leper

Matthew 8:1-2: When Jesus came down from the mountainside, large crowds followed him. 2 A man with leprosy came and knelt before him and said, "Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean."

When I read this story again this morning, I thought as I usually do that the leper’s words are really words sinners should use – sinners like me. “Lord Jesus, if you are willing, you can make me clean.” Of course, Jesus is as willing to purify me from sin as he was to cleanse the leper.

The leper said “If you are willing” because he knew by any conventional idea there was no reason for Jesus to care about him and every reason for Jesus to send him packing. But he came anyway because of the depth of his need.

By contrast, I’ve been told from childhood how much Jesus loves me, and how much he longs for me to come to him. I learned to pray for forgiveness, certainly, but I also learned to expect forgiveness. I find that I may have grown to think I can count on it. Does that make me value it less?

I don’t know, but I do know that desire for forgiveness sometimes isn’t very strong – I’m not driven like the leper was. He took a risk because he was desperate; I don’t always even take the riskless step of asking to be forgiven. Sometimes my prayers focus on my blessings and my petitions and skip over (or skip completely) confession.

I think that’s because I forget what the leper never could: that my condition will eventually kill me, and the only hope I have is Jesus. My sins don’t seem very serious; in fact, I often explain them away. They don’t seem as dangerous as, say, boating in a lightning storm or walking on the Interstate.

And even if they were, I can count on being made clean, can’t I? Jesus will always forgive. Even though I know better, I find myself sometimes holding God’s promises like a “Get Out Of Jail Free” card. I can play it whenever I need it.

So I guess what I’m figuring out about myself is that I’m so accustomed to my sin that I no longer see it as life-threatening, but even if I did I see God as bound by his word to forgive me anyway. I know better, of course, but when I examine my life, that’s what I see.

That’s the heresy of cheap grace. When I think that way, I’m guilty of taking Jesus death too lightly, of minimizing the cross. That’s shameful, maybe even horrible.

What defines the truth about me – the things I believe or the things I do? If I don’t do them, do I really believe them? Is it possible that I don’t really think I need Jesus as much as the leper thought he did? Or maybe I need him but I already have him in my pocket?

I don’t like these questions, because I don’t like how they make me feel about myself. I think most of the time I’m a more faithful follower than that, but I see enough in my life to know that sometimes I’m not. It’s good today that this leper shows me something of myself; now to find the will to change what I see.