.

�� "Hello, Amos and Abigail.� Glad you could both make it."� They have been met at the door of the synagogue.� "Come with me.� We'll take care of this quickly so you can get back to work, Amos."� They are escorted to a bench on the porch of the synagogue.� Just what is the priest implying?� Is Amos no longer allowed in the synagogue?

�� "Amos," Hushai begins, "let me see your spot again."� Amos holds out his hand, pulls up his sleeve, and shows him the spot.� Reluctantly.� The priest looks at it carefully.� "Hmmmm."� Amos hates it when priests do that.

�� "Well...."� He takes his time, and keeps a solemn expression to help the couple ready themselves.� "It seems to me that....� Have you seen the fresh pomegranates at the market?� Oh, yes.� Well, the spot is bright, but it has not gone deeper than your skin, so you have only part of the leprosy symptoms.� Now, as I see it...."

�� But Amos is not hearing.� Amos is refusing to hear.� Amos is staring into a world of blankness and hollowness.� Amos' mind is zig-zagging so as to not hear any more.� The doctor continues to talk, but who knows about what.� Amos jumps up and looks across the street.� Still the priest explains, but surely for not any real reason.� Amos walks to the porch steps and starts down, but turns back around when his wife takes his hand.

�� "Come on, sweetheart.� Let's sit down and listen to what the priest has to say."

�� He breathes deeply, but senselessly, because his breaths are short and fast, trying to escape.�

�� "Come on.� Let's sit back down, dear."

�� She leads him to a different bench.� The priest follows her example.�

�� "...so, I feel the prognosis is good."

�� Silence.� He has just been forced to hear the word actually said.� Aloud.� The word!� He had not wanted to hear that word.� He does not like that word.� That cruel word.� That harsh and hideous word.� But there it is in all it's frightful glory:� Leprosy.

�� More silence.� His chest is heaving.� Heaving like a wild animal ready to attack.� Or retreat.� Her husband is an attacker, not a retreater.� Heaving.� Up and down.� And panicking in horror.� How do you fight the unseen?

�� Still the silence.� Dare he ask the question?� The dread question?� He has been forced to face up to the word.� Now the question.� Can he face the answer?� The unknown enemy answer?�

�� He pulls one of Abigail's hands away from a shoulder so he can see more clearly.� See the porch.� See the priest.� See the answer.

�� "Uh...well...."

�� He cannot form the words.

�� Abigail looks up at Amos.� "Do we want to know?"

�� "Yeah, I guess we do," he responds in gratitude for her gentle nudge, yet leaving him in control.

�� "Well, how long...."

�� "How long what?"

�� He clears his throat.� "Uh, how long, uh, how long do I have?� I mean, will I be force to live like a hermit the rest of my life?"

�� "There are times when the symptoms reverse, sometimes after a month, sometimes after several years.� If reversals begin now, you have a good chance of never becoming disfigured." [3]

�� If.� If.� If.� Chance.� Disfigurement.

�� "Give it to me straight, Hushai," he blurts out.� "What's the worse it can be?"

�� "If you do not experience any reversals, you could still live without the disfigurements for six months; maybe even a year."

�� Amos' stomach is churning.� He wants to vomit.� Abigail is in tears.�

�� "More questions?"

�� "Pain.� Will I be in pain?"

�� "No, it will be just the opposite.� You will begin to lose feeling, and with it paralysis, perhaps in your hands, perhaps in your feet, maybe even in your eyelids.� Anything else?" [4]

�� Amos cannot handle more.� He cannot digest what he has been told.� He needs time.� Time to get used to it.� Time to adjust.� Time.� Suddenly time has a whole new meaning.� Time!� Where are you, Time?� Don't desert me.� Time!� Come back!

�� He stands.� "I've got to get back to work.� What time is it?"

�� Abigail responds.� "It looks like noon.� But why would you want to go back to work?� Let's go home."

�� "No, I've got to go back to work.� I'm still needed.� I've still got value.� My life isn't over yet."

�� "Amos," the priest continues, "You can go back to work, but you still cannot return to the synagogue.� You still have too many symptoms.� Come back in seven days.� And, by the way, washing your hands and clothes more often might not hurt." [5]

�� "See there, Abigail?� Just a little more washing is all it'll take."

�� "There may be some side effects."

�� "Side effects?"

�� "If you do develop all the symptoms, you could develop lumps on your face, while the bridge of your nose will begin to disappear.� I want you back here in one week.� Amos.� I'm so sorry to have had to tell you.� But you could still beat this thing."

�� Amos and Abigail force a smile and leave.� They walk down the front steps of the synagogue with knees straining to maintain strength.� They part in the street, and Amos heads in the direction of work his crew is building a mansion.� Gotta get back to work.� The guys on the crew are depending on him.� Gotta get that roof done.

�� But work does not go well.� Amos cannot concentrate.�

�� "Why me?" he thinks to himself.� He hits the small pile of lumber with his fist.� A couple of the crew look up in confusion.�

�� He gets out a handful of nails, but sees only blurs.�

�� "What did I do wrong, God?� I go to synagogue every week.� I'm fairly good to my wife.� Well, we missed synagogue while we were on vacation.� Is that it, God?� Is that why you're punishing me?"� His thoughts choke him.

�� "I gotta get out of here.� I gotta get away from all you people!"

�� He jumps down from the trusses, grabs his cloak and heads for the stairs.� Third floor, second, first.� Run off those emotions.� Stomp on them.�� Trample them to death.� Out into the courtyard.��

�� He's gone the wrong way.� He's in the wrong courtyard.� The front gate is off the other courtyard, the larger one.� Back inside.� Back up the stairs.� Run.� Take three steps at a time.� Climb.� Climb beyond reach.� Take the other set of stairs.� Back down.

�� Out the front gate.� Run.� Run down the street.� Run past the mansion.� Past the smaller houses.� Wait for the procession of camels at the intersection.� Wait.� Wait for a change you know will come.� Wait for another change you don't know will come.

�� Now amidst the anonymity of a hundred people, he shouts.� At the world.� At himself.� At God.� "Why?"� He hits the back of the cart passing him.� He kicks broken pottery in the street.� "What did I ever do to you, God?� I never hurt you any."

�� Somehow Amos is now home.� Somehow Amos is stumbling through his front gate.� Somehow he is in the arms of his waiting wife.

�� Their tears mingle in desperation.� They become limp in each other's arms and sink to the floor.� Weighted down by despair.� Held hostage by hopelessness.� Groans and sobs that retch and are hurled to the ears of Jesus.�

�� In a city over by the Sea of Galilee Jesus is sleeping restlessly.� Suddenly he sits up.� His tears mingle with those of Amos'.� He must go to Amos.� But first, Amos needs time to come to terms with a lot of things.� Including himself.� Including God.� Including his own mortality.

�� While washing his face one morning things do not feel right, but he pays no attention.� After all, Amos is on the road to recovery.� The priest said that if he washes a lot, he could reverse things and not have the disease after all; he could very well live to be an old man.� An old man it is.� Amos decides to have a large family and retire some day to some town down south on the Jordan River and tend his own olive orchard.�

�� He reaches for his towel.� He rubs his scalp briskly in his usual manner, then his face and ears.� But stops.

�� "Oh, my God.� No," he groans.

�� He looks up at the early-morning sky.� "Not this, God.� Not this."�� He finishes drying off slowly as though not sure what to do next.�

�� He drops the towel to the ground.� He stares at the wash bowl.� And stares.� He cannot stay here forever.� He must go have breakfast now.� He must face it.� He closes his eyes and tries to envision his face full of lumps.� He used to laugh at people with warts all over their face.� But with them it was different.� Over and over he tried to envision himself so as to dull the shock a little.

�� "A knife.� I'll cut the lump out"

�� He listens for his wife.� She is not nearby.� Maybe she is at the market getting some fresh fruit for breakfast.� That's good.� He has to do this alone.� Slowly he dumps his wash water.� Slowly he fills it with fresh water.� Slowly he looks into the mirror.� At a stranger.� A gnarling stranger.� With a big lump on his forehead.

�� Shaking, Amos touches the lump, now dry.� He rubs it slightly.� He still has feeling in it.� Surely it is a false alarm.� Still, how can he face other people?� Suspicious people.� They know he's been barred from the synagogue over a week.� What is he going to do?

�� He looks down at the towel.� He wraps it around his head like a turban.

�� "Good morning, sweetheart.� I'm back.� We're having fresh figs for breakfast."

�� He is smiling in a forced sort of way.

�� "You look so silly in that turban.� Get that thing off, Amos."� Abigail reaches up to take it off him, but he grabs her hand firmly.� She is shocked at how firm.� He is not smiling now.� Then it dawns on her.� She takes her hand down and backs off.� She thinks.� Neither knows how to approach it.

�� "Well, I think I'm married to a new man.� Let's see your new image," she smiles, courageously and proud of herself.

�� He does not move.�

�� "Sit down, dear.� I'll take it off for you.� I'll be gentle.� Then I want to see this legendary unicorn I'm suddenly married to."

�� He complies and Abigail gently removes the towel.� She hides her own shock in an artificial sort of way.

�� "Well," she says with a chuckle and a tear, "I always wanted to be married to a legend.� Did you have to take so long?"

�� Amos stands and they embrace.� They love each other so much.� This too will pass.

�� Still he does not have all the symptoms.� The sore on his hand has not gotten any larger.� He walks down to the mansion he is building, but stays outside a few moments.� As planned, one of the other crew members arrives a few minutes later.��

� �� "Uh, Hezekiah, would you warn the others.� I mean, well, it's not as though I have leprosy.� But I think I'll wear this turban today.� Just as a joke."

�� Amos chuckles, then stands aside for his friend to go ahead and report to work.� He waits outside the gate long enough that he thinks Hezekiah has spread the word to the rest of the crew.

�� His fears are realized.� His co-workers avoid him.� He catches some of them stopping for a break looking his way and talking.� But they do not come around.� No one knows what to say.� He feels more and more isolated.� You'd think he was missing a hand or foot or something.

�� The second week ends.� Amos and Abigail report to the priest as prearranged.� Hushi pays no attention to the turban.� Amos is relieved.� Good news as far as he is concerned.

�� "Let me take another look at your hand where the burn was."

�� Burn was?� It was?� But the sore is still there.� Burn was?

�� Amos pulls back his sleeve and holds his hand out to be examined.� The priest looks at it a long time.� Too long.

�� "Let's get out from under this porch.� I can see it better in the full sunlight."

�� Now they are back on the porch.� The priest sits down on the bench.� He is not smiling.� The additional washings have not worked as well as expected.

�� "Amos, I am sorry."

�� Sorry?� He's sorry?� How does he know what it is like to be given a life sentence?� How does he know what it is like to be sentenced to deformity and the grotesque and the hideous?� How does he know what it is like to be doomed to a living death?

�� "Your ulcer ~ and it is an ulcer ~ has not spread.� But it is deeper and the hair inside of it is white." [6]

�� Abigail draws closer to her husband, but instantly he jumps up.� How can he allow her to touch a monster?�

�� Amos wanders down the steps, then toward home.� He knows what must be done.� He stops just outside his gate.� He looks at it.� And enters a slow-motion world.� A world that was, is, and soon will never be again.� He looks at the ordinary and etches it in his mind.� He goes through the motions of normal, knowing he will never be normal again.

�� Abigail stands at the gate watching.� Going through the process with him ~ in spirit.� In body she is frozen.� Frozen in space and time.� She watches what she will never see in their house ~ her house ~ again.

�� How long they stay that way, they do not know.� Time has no more meaning anyway.� But now it is dusk.� It must be done.� It is good to do it in dusk.� It is good to leave town when no one can recognize anyone else.

�� Amos turns, faces the door, takes the linen cloth he normally puts on his head to protect it from harsh weather, then lowers it from his head to his nose.� He wraps it around the lower half of his head.� It becomes moist with tears.

�� How can he do this?� It is not really him.� This is someone else.� Or an illusion.� Or a dream.� A dream from which he will someday awaken.� Maybe.� But probably not.� It is his nightmare.

�� He walks to his beloved Abigail, kisses her with his pitiful eyes, and steps out into a dark street.� She watches.� Down a little way someone else goes out onto the street close to Amos.� Amos jumps back and forces himself to say the words. "Unclean!� Unclean!"� And the stranger breaks into a run. [7]

�� Amos leaves through the city gate just before it closes for the night.� He walks all night.� Or at least he thinks he does.� Will he be robbed?� It would not matter, for now Amos is worthless.� Will he be beaten and left for dead?� He is already dead.

Leper Colony in the Wilderness

�� Sometime during the night he leaves the main road and heads out into the mountains.� Everyone knows there is a group of other lepers living in caves somewhere in this direction.� He does not care whether he finds them or not.

�� A grotesque face stares down at him.� A monster.� A nightmare.� A waking nightmare.

�� "My name is Zetham.� You have found us.� You are welcome...."

�� Amos does not remember the rest of the conversation.� He does not remember creating a bed space somewhere in a somewhere cave.� He does not remember settling in or beginning a hopeless garden on a hopeless piece of ground to feed a hopeless living death.

�� Time that does not exist drifts by.� He does not know how long.� Nor does he care.� He is no longer really alive anyway.�

�� Gradually Amos is unable to pull his cloak around him at night, for gradually he is losing feeling in his hands.� Without feeling, his hands are useless ~ unless, of course, he can use his eyes to guide his hands.� He cannot at night.

�� Returning to the cave one day after a walk to the other side of the mountain, he reaches down to take off his sandals.� He is shocked at what he sees.� One sandal is gone.� His foot is bloody and chewed up from the sharp stones sticking out everywhere.�

�� How could that happen?� It is impossible!� But it is not impossible.� He has lost feeling, not only in his hands, but also in his feet.� He cleans up his feet the best he can.� And shocked further.� The end of one of his toes is gone ~ obviously sliced off by one of the many sharp rocks sticking out of the ground.

�� He groans and falls even deeper into numbness.� Numbness of spirit.� And heart.� And soul.� Deeper into nothingness.

�� No longer in charge of his own body.� No longer in charge of his own life.� "Oh, my God, let me die."

�� Occasionally Amos feels his face with his arms which still have feeling.� But very occasionally.� He dreads the added lumps.� The added grotesqueness.� More and more he is growing into a monster.� More and more he is no longer Amos.

�� One day he has a visit.� She has done so before, but more and more he wishes she would stay away.� When he hears she has come, he selects a different place to talk to her each time.� That way he can get there before her and she does not have to see him hobbling on what is left of what he used to call feet.� Even then, he half hides behind a bolder, making sure that his entire head is covered ~ all but his eyes.� And his hands and feet do not show.�

�� "Sweetheart.� There is a man named Jesus who has been telling everyone the new kingdom of God is coming soon?"

�� "What does that have to do with me?� I don't want to hear it.� Just leave me alone."

�� "But what I wanted to tell you is that he is coming this way."

�� Amos stares silently at his wife with some sort of half interest.� She cannot know this, of course, because of the head dress.

�� "He heals people, sweetheart."� How can she still call him sweetheart?� "Jesus heals people," she continues.� "At least, that's what they're claiming...."

�� Amos looks at his wife with more interest.� He raises his head slightly.� She waits for him to soak in what she is suggesting.

�� "He heals them?"

�� "Yes.� All kinds of diseases."

�� "But not leprosy.� Even if it were true, no one can heal leprosy.� It cannot be done."

�� Alone again.� Alone to wander and wonder.� Alone to pass days of mounting nothingness.� Months of flourishing grotesqueness. Gradually turning into a human gargoyle.

�� He dreams.� Sometimes he dreams he is better.� He is at work building that mansion again.� He is not burning his hand.� He is laughing again.�

�� He even dreams he sees Jesus' face.� Jesus, what do you look like?

�� One morning Amos does something strange.� He goes to one of the many springs on the mountain, washes his clothes with his stubs.� Waiting for them to dry on the rocks, he takes a rag left behind by one of the others who died recently, and washes his now gnarled and deformed face.�

�� "Amos, don't do this to yourself," one of the others advises.� "You cannot wash it off.� It's not going to go away."

�� Amos just smiles.� His always reddened eyes - now with no lashes or brows to protect them ~ take on a sparkle.� How can that be?

�� "I'm cleaning up.� I'm going to go see Jesus.� I don't know where he is, but I'll find him.� Jesus is going to heal me."�

�� His old friend responds with a smile of pity.� "The people will be afraid of you.� You haven't experienced it yet.� They will run you out of whichever town to go."

�� "I'll go home.� Abigail will know.� She will take me to Jesus."

�� "You can't expect that of her.� That's too much."

�� "Hasn't she been to see me three times?� That's more than most of the others get from their families.� She's the one who told me about him.� She'll help me.� I know she will."

�� The next morning, Amos is up early.� As soon as the sun shows bright enough, he starts down the mountain.� Down to civilization.� Down to people.� Down to God.� It takes him most of the day.� He needs a staff because of toes lost to injuries he could not feel.� But he cannot hold it because he has lost all his fingers except two on one hand and three on the other.� Mostly from the cave rats that gnaw at his hand during the unfeeling night.� He holds the padded staff under his arm and pushes it forward with his knee.

A Town Somewhere in Galilee

�� It is almost dark.� He arrives at his house.� He pauses at the gate and knocks softly.

�� "Hey!� Get away from there!" one of his neighbors yells.

�� "It's me, Amos!"

�� The old neighbor rushes inside his own house and slams the gate closed.

�� Amos knocks even louder.� Now he's banging on the gate with his elbow.

�� "It's me!� Let me in!"

�� Shortly the gate opens.� Abigail stands at the entrance to her home ~ their home ~ with a mixture of surprise, fear, and gladness.� She has never seen him up this close since he left home.� He is glad the light is now dim and the moon is not yet up.

�� "Tell me some more about this Jesus," he asks, getting to the point so that she will not turn him away.

�� Amos and Abigail both want healing.� Healing for Amos' body.� Healing for their strained marriage.� Healing for their broken lives.

�� "Help me, Abigail.� Help me find him.� Help me get to Jesus."

�� She smiles.� She surprises even herself.� "With your determination, you'll do it," she responds.� "We'll do it together.� And we'll see Jesus face to face."

�� She quickly closes the gate behind her husband.� Though she does not draw close to him out of confusion and fear and respect for his terrible forced reticence, she goes over to her oven and gets out a piece of bread for him.� She sets it on the table.

�� Amos hobbles slowly but as steadily as he can over to the table he had made with his own hands.� Hands.� The hands he used to have.� He picks up the bread between both stubs and eats.� Abigail busies herself around the oven so she does not have to watch.�

�� Now it is bed time.� She does not know what to do.� "I will sleep out here by the gate," Amos announces.� "I love the stars.� We've become good friends, the stars and I.� I can even detect animals in the stars."� He hobbles back over to the gate, but not as slowly as he had to the table.� He is not so weak any more.� He is going to make it to Jesus.�

�� Surprisingly, the sun is fully shining when Amos awakens.� He has not slept so soundly in months, maybe even years.� He long ago decided to lose count.

�� "Jesus arrived in town last night!"� It is Abigail.� Somehow she stepped past him earlier and left to go to the market. [8]

�� "We must go to the city square!� Right now!� We must be the first ones there!"

�� Amos looks at his wife with more love than he remembers or ever imagined.

�� "Oh my God, heal my husband,"; she whispers silently.

�� Soon they are out the gate and walking toward the familiar city square Amos had walked through so many times since his childhood.� They walk slowly.� Now and then he calls out, "Unclean!� Unclean."� People scatter from him.� They wonder why Abigail would allow herself to be so close to a leper.

�� Eventually they are at the city square.� They do not have to wait long.� A stranger walks straight toward Amos.

�� "Hello there, Amos!" he calls out.� "How are you today?"

�� Is that him?� How did he know Amos' name?� Jesus?� Is that you?� Somehow Amos knows.

�� Now shaky and trembling, Amos draws closer to Jesus and Jesus does not back up.� He has lost track of his staff.� Still he shuffles toward Jesus.� Abigail remains by his side.� Together in their insecurities.� Together in their fears.� Together trying to elude Amos' hovering death shroud.

�� Now he is letting go of Abigail's hand.� Amos is stretching out his hand for Jesus'.� But he cannot reach him.� He is collapsing in desperation at Jesus' feet.

�� Amos is looking up.� "Lord!"� Yes, Amos.� This young man in the ravelling robe is your Lord.� He's right here in front of you!

�� "Lord," he is repeating.� He is raising himself to his knees, but they hurt so much.� He is so thin.� So little left of Amos.� So little left.� Left for rotting, dying Amos.

�� "If you wanted to....if you really wanted....I know you could heal me." [9]

�� Jesus is looking at Amos with pity.� Now he is reaching down and touching Amos right where the leprosy is.� Jesus isn't afraid to touch leprosy.

�� "You bet I can," he is whispering.� "Okay, you're healed." [10]

�� Strength is surging through Amos' body!� His fingers are coming back.� His toes are coming back.� His blurred eyesight is coming back.� His nose is coming back.� His feeling is coming back.� Feeling in body, mind, and soul. [11]

�� Something inside Amos is making him jump up!� He is stretching his arms and large hands like he is just awakening from a long nightmare.

�� Amos grins.� "You did it!� You did it, Jesus!� You really are from God!"

�� Jesus smiles.

�� "Wait until I tell all my friends!� Wait until I tell everyone at work.� Wait until I tell everyone at synagogue.� You healed me!� You made me well!"� The exhilaration grows unbounded.�

�� "I'm going to live, world!� I'm going to live!" he shouts. [12]

Winter AD 30
On the border of Samaria and Judea

�� It has been three years now since Jesus healed Amos.� He is on his way now to Jerusalem.� For the very last time.� Right now he is in Samaria.�

�� Not too far away up in the mountains are three caves.� The larger one has men in it.� The next sized one has women in it.� The smallest one is empty except when one comes near the end of his or her life and wants to go out of this wretched world alone.� They all have leprosy.� Just like Amos.� They are full of despair.� Just like Amos.� They are destitute of hope.� Just like Amos.

�� Some are from Judea and are purebred Jews.� Some are from Samaria - the half-breeds.� They dare to associate with each other.� Society would ostracize them for such associations.� But society has already ostracized.� So, in their exiled state, they cling to each other.� Somehow their nationality no longer is important. �Only survival is.

�� It is mid-morning and several of them are huddled together on a nothing spot amid other nobodies.� A spot forgotten by normal humans.� Forgotten by God.

�� "I feel so useless.� No one needs me any more.� All I do is wander these hills with no meaning to my life.� Wander and stumble and become worse.� I've become a leprous nobody."

�� "Why wouldn't my family talk to me about my dying when we first began to suspect it?� I've tried and tried.� But they changed the subject every time.� I desperately needed someone to talk to."

�� "I wanted to talk about where I'd go.� But my family just kept saying, 'Oh, Mother, you're not going to die.� You're going to live forever.'� I hated it when they lied to me."

�� "I haven't lived a perfect life.� I'm so afraid of God.� Surely he can't forgive me for everything I've done.� I'm so afraid.� What's going to happen to me?"

�� "I'm so tired of being tired.� I can't do anything.� My mind's not gone.� Just my body.� I'm so weak, sometimes all I can do is sleep.� I hate dying."

�� "What about my children?� I'll never see them grow up.� And my wife.� How is she managing without me?� It's so unfair.� I feel so guilty."

�� "I just want to go home one more time to really see my things, smell the flowers, drink from my old mug, and enjoy my family.� Just one more time."

�� "My death would be a relief.� No more numbness.� No more lumps and ulcers and stumbling and blindness.� I wish I could die and get it over with.� I'm so tired.� I wish I could just go on to heaven.� It has to be better there than here."

�� "I heard about a new cure.� Now, hear me out.� I know I shouldn't be running after every quack.� But this man is different.� He has healed people of leprosy.� At least, I heard about it.� He always goes to Jerusalem at Passover time.� If he doesn't go through Perea, he'll come through Samaria."

�� "Are you talking about Jesus?"

�� "I've heard about him.� He really does heal people.� He's been doing it for three years.� All kinds of injuries and diseases.� It's been proven over and over.� Priests are amazed."

�� "Well, where is he?"

�� "Let's take turns going down to town until he shows up.� Then whoever hears will come back and tell the rest of us."

�� "But what if he never comes this way?"

�� "What have we to lose?� We're dead already."

�� Not everyone agrees.� Many go back to the hopelessness of dark deadly their caves.� There are ten who decide to try.� There are ten who dare to hope.

�� Each day someone volunteers to go down to the town.� Each day that same someone comes back with no news.� Then it happens.� Just as they had dared to hope.

�� "He's in Tappush and working his way south.� We'll go into town and be there when he arrives." [13]

�� "Where will we sleep?"

�� "We'll decide that when we need to."

Sychar, Samaria

�� Their trek down the mountain is slow.� They help each other the best they can.� Mostly they are quiet.� Deep in thought.� Deep in wonder.� What if Jesus can't do it?� What if they make fools of themselves?� It'll be worth it.� They must try everything.� It's been proven he can heal.� Will he heal them?� Silently they each pray, "God, help Jesus heal me.� Please, God."

�� They arrive in town.� The city square is just ahead.� It is empty except for the normal number of people usually scattered around on a square.� They go to a side street and wait.� Wait for Jesus.� They've waited all their lives.

�� The impossible comes true.� The impossible walks in through the gates of the city.� A small group accompanies him.� Some of the people in town recognize him.�

�� "It's him!� It's Jesus!� Come quickly, everyone!"

�� "It's Jesus himself, our next priest-king!"

�� "He's on his way to Jerusalem to take over!"

�� The small group of desperates stands separate still, not sure what to do next.

�� Finally one of them calls out.� "Master!� Master!"

�� Jesus looks in their direction.� He does not turn away.� He does not turn away?� Is there hope?

�� They shuffle forward.� Closer to facing Jesus.� Closer to knowing for sure.� Closer to a new life.� If he can just carry it off.

�� Their collective hearts beat faster.� They are all weak from the trip down the mountain.� But they are determined.� They are stubborn.� Jesus has to do it.� Jesus has to heal them.� Please Jesus.� Please God.

�� Tears in some of their eyes.� Laughter on some of their lips.� Hope in all of their hearts.� Their last chance.� Jesus or die.� Oh God, help Jesus heal them.

�� "Jesus!" They're all calling out in waves of desperate passion.�

�� He waits still.

�� "Take pity on us!"

�� "Yes, please have compassion for us.� Jesus, we're dying."

�� "Please, save us.� Save our lives."

�� The crowd, still small, scrambles.� They recognize lepers when they see them, whether or not they call out the required, "Unclean!� Unclean!".� Shuffling where the panicking people were moments ago.� Shuffling in helplessness.� All dying.

�� Tears in their eyes.� Hope.� Waiting.� What will the moment bring?

�� Jesus looks at each of them and indeed does take pity on them.� How can Satan keep doing this to people?� Then convince people God caused it?� Jesus with the soul of God reaches out to them with his spirit, his spirit of healing. [14]

�� "Go back to your priests.� Get the proof you need that the disease is gone.� You've been healed."

�� Jesus can heal ten people at once? [15]

�� The crowd, still well within listening distance, is unimpressed.� No one got healed.� Jesus is a fraud.

�� But the lepers.� They continue to hope.� They must hope.� Jesus is their last hope.

�� One of them used to live in Sychar.� There is indeed a synagogue here.�

�� "This way!" he shouts.

�� They begin to shuffle down the street.� "Please God, heal me.� Heal me, God.� Please."

�� "You're hands!� Look at them!"

�� They stop.

�� "Lower your head cloth!� Your nose!.� It's whole!� Your eyelashes are long!"

�� "Look at my hands!� And my feet!"

�� They begin to dance around each other.

�� They break out into a run toward the synagogue.� Running in ecstasy.� Quickly they must find a priest so they can return home and go back to a normal life.

�� One old man does not go with them.� He is not a Jew.� He has no priest to report to.� No synagogue.� He turns and walks back toward the crowd.� He sees Jesus still standing where he was.� Motionless.� Wordless. [16]

�� "Oh, thank you!" he calls out as he rushes toward his healer.� "Praise God for what he has done through you.� Thank you!� Thank you, Jesus!"

�� He falls to his knees in front of his savior.� In front of the people around him.� Not ashamed.� Only ashamed of his sins.� Not self-important with pride that he has been selected for healing.� Only pride that he is in the presence of God's crowned one.� God's holy crowned one.

�� "Where are the others?" Jesus asks the man, knowing the answer, but wanting it to sink into the crowd's hard hearts.� "Where are the other nine?" [17]

�� Jesus turns to the crowd.� "Did no one else want to return and give proper thanks to God except this pagan half-breed?" [18]

�� Jesus reaches down for the man's hand.� "Stand up and go.� Not only is your body whole.� Now your soul is whole.� Your faith in me ~ your deep down selfless faith ~ has saved them both.� Now you are indeed whole." [19]

�� Saved?� Healed, then later saved?�

�� Hey, you other nine!� Where are you?� You thought your life was out of control until your healing, but it's still out of control.� Jesus can offer you his form of control.� Why can't you even give it a try?

�� Hey, you other nine!� Where are you?� We can't see you.� It's like you're in a haze.� You're healed, but not saved.� Where did you go?� You're getting so far away.

�� Don't get us wrong.� We're grateful and all.� But where does this Jesus get off telling us what to do?� We're glad for the healing.� You understand that.� But what we do with our lives from now on is our business, not his, not God's, not anybody's.

���� LIFE APPLICATION

1.�� Have you ever felt complete helplessness amidst a major problem?� If you cannot think of a major one, think of a minor one.� Think of it in the backdrop of eternity.� Re-explain it now with that perspective.

2.�� Do you feel at a dead end about something right now?� Deep down are you wallowing in your haze of hopelessness?� What will you do to turn down a fork for in the road instead?

3.�� Think of something about you that you feel would make people treat you like a leper if they knew about it.� Revelation 21:8 puts cowards, murderers, immoral and liars all in the same category.� If he forgives cowards and liars, what can he do about your hidden leper-like sin?�

4.�� If you had a friend who never talked to you unless they wanted something, how would you feel about that person?� What is the conversation like when you are with a true friend?� God feels the same way about us when the only time we pray is to ask for something.� What will you add to your prayers to reflect a true friendship with God?

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