Leprosy: A Short Story

He agonised under the weight of the curse that held him in bondage to its scourge.

The disfigurements had set in, as they would.

He had known they would. Time had proven it.

He wondered about the fuss he had made ages ago over a neighbour he thought offensive. It was long since he had been offended by anyone. He offended others instead. Horrified them, to be exact. Children were taught to hate the sins for which he was being punished. He had fallen out of favour with God, they were told.

He deserved it.

How he longed for a kind word. Or a kind touch. A kind look - one that wasn't horrified, disgusted or condescending - would mean the world to him.

And there was none.

Those of his kind spent their days minding their own business in torn clothes, veiled mouths and unkempt hair. Desolate and cynical. The curse was about stolen beauty, stolen happiness and stolen lives - and you wore it like a cloak. You could never hide it. Having been diagnosed and pronounced as unclean by the priest, you became an exile of your society as well as your family. A feared outcast. And you became part of a shunned and despised colony, with no future and no turning back.

You are as good as dead. Whether or not the voice came from deep down within or from an external source, it didn't matter anymore.

But I refuse to be.

There was, however, one way out. One way to see his family again. One way to look the world straight in the eye, with head held up high.

A priest had to pronounce him clean.

To be pronounced clean, he had to be really clean.

To be clean was to be healed. To end the chronic and malignant rampage in his body was as easy as raising a dead person to life. Or having his sins forgiven. It would mean undoing the curse - and a true love's kiss was needed, so to speak.

But where does one find love to meet such sorrow?

It would take nothing less than a miracle.

And it had taken him all the courage he could muster up, or even more, to approach the One. There were great crowds following Him. He could have been stoned to death for coming so close. But it didn't happen today. Somehow, the people around were strangely distracted and unconcerned.

After all, it's not everyday that a celebrity comes to town.

Apparently, the Celebrity was a gifted healer. So far, He had never failed to heal anybody who came to Him for a healing touch. Never.

At first glance, He was nothing too spectacular... or even attractive. He stood out only because He did not look at him with hatred in His eyes like the rest did. Was that... a smile on His face?


Is it really fine if I go nearer?
He trembled. From what he knew about leper etiquette, it was so wrong. From the corner of his eye, he saw people fanning out in all directions, frantically. Somebody had sounded the alarm.

Only One stood still.

He is just a man. A Nazarene.
But he found himself kneeling before the One.

I have nothing left to lose.

"Lord..." He uttered finally. "If You will... You can make me clean."

You are... my only hope.

Heal me or I die.

And the One stretched out His hand without flinching the least bit, and touched him. His hand was warm.

"I will. Be clean."

And immediately, the leprosy was cleansed. What a sight to behold! The One watched with a look of immense satisfaction as he examined his body parts, crying out aloud in bewilderment and joy.

I am well! I really am!
But this isn't a dream, is it?

As if the One had read his mind, He said, "See that you say nothing to anyone, but go, show yourself to the priest."

"He will examine you and pronounce you clean. And then you may thank God with the gift Moses has commanded. It was God who has healed you. You need to know this. The priest needs to know this."

Having said this, the One made His way towards Capernaum.

~ A retelling of Matthew 8:1-4