He held his head high, he was one of the elite, no one would
ever find out his secret. His robe was as luxurious, gleaming white as the
best. His locks shining like a dark resplendent crown upon his intelligent
brow. As he laughed, joked or discoursed
learnedly according to the occasion, his eyes twinkled with life; even they did
not give away his deep dark secret.
But
when night came and the shades of darkness fell around him he shed his robe,
shed his egotistical shell… and feared. His hand groped unwillingly to the spot
on his broad, manly chest, the sore. His hand touched the edges, had they grown?
Surely, surely not, it cannot be
leprosy, it cannot, but it was, and he knew.
The days sped swiftly by. How
long could he keep his secret? How long before the ugly, destructive spots
would show up in some more conspicuous part of his body? He lived life to the
fullest, some would say on the edge. He tried so hard to reach the top in his
chosen career, so hard not to be found out.
A group of known lepers screamed
shrilly “Unclean, unclean,” as he passed by, and he drew back repulsed like all
the rest, no one must ever know that I am
one of them. But then a spot showed up his hand and he took to hiding it in
his sash. Even as his fear grew his laugh grew louder, his wit keener. Did anyone guess?
A
Healer came to town. The rich young man had no time for common country
preachers but his friends were curious so he went along. A leper came close to
the Healer. The crowd surged backward, screaming, but not Jesus, for that is
who it was. He stepped forward, reached
out and touched the diseased face of of the leper. He was healed. They all saw it, they knew.
The
young man froze. It would destroy his
reputation to step forward and admit he had leprosy. Dare he admit it? Dare he
not?
Leprosy
is like hidden sin; will we admit it and be cleansed before it destroys us?
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