Fearless: Unclean (Matt. 8:1-4) Chris Altrock – February 5, 2017

Some Die Alone

In January of 2016 NPR reported on a Mike Pojman. He is the assistant headmaster at Roxbury Latin Boys School in Boston.^[1] Pojman engages his senior high students in a program which connects them with people who have died alone.

The story focused on six senior high students from Roxbury who volunteered to be pallbearers for a man who died alone, and for whom no next of kin was found.^[2]  He was being buried in a grave with no tombstone. The students, dressed in jackets and ties, carried the plain wooden coffin, and took part in a short memorial. They read together, as a group, these words:

“Dear Lord, thank you for opening our hearts and minds to this corporal work of mercy. We are here to bear witness to the life and passing of Nicholas Miller. He died alone with no family to comfort him. But today we are his family, we are here as his sons…”

After the ceremony the students laid flowers. Then they piled back into the van, driving back to school in time for their next lesson.

“It’s the right thing to do,” says funeral director Robert Lawler. “You know, you can’t leave these poor people lying there forever.”

It’s a touching story. It reminds us that some people die alone. And it raises a question: How far would someone go to stand with those who are alone? It’s one thing to stand with those who die alone. It’s another to stand with those who live alone.

 

Some Live Alone

For the documentary “The Mask You Live In,” a scene shows a U.S. school teacher giving a group of high school boys a circular piece of paper.^[3] On one side of the paper they are supposed to write down the image they try to project of themselves. On the other side of the paper they are supposed to write how they actually feel about themselves. Then they scrunch up the paper and throw it to another kid.

Here’s how researcher Dr. Philip Zimbardo summarized the boys’ messages: “What they said was all the same. On the outside it said: ‘Tough. Fearless.’ And on the inside: ‘Lonely. Sad. Got no friends.’”

We may look like we’ve got it all together. But the truth is that many of us are lonely. Sad. Got no friends.

Some die alone. But some live alone.

Some live alone because of the choices we’ve made. Some because of the choices others have made.

And this rejection hurts–literally. When we experience relational hurts (whether through actions, words, or lack of encouragement), we often use phrases like “She broke my heart,” or “He hurt my feelings.” Researcher and neuroscientist Matthew Lieberman thought this was just too coincidental, so he set out to study the pain of social rejection.^[4] One of his studies involved putting people in a brain scanner while they played a video game called Cyberball where three people toss a ball around to each other. The point of Cyberball is to make the research subject feel rejected. At first, all three players toss the ball to each other in turn. But at a certain point, the other two players cut the research participant out of the game. They toss the ball just to each other, and not to the participant. Even though this is a game, the research subjects felt rejected. When they came out of the scanner, they kept talking to the researchers about how upset they were.

The interesting part of the study was how their brains processed the rejection. In his book Social, Lieberman writes this:

“Looking at the [brain scans], side by side, without knowing which was an analysis of physical pain and which was an analysis of social pain, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.”

When we are rejected by others, we experience it in the same way we do physical pain. We die alone. And we often live alone. And living alone can hurt.

It seems to be highly significant therefore, that the first miracle Matthew records after the Sermon on the Mount, is a miracle that revolves around the healing of this kind of pain:

1 When he came down from the mountain, great crowds followed him. 2 And behold, a leper came to him and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.” 3 And Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, “I will; be clean.” And immediately his leprosy was cleansed. 4 And Jesus said to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone, but go, show yourself to the priest and offer the gift that Moses commanded, for a proof to them.” (Matt. 8:1-4 ESV)

Notice the leper comes and asks to be made “clean.” He does not ask to be healed. Why? Because he does not need healing. He needs cleansing. What he’s dealing with is something that goes beyond a disease. He is not just sick. He is unclean. His skin disease has created a rupture so devastating that he is forced to live alone, except for the presence of other lepers. He is living alone. And he is dying alone. He was cut off from everyone, including the spiritual community:

1 The Lord spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying, 2 “When a person has on the skin of his body a swelling or an eruption or a spot, and it turns into a case of leprous disease on the skin of his body, then he shall be brought to Aaron the priest or to one of his sons the priests, 3 and the priest shall examine the diseased area on the skin of his body. And if the hair in the diseased area has turned white and the disease appears to be deeper than the skin of his body, it is a case of leprous disease. When the priest has examined him, he shall pronounce him unclean….45 The leprous person who has the disease shall wear torn clothes and let the hair of his head hang loose, and he shall cover his upper lip and cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean.’ 46 He shall remain unclean as long as he has the disease. He is unclean. He shall live alone. His dwelling shall be outside the camp.” (Lev. 13:1-3, 45-46 ESV)

He shall live alone. That’s what’s behind this plea to Jesus: “Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.” More than we want to be free from any deadly disease, we don’t want to live or die alone. That’s why the leper asks for cleansing, not healing. Because he doesn’t just want to be healed. He wants to be cleansed so that he can rejoin the human community and no longer be alone.

 

Restorying Community

Richard Beck in his book Unclean points out what we expect to happen in this story.^[5] There is an expected two-step process: [PP quote]

1. Cleanse
2. Contact

We expect Jesus to first cleanse the leprosy. Remove this disease and all of the physical effects it has on the person. Then, contact him. Touch him. Restore human connection. First, cleanse him. Then, be the very first person to welcome him back not only to the human community, but especially be the very first person to welcome him back into the spiritual community. Cleanse first. Then contact.

But notice what Jesus does:

1. Contact
2. Cleanse

Jesus does something shocking. Unbelievable. He makes contact first. He stretches out his hand and touches the man. He makes flesh on flesh contact with this man–while the man is still unclean. He welcomes him back into the human community. And, he welcomes him back into the spiritual community–while the man is still unclean. And, by contacting this man while he is still unclean, Jesus himself becomes unclean.

2 …if anyone touches an unclean thing…3 or if he touches human uncleanness, of whatever sort the uncleanness may be with which one becomes unclean, and it is hidden from him, when he comes to know it, and realizes his guilt;…5 when he realizes his guilt in any of these and confesses the sin he has committed, 6 he shall bring to the Lord as his compensation for the sin that he has committed, a female from the flock, a lamb or a goat, for a sin offering. And the priest shall make atonement for him for his sin. (Lev. 5:2-6 ESV)

Jesus willfully chooses to be contaminated and guilty. He chooses to stand with this man in his uncleanness. He chooses to be cut off with this man. He shares this man’s social isolation. He shares the stigma. He shares the shame. Jesus touches him before he cleanses him.

Jesus gives him a sense of belonging, a sense of welcome, a sense of participating once again in the human race, and in the spiritual community. And only once once he’s provided that human contact, does he then cleanse him.

Then Jesus sends him to the temple so that he can make the formal gift required and so the priest can formally pronounce him clean. This will, in the eyes of all, allow him to be fully welcomed back into the the entire community. Because for them, the cleansing would allow renewed contact. But for Jesus, it was just the opposite. Contact first. Welcome first. Accept first. And then cleanse.

Jesus has done this for all of us. He moved in among us, he was born among us, he lived among us, he ate and drank with us, he welcomed us and contacted us before he cleansed us through the shedding of his blood on the cross. Had he wanted to, he could have come to earth as an adult and started on the cross, shedding his blood, then being resurrected, and then spent  time with us welcoming us and eating with us. But instead Jesus contacted us first then then cleansed us. Jesus welcomed us first, embraced us first, accepted us first, and then cleansed us.

 

Restoring Their Community

And his example compels us to do the same. Jesus’ example of accepting us before we were acceptable compels us to the same for others.

Francis of Assisi, known as Saint Francis, was a wandering medieval preacher who founded the Franciscan Order.^[6] One day, as he was riding near Assisi, he met a leper. His previous aversion to lepers had been so strong, that, besides being incapable of looking at them, he would not even approach the places where they lived. And if by chance he happened to pass anywhere near their dwellings or to see one of the lepers, he would turn his face away, hold his nose, and he would direct one of his followers to give the leper some money.

But on on this day, making a great effort, he conquered his aversion, dismounted, and, personally gave the leper a coin. He even kissed the leper’s hand. Some days later Francis took a large sum of money to the leper hospital, and gathering all the inmates together, he gave them alms, kissing each of their hands.

Just as Jesus contacted us and then cleansed us, loved us before we were lovable, so Francis did the same, and so we are all called to do the same.

Phyllis Tickle is a bestselling author who lived in the Memphis area until her death recently. She once wrote about an important distinction among Christian groups.^[7] It’s found in these two lines:

Believe? Behave? Belong

Belong? Believe? Behave

For a long time many Christians thought that we must first get the people around us to believe the right things and behave in the right ways. Only once they have done this can we truly give them a sense of belonging and welcome. Belonging is withheld from people until they can prove they are worthy of it. Only once they believe everything we believe and behave in all the ways we behave are we willing to extend friendship and real love to them.

But, Tickle writes, more churches are coming to understand the real nature of Jesus’ ministry. Belief and behavior matter. But our first step in the world is to extend a sense of belonging. We welcome people into our church, and into our lives, long before they believe what we believe or behave in all the ways we behave. We stretch our hand and touch. That’s what Jesus did.

Matt Chandler writes of the time he and some of his Christian friends invited a non Christian woman named Kim to come with them to a Christian concert.^[8] They hoped the message of the Christian music would encourage her to consider the message of Christ. In the middle of the concert, a preacher got up. He held up a rose. It had been freshly cut that day. It was beautiful. He then talked about sexually transmitted diseases and how dirty they are. Then he threw the rose into the crowd and asked everyone to handle it and pass it around. Then he asked for the rose back. Because it had been handled by so many, it was now drooping, the petals were falling off, and it was dirty. The analogy was obvious. “No one wants a dirty rose,” he said. Kim was shaken by the sermon. A few days later she asked Matt: “Is that what you think I am? I am just a dirty rose?”

This is the message that some people get from some churches. You’re dirty. You’re unclean. And no one wants a dirty rose. You’re not welcome here–until you get cleaned up.

Jesus challenges that message and that methodology. He challenges us to welcome, to embrace people who might be considered unclean, dirty, or stained in some way. Even if in so doing we might be judged to become unclean ourselves.

There’s a lot of debate going on right now in our country about who belongs in this country and who gets in and who doesn’t. It’s easy to let that kind of debate seep into our personal lives and our church. It’s far too easy to put walls around our lives and our church and say, “Once you get cleaned and think like me and behave like me, you’ll be welcome and loved here and befriended here.” But if Jesus’ ministry means anything, it means we take just the reverse approach. It means we reach out and touch. It means we offer that sense of welcome, that sense of belonging, that sense of contact. We put that first, and that then opens the door for all the other conversations.

Who do you need to offer belonging to this week? Who’s living alone in your life?