Anger, yes, but something more.
When he heard the despair trickling out of hollowed hearts, when he turned to lock his gaze on theirs, it wasn’t just rage.
It was fury, directed at the failing world, yes; indignation, aimed at wickedness, again…yes.
But also something else.
(and did he feel that too for me?)
I remember when the leper collapsed in front of him, knees shredded by disease, bearing weight anyway, desperate for another chance. Then, there was that righteous anger. And then, there was compassion.
The wind was blowing viciously that day, dirt everywhere. I was walking behind the rest of the group, as I often did. I marked the clouds sweeping the skies. I marked the miles until food and a place to lie down. And then, I heard him calling out. The leper. I turned to see him and recoiled; even at a distance, his figure was repulsive. Of course, I knew immediately that Jesus would notice his cries, his horrible needs, so I stayed my ground. And I was right. Jesus hurried back through his little congregation to stand by me, and when the leper was nearly to us, the rabbi put his hand on my shoulder.
“Pay attention,” he said. “Reach your hand out to this man. With me.”
And it’s always this image for me, set in the shifting sands of time, one of the few memories I can call my own: the image of two men falling, the one because he cannot stand and the other because he will not.
That valiant refusal – I saw him do it every time. Face to face with Death in all its glamor and gore, he never hesitated –
But oh! I know I did! After each healing, I swore the next time would be different; I promised I would kneel in the dirt beside him and touch the contaminated man or woman before him. For him! He would note my allegiance. I decided I would watch closely, fall swiftly in humility, offer my hands to heal. Peter and James and that ridiculous brother, they would notice too, and I would quietly bow my head. I meant to do this.
Yet, I was disgusted by the intentionality of his touch on dying bodies.
An image from another angle: two men falling, and a third, driven into the ground, upright and righteous (though self-declared, do you see how I wrestle?)
It wasn’t only that Jesus was kind, though he was; more, it was that he was entirely unafraid. He held convictions I’m still too shaken to imagine. He was a man untethered. Responsibilities and priorities couldn’t call him home. Family seemed his briefest afterthought. And money? Please.
I protected the money for him (a thankless role) and I recall it clattered in my purse, the handful of times I made it to a crouch – hidden behind him, but still there – and I prayed he wouldn’t turn to see my “posture of perhaps”, my half-hearted pity. Though, you know now that I think of it, I suspect he would have simply smiled and pulled me closer…
And even now in contemplation I contemplate myself! Always thinking of the way I present and am perceived (do I even know myself half as well as you know me, thousands of years away?) and I’m trying to get past this instinct of self-preservation, but Lord! every word I brandish contorts itself in my wretched dance for attention in this endless darkness. Maybe I’ve played the victim for too long. I’m also the perpetrator.
The traitor…
This tango with the devil has twisted my mind. The dance I’ve practiced since my death, if I’m honest, though I feel I should have learned better. When I was still above, I wanted you to notice me helping the sick, the lonely, the hurting. Did you see me? Was I good enough? (am I still one of yours?)
I wake incessantly from this perpetual sleep, always falling. I throw my hands to break the collision against…what? There’s nothing there. There’s no rock bottom to prove my humanity; I spilled my guts on it eons ago. Or was it only yesterday?
The leper…
…you caught his hands.
(will you catch mine too?)
breathe.
Remember the image: the leper falling to the ground and Jesus falling too.
breathe.
Let’s watch this together:
…a voice like from a fog and a shuffling collapse / a man at the end of the line…
…a face like the sun / a bend in perfect harmony / reaching…
…tattered rags / aching limbs / all of it falling in a heap / dust to dust…
…firm hands / an intentional descent / an immediate response…
breathe.
I don’t think he meant for this to be.
breathe.
I don’t think either of them did.
The fall of two men, together.
(a third, above…alone?)
I don’t deserve companionship. I threw my lot in with the ill-tempered fanatics, the trigger-happy zealots. I knew I would lose friends. I thought it a price worth paying for fame. But old stories don’t honor sore losers, and I hate to admit, I joined their ranks too.
I remember when your hand left my shoulder, and you reached out toward the leper. I didn’t reach with you. That was one of those times I couldn’t crouch behind you. I stayed as I was, condemned to stand. The weight of your hand on my shoulder dissipated, but even now I wonder: does a part of you remain?
(are you somewhere close?)
Matthew 8:1-2 • Matthew 27:3-5