Jesus immediately sent him away and sternly ordered him... (v 43, JB). Actually the Greek is stronger than that. More literally: Jesus roared at him and immediately drove him away.
We’ve just heard the story about the leper who approached Jesus, according to St. Mark. The episode bears multiple layers of significance. In our prayer and meditation we love to put ourselves in the place of this leper, and we approach Jesus with his boldness and confidence. As we do so we find ourselves coming in direct contact with the power of Jesus to heal; we encounter, personally, his compassion; we allow him to reach out to us, where we are, and we bear witness that his touch is cleansing, life-giving, sanctifying, transforming.
SS. Matthew and Luke also recount today’s Gospel story, but their presentation is somehow milder than that of Mark. They omit the verse about Jesus roaring, or snorting with rage, and either omit entirely (Mt) or soften (Lk) Mark’s rather harsh conclusion. As St. Mark tells the story, Jesus performed this miracle, as it were, in spite of himself, and as if against his own better judgement. He was moved with compassion, says Mark. Again the Greek puts this very strongly. More literally: Jesus was stirred up in his inner parts with this emotion. So he performed the miracle. But it’s almost as if he then immediately regretted having done so. We can usefully reflect on that, maybe especially these days, because it points us towards the heart of the Gospel, towards the deepest meaning of the mission of Jesus, and of our faith, and of our Christian lives.
Why did Jesus come? In order to bring us to God. He came to wipe away our sins; to undo the work of the devil; to open up for us the way to eternal life; to give us a share in his own divine Sonship. So, according to St. Mark, his first public preaching is necessarily the call to repentance, and to belief in himself (Mk 1:15). Of course Jesus goes on to works many miracles, of healing, of exorcism, and over the forces of nature. In this way he shows who he is, and from whom he has come. Each of these miracles also functions as a sign, signifying what is the intent, of Jesus, of God, concerning us. So Jesus heals people of their physical sicknesses. He feeds them. He teaches moral and religious truths. All this is important; but it’s not his supreme work. The supreme work of Jesus was to lay down his life as a redemptive sacrifice for sin; then three days later to rise again. As one of the Mass Prefaces so wonderfully puts it: in this way, by dying he destroyed our death, and by rising he restored our life (Paschal Preface I: “qui mortem nostram moriendo destruxit, et vitam nostram resurgendo reparavit”).
The cleansing of the leper apparently cost Jesus almost nothing. A word. A gesture. Subsequently though, because of the flagrant disobedience of the cured man, related by Mark alone, Jesus finds himself unable to go any more into the towns. There’s an irony about this, as Jesus and the leper swap places. The leper is restored to the human society from which he had been separated. But in order to avoid being mobbed, or gravely misunderstood, Jesus himself now has to stay apart, in desert places.
Reading this passage today we are struck by the parallel with our own situation. Here we are, required by law to treat everyone as a leper: keeping our distance, avoiding contact, and careful of contamination by uncleanness. We rightly pray that all this may soon come to an end. But if we have understood what St. Mark is showing us through today’s Gospel, we can see that a return to normal life, to the status quo ante, is not at all what is most important, for ourselves or for the human race. What really matters above all is that we repent of our sins, believe in Jesus, accept his offer of salvation, and live united with him in his Body the Church.
According to the Book of Leviticus, someone who has recovered from leprosy has to show himself to the Priest, and offer him two live birds. One of these will be killed; the other dipped in its blood, then set free (cf. Lv 14:3-7). This is a sign of what our cleansing and reconciliation will ultimately cost Jesus. He has to shed his blood, all of it, in order that we can be set free; able at last to fly to God.
Jesus continues to work miracles of healing in our own day. Often he does that directly in response to prayer. Often he does it through the intercession of his Saints. Still in our day also his Church continues his mission through the works of mercy. In his name she reaches out to people who find themselves at the bottom: who have nothing, and nobody. She labours to gather up the outcast, the unloved, those without hope, and to communicate to them God’s goodness, God’s compassion, God’s love.
But the summit of the Church’s life and work is not this. Should anyone demand to know how come God does not fix all our problems, or why he didn’t make the world a better place than it is, the response of the Church should be something like a snort of indignation, and a vigorous dismissal of the complaint. What Jesus has done for us is bigger and better, and infinitely more loving, and more wonderful than all that. And all of it we encounter here at Mass, which truly is the source and summit of the Church’s life.
Sacramentally, now, we approach Jesus, and boldly kneel at his feet. We show him our wounds, our sinfulness, our brokenness, our fragility, our mortality, and we beg him to cleanse us. Of his will and power to do so there can be no doubt at all. Then, sacramentally, Jesus reaches out and touches us. No: more. Jesus gives himself totally, in his body and his blood, in his human soul and his divinity. Doing so, he invites us to respond by giving ourselves, totally, to him. United with him, then, in body and soul, we receive his healing, his holiness, his life. Then in love and joy we intercede for our world, praying that people everywhere and limitlessly be able to receive him: for God’s glory, and for the salvation of souls.