It was just another day, nothing special. The leper threw open the covering to his tent and nodded to his campmates. The other nine men, though suffering the same affliction, grumbled when they saw him, breathed a curse, and turned away. They wanted nothing to do with him . . . no company, no companionship. He was a Samaritan leper. That day, in that place, this made him the most hated of the hated, the most exiled of the exiled.

    As a Samaritan—a member of the race despised by Jews—he had always faced rejection and oppression. His health problem merely added to his isolation.

    The shooting pain in his arm demanded his attention. He pulled back his sleeve to find that the sores were getting worse. He felt them all over his body. Not only did he suffer cultural banishment; this Samaritan leper was also a prisoner of the one thing he could not escape: his own skin.

    Sitting outside the circle of nine, he heard only fragments of their discussion. They were talking about a carpenter from Nazareth who had been causing a stir in the surrounding areas. There had been rumors about this Jesus being the promised Messiah, but their talk centered more on the stories of His miraculous healings. For these men, salvation was synonymous with physical restoration. They didn’t realize that they needed both.

    Later, the Samaritan noticed that the others were rushing off toward the road. Curious, he followed and then felt his heart stir as he realized the cause of the commotion—the carpenter was here.

    At first glance, he was not even sure which individual was Jesus. He studied the faces in the group, dismissing each one as too old, too young, too weathered, too abrasive . . . Then, his stare fell upon one of the strangers, and he found that he could not look away. The man’s skin seemed to glow. It was ordinary flesh, but it radiated a purity and perfection that almost made the Samaritan forget
the eternal itch and burn of his own body. Startled out of his locked vision, he lent his voice to those of his fellow sufferers as they cried almost in unison, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

    At first, the ten outcasts could not understand Jesus’ reply. “Did He just tell us to go show ourselves to the priests?” they asked each other. “But the priests will not see us. We are unclean! They will only send us away or, more likely, run away themselves when they see us coming.”

    The Samaritan had reason to fear. Even under the best of circumstances, the Jewish priests would not accept a “filthy Samaritan.” His eyes turned back upon Jesus. But to have that look, that glow . . . as if heaven itself were wrapped around my body. In his heart, he knew the prize was worth any price.

    Taking a deep breath, he turned and took one step. It hurt. The sores around his sandal straps reminded him of his living decomposition. And yet, he pressed on, faithfully approaching as Jesus beckoned. The second step came easier, then the third and fourth. Soon, he was unaware of any pain in his feet or legs. Continuing on, his whole body felt as it had not in years: pain-free. He raised a sleeve and examined his arm, finding no trace of the rash that had plagued him that very morning. He checked his hands, legs, and face, examining every pore for some trace of the disease. He found none.

    It was then that he noticed he was not alone. The other nine men were standing with him, equally restored and likewise amazed. “Clean!” they yelled. “We are clean!” With youthful vigor, they broke into a sprint to be declared clean by the priest and resume their interrupted lives as proper Jewish men.

    The Samaritan’s business, however, was not quite finished. He turned back and approached his Healer. He fell to the ground, weeping, thanking Jesus, and praising God.

    Jesus looked upon the grateful man and remarked, “Were there not ten cleansed? But the nine—where are they? Was no one found who returned to give glory to God, except this foreigner?”

    Again, the Samaritan was distinguished from his campmates, but his time, it was to his credit. Still worshiping God, he heard Jesus’ final word to him: “Stand and go; your faith has made you well.”

    “Well,” he echoed. “I am well. I am whole. I am complete!”

    By turning back in gratitude to Jesus, the Samaritan gained something unexpected: Jesus Himself. There is no record of the other nine; presumably, they lived and died as pious Jews, never really understanding the full significance of their cure. The Samaritan, however, was not content to take his blessing and run.

Instead, he returned to the source of the miracle, Jesus Christ. In doing so, he received the greatest miracle of all: eternal life in the Body that never dies.

—Allen Harris