The “leper” whom Jesus cured, then drove away.

Mark 1.40-45, Matthew 8.1-4, Luke 5.12-16.

There’s are two words in the bible usually translated “leprosy.” They’re the Hebrew word צָרָ֑עַת/chara’át and the Greek word λέπρα/lépra. In Leviticus it’s described like yea:

Leviticus 13.1-3 NASB

1 The LORD spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying,

2 “When someone has on the skin of his body a swelling, or a scab, or a bright spot, and it becomes an infection of leprosy on the skin of his body, athen he shall be brought to Aaron the priest or to one of his sons the priests. 3 The priest shall look at the infected area on the skin of the body, and if the hair in the infection has turned white and the infection appears to be deeper than the skin of his body, it is an infection of leprosy; when the priest has looked at him, he shall pronounce him unclean.”

The chapter goes into further detail about whether it’s a temporary or chronic case of “leprosy,” and whether “lepers” need to be temporarily isolated, or permanently—which includes walking around in torn clothing and shouting, “Unclean!” to anyone who approaches. Also whether clothes have “leprosy,” and what should be done with them; and chapter 14 tells of buildings which have “leprosy,” and whether they should be washed or torn down.

Now yeah, since we’re talking about something clothing and buildings can get, we’re not talking about a particular disease. More like a condition. Anything which makes your skin white and scaly, or red and raw; anything which turns your clothing or walls red or green. In the case of clothing and walls, it sounds like mold; in the case of skin ailments, it could be an infection, or even skin cancer.

Nowadays when we say “leprosy” we mean Hansen’s disease, a bacteriological infection which damages nerves and extremities. And it’s curable! Early treatment can prevent any permanent injury, but after six to 12 months of meds and therapy, you’re fine. Don’t need to wear torn clothing; don’t need to shout “Unclean!” For that matter, we’re not entirely sure Hansen’s disease is even what the LORD was talking about in Leviticus: Biblical “leprosy” sounds like skin rashes or skin cancers, and Hansen’s disease doesn’t present as skin lesions till you’ve lost feeling in your extremities—at which point, because you can’t feel pain, you injure yourself more easily.

Regardless of what the bible means by chara’át or leprós, that was the disease to avoid—and the disease ancient Israelis most feared. It made you ritually unclean, which means you couldn’t go to temple or synagogue, ’cause you were self-quarantined. Couldn’t go into town. Nobody but other “lepers” could touch you. And, thanks to Pharisee attitudes of the day, people presumed you were cursed—because why else would God let such a horrible thing happen to you?

People still develop this attitude about chronically unwell people. If you’re regularly suffering from maladies; if you’re deaf, blind, can’t walk, or are mentally ill, Christians regularly develop the attitude of “That’s your fault. ’Cause if you only trusted God enough, he’d cure you.” Which is pure a--holery on their part, ’cause it’s not like they did anything to particularly deserve health and wellness. They’re sinners too. In fact, being able-bodied, they’re quite able to sin way more than someone who’s not.

Anywho, here’s the part of the gospels where someone with “leprosy” first approaches Jesus. Dude cured everyone in Capharnaum, but what about the “lepers” who were quarantining outside Capharnaum and all the other cities? Might Jesus be able to cure them too?

This one “leper” decided to give it a shot.

Ready to take on the whole of the Galilee.

Mark 1.35-39, Matthew 4.23-25, Luke 4.42-44.

Whenever preachers talk about Jesus curing everyone in Capharnaum, they tend to describe it as Jesus spending all day curing people and throwing out demons. But read the text: The people came to him at sundown, Mk 1.32, Mt 8.16, Lk 4.40 so he actually spent all night curing people. Hope he got his Sabbath rest, ’cause he sure needed it.

By the end, preachers tend to describe Jesus as exhausted. And he might’ve been really tired, ’cause he was up all night. But exhausted? That’s only because they don’t know what it’s like to supernaturally cure the sick. Faith-healers will tell you it’s just the opposite. It’s not like a medical doctor, repairing patient after patient with treatment after treatment, taxing your mind and body with thought and work. You aren’t doing the work; the Holy Spirit is. You watch him do his thing; you rejoice once he’s done it. It’s not tiring. It’s invigorating. It’s a rush.

More likely, Jesus was wired after curing person after person after person. Too jazzed to ever get to sleep.

Since translators don’t realize this, they tend to make it sound like Jesus woke up crazy-early in the morning, after maybe two or three hours of sleep. But ἀναστὰς ἐξῆλθεν/anastás exílthen doesn’t mean, as the KJV puts it, “rising up… he went out,” but “the one who is up [already], goes out.” Jesus didn’t wake up and figure it’s prayer time; he was still up, and didn’t wanna sleep. He wanted more.

What kind of mood did you imagine Jesus was in?

Mark 1.35-39 KWL

35 Still awake in the still-dark morning,

Jesus comes out and goes to a solitary place,

and is praying there.

36 Simon Peter and those with him

search for Jesus,

37 and find Jesus and tell him this:

“Everybody looks for you!”

38 Jesus tells them, “We should go elsewhere,

into the other towns there are,

so I can preach there also,

for this is why I’ve come!”

 

Luke 4.42-44 KWL

42 Once it became day,

Jesus comes out and goes to a solitary place,

and the crowds are looking for him,

and come to him.

They’re holding on to him

lest he leave them.

43 Jesus tells them this:

“In the other cities as well,

I have to proclaim the good news of God’s kingdom.

For this is why I’m sent.”

44 And Jesus is preaching

in the Jewish synagogues.

“Capharnaum is cured. Who’s next? Give me more!”

See, one’s mindset makes a huge difference when it comes to interpreting bible. If we bring our own pessimism, skepticism, cynicism, negativity, and exhaustion to the text, we wind up with a negative-sounding Jesus who’s just plain done with these people. And that’s not Jesus. He loves people! He came to save people. Not ditch ’em at the first opportunity.

The idea of an exhausted Jesus, desperately trying to claw back some strength through prayer, is based on our own lack of experience, and bad attitudes. Y’ever notice how many preachers are introverts? To them, people are tiring. Ministry drains them. So they need to get away from people on a regular basis, and renew their strength in prayer… and project themselves upon Jesus, and it’s entirely wrong. He didn’t look at the Galilee and think, “Man, I have so much still to do.” He looked at it in the Holy Spirit’s might, and thought, “I’m gonna conquer the world!”

The passive-aggressive prayer.

Years ago in a small group, it came time for people to take turns praying, so we did. I prayed for… something. Don’t recall what. It’s not relevant to this article.

What is relevant is I had prayed, regarding my request, that regardless of what I wanted, God’s will be done. Because, I stated in the prayer, sometimes it’s not, and I don’t want that. I want God to answer my prayers however he sees fit.

Well, this little statement of mine triggered one of the other guys in the group. Let’s call him Prakash. He believed God’s will is always done, because he believed God determines everything in the universe. (Evil too.) And he was still in the “cage-stage,” meaning he was ready, willing, and eager to argue theology with you. Especially since he was entirely sure he was right. I’m using past-tense verbs because I hope Prakash is better now. But sometimes cage-stagers never grow out of it, and turn into angry Fundamentalists whose list of mandatory fundamentals gets shorter, tighter, stricter, and less gracious with every passing year.

Anywho, Prakash had already taken a turn at praying, but he couldn’t help himself: He helped himself to another turn. And this prayer wasn’t about anything our prayer leader had asked us to pray about. Wasn’t about any personal requests he had for God. Wasn’t about any other people Prakash was interceding for.

Nope. He just wanted to remind God that he’s sovereign and therefore always gets his way. To appreciate the fact God’s will is always done, even though the rest of us human simpletons may not recognize this, and might imagine otherwise. To worship God for this particular trait of his.

To, y’know, passive-aggressively correct me by slipping a little theology lesson into prayer time.

Gotta admit, I was a little tempted to take another turn myself, and slip my own passive-aggressive prayer into the mix: “And God, we thank you for Prakash and his wisdom and humility, and pray that you water that mustard seed and make it grow into a mighty tree under which birds can perch. He’s got more than enough fertilizer; he’s ready; just make him grow, Lord. In Jesus’s name.”

But not seriously tempted. I know better than to be a dick during prayer.

Thing is, if we’ve been to enough prayer groups—or simply if we grew up Christian and had to deal with annoying Christian siblings who pulled this kind of stunt (or, admittedly, pulled it ourselves) —we’ve all encountered the passive-aggressive prayer. The prayer which isn’t really a prayer; we’re talking to someone else instead of God, but for one reason or another we’ve chosen to disguise it as a prayer. Not that it’s fooling anyone.

It’s pure hypocrisy, and the proper way to deal with it is to call it out. But more often we Christians avoid our duty to rebuke bad behavior, and simply ignore it as if someone ripped a wet fart in the elevator: We all know it happened, but we’re not gonna say anything, and we’re gonna hope it dissipates as fast as possible.

Only problem is, when this behavior isn’t rebuked, the passive-aggressive petitioner is gonna think they cleverly got away with it. It wasn’t all that clever… but since nobody rebuked them, yeah they did get away with it.

So they’re totally gonna do this again.

We’re all going to die, y’know.

I know, I know. “Unless the Lord tarries.” It’s a phrase preachers love to say, which reminds us there is Jesus’s second coming yet to take place—and because he can return at any time, he may very well return in our lifetimes. And if he does return in our lifetimes, we’re not gonna die: We’re getting resurrected without dying, like the apostles described.

1 Thessalonians 4.16-17 NLT

16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. First, the believers who have died will rise from their graves. 17 Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever.

Although I have heard some theologians argue that having our old bodies transformed into our new bodies means our old bodies pass away—they die. But that doesn’t jibe at all with the way Paul and Sosthenes put it when they wrote, “We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.” 1Co 15.51 KJV Sleep is a euphemism for die, so they’re saying we won’t die. The preachers are right: When Jesus returns, those who are alive aren’t gonna die.

But are we gonna be alive when Jesus returns? Statistically, no. We’re gonna die.

Yep. You and me, and our kids, and our grandkids, and our great-grandkids, and all our descendants. People die, and we’re no different. We’re gonna die. You’re gonna die. Deal with it.

Yeah, I know. I’m gonna get accused of all sorts of heresy and apostasy and unbelief for saying this. Jesus can return at any time! How dare I give people the idea he won’t?

Well, I dare because thus far he hasn’t. For thousands of generations of Christians, he hasn’t. For good reason!—he’s trying to save everyone he can. 2Pe 3.9 And if it takes him a thousand more generations of Christians to save everyone he can, I’m okay with that. We should all be okay with that. I don’t want him to let other people perish just so I can avoid the uncomfortability of dying. I may be a dick sometimes, but I’m not that big a dick.

So Jesus is trying to save everyone he can, but despite this, every generation of Christians has claimed, “He’s coming back in my lifetime.” True, there were some generations where many of ’em weren’t saying this. Postmillennialism was really popular among Evangelicals for a few centuries, and postmil Christians thought it was their job to start the millennium—and Jesus wouldn’t return till it was over. But the majority of Christians still believed Jesus can and would return at any time, and return for them, and they wouldn’t die.

So they didn’t deal with it. And, y’know, died.

And you’ve likely seen what happens when people don’t prepare for their own death: Chaos. Family members who don’t know what to do. Wealth which they squabble over. Greedy opportunists who swoop in and take as much of that wealth as they can get their grubby hands on. Things left unsaid. Tasks left undone. Hurt feelings. And Christians who never, ever expected them to die—’cause Jesus was supposed to return first!—and now they go through a big unnecessary faith crisis because they thought Jesus was gonna return on their schedule.

I’ve seen this happen way too often. It’s entirely not necessary. It’s because Christians, and our teachers, aren’t dealing with reality. “Unless the Lord tarries” is likely gonna happen. It’s happened for 20 centuries; what’s another century? You’re not getting raptured before your 90th birthday. Or before Grandma’s 90th birthday. You’re gonna die.

Deal with it. Deal with it in a much better, healthier way than one of those pagans who don’t believe in resurrection and have no hope, but deal with it. Prepare for your demise. Get your family ready.

What, you figure you’re too young? You’re not. No one is. Accidents happen. Disease happens. People too stupid to take preventative measures because they don’t believe in science, happen—and sometimes happen to those of us who do believe in science, and we catch something deadly from these selfish morons. Even if you figure Jesus is returning within the next seven years, some driver fiddling with his phone could plow into you tomorrow, and nobody will be ready for that. So get ready for that. Practice some basic common sense, wouldya?

Jesus cures the crowds.

Mark 1.32-34, Matthew 8.16-17, Luke 4.40-41.

In ancient Israel there was no such thing as healthcare. If you got sick, your only recourse was either for God to miraculously heal you, or folk medicine. Science hadn’t been invented yet!

Following the standards of the day, folk medicine was largely unproven: People did what they believed oughta work, based on guesses (educated or not), hearsay, rumor, or homeopathy—if something makes you ill, why not dose yourself with more and build up resistance? You know, like shooting yourself with smaller-caliber bullets to build up your immunity to larger bullets.

Some of it did actually work—like willow bark, which we nowadays call “aspirin.” Or poppy juice, which we nowadays call “opium.” But y’notice sometimes these cures did more harm than good.

Because the “experts” didn’t know what they were doing. All of them were fumbling around in the dark. Read Hippocrates or Galen sometime: Their philosophical theories are kinda entertaining, but when you realize people were actually trying to cure desperately ill people with their “knowledge”—it gets kinda horrifying.

The King James Version translated the Greek word ιἀτρός/yatrós (plural, ιἀτροί/yatrí) as “physician”—by which they meant “one who gives you physic,” and physic means “medicine.” A physician gave you folk remedies. Or drugs; they’d dope you up till you didn’t care about pain anymore. It’s the best they knew. But don’t get the wrong idea these “physicians” in the bible were in any way doctors of medicine. A far more proper translation of yatrós is “witch doctor”—which is what I tend to use.

Among pagan yatrí, one of the tools in their iffy arsenal was δαιμόνια/demónia. We translate that word as “demons,” but to Greeks a demónion was a lesser god; kinda like a guardian angel. If you were sick, the yatrí would ask their gods Apollo or Æsculapius for help… and if those gods were busy, maybe they could call upon a demónion to help you. Maybe stick one in you, and it could root around in there and fix you right up! Maybe two or three for extra help, or expediency. Maybe more! If one tablet of aspirin is good for you, why not an entire bottle? Why not a legion’s worth of demónia?

So as I said in my article on Jesus’s first exorcism, if you’ve ever wondered why the gospels contain so many exorcisms, and how they’re connected to supernatural healing, this is why. Jesus lived in the Galilee, which wasn’t entirely Jewish: It was full of Syrian Greek villages filled with Syrian Greek pagans. And if a Jewish person was sick, and desperate, they’d try anything—including some pagan yatrós who was rumored to get results. So they’d get demonized. Way bigger problems than ever they bargained for.

As I also said in that article, when Americans get sick, and western medicine doesn’t know how to treat them, we too will get desperate, and dabble in witch doctoring. Call it “eastern medicine,” call it “alternative medicine,” call it “natural healing,” call it whatever; none of these guys went to medical schools, and some of them call upon demónia same as the ancient Greeks. Times change; human nature hasn’t.

Reminding Titus to not be “wild at heart.”

Titus 3.1-3.

Back in the 1990s there were two popular fads among American men. There was Promise Keepers, an organization started by football coach Bill McCartney as a way to encourage Christian men to be faithful husbands, good fathers, and to fight racism. And there was the Mythopoetic Men’s Movement, founded by poet Robert Bly to help men “restore” what they felt were their “deep masculine” traits and urges—abandoned by our egalitarian society, rejected as toxic masculinity. (And to be fair, a lot of the things men call our “masculine urges” are really works of the flesh, repackaged to be socially acceptable, but the only people that fools are fleshly men.)

Bly’s movement is pagan; his proof texts come from Greek and Norse mythology, and European folk tales, which he claims are ancient descriptions of how men really are. But author John Eldredge wrote a bestselling book, Wild at Heart, which repackaged the principles of Bly’s movement with Christian labels, and borrowed out-of-context scriptures as its proof texts. Thus Eldredge encourages Christian men to be wild, virile pagans—but, y’know, not capital-P pagan; just virile warriors who are tough guys like we see in Mel Gibson and Clint Eastwood and John Wayne movies. Be fighters; God made us fighters. Forget all this “turn the other cheek” crap; what soft, domesticated she-male taught us that?

I’m still a big fan of Promise Keepers. Not at all the Wild at Heart bushwa, which is total depravity disguised as Christianity. The reason it resonates with so many Christian men is ’cause it encourages us to be boldly, unrepentantly, fleshly. To defy Jesus’s teachings to be kind and patient and love one another; instead fight everything we don’t like, ’cause God meant us to be wild donkeys, in hostility with all our brothers. Ge 16.12 That God’s happy with this.

It’s a devilish spin on the scriptures, and the very same behavior Paul warns Titus against in today’s passage.

Titus 3.1-3 KWL

1 Remind the people about rulers, about powers—

to be submissive, to listen to authorities,

to be ready for every good work.

2 To never slander. To not be “tough guys.” Appropriate.

Showing every humility to every person.

3 For at one point we were just as stupid—

unyielding, wayward, slaving for desires and various pleasures,

spending our lives in evil and envy,

hated and hating each other.

Y’notice it’s not just the people of Crete, whom Titus is ministering to, whom Paul is writing about. In 3.3, Paul points out both he and Titus used to be that way.

Because these traits aren’t “deep masculine” characteristics we need to rediscover and revive. They’re basic human depravity. Before we followed Christ, they were our fleshly human nature. We’re supposed to reject them in favor of the new, godly human nature the Holy Spirit is trying to develop us; in other words his good fruit. But if we won’t resist the temptation to indulge in our “lost wildness” and savagery again… well, we’ve made ourselves unfit to live in God’s kingdom.

Good luck telling the “wild at heart” bullies any such thing.

God’s ways aren’t our ways. They’re holy.

Let’s begin with Isaiah 55. Yep, all of it.

Isaiah 55.1-13 MEV

1 Ho! Everyone who thirsts,

come to the waters;

and you who have no money,

come, buy and eat.

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price.

2 Why do you spend money for that which is not bread,

and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

Listen diligently to Me, and eat what is good,

and let your soul delight itself in abundance.

3 Incline your ear, and come to Me.

Listen, so that your soul may live,

and I will make an everlasting covenant with you,

even the sure mercies of David.

4 See, I have given him as a witness to the people,

a leader and commander to the people.

5 Surely you shall call a nation that you do not know,

and nations that did not know you shall run to you

because of the LORD your God,

even the Holy One of Israel;

for He has glorified you.

 

6 Seek the LORD while He may be found,

call you upon Him while He is near.

7 Let the wicked forsake his way,

and the unrighteous man his thoughts;

and let him return to the LORD, and He will have mercy upon him,

and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon.

 

8 For My thoughts are not your thoughts,

nor are your ways My ways,

says the LORD.

9 For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

so are My ways higher than your ways,

and My thoughts than your thoughts.

10 For as the rain comes down,

and the snow from heaven,

and do not return there

but water the earth

and make it bring forth and bud

that it may give seed to the sower and bread to the eater,

11 so shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth;

it shall not return to Me void,

but it shall accomplish that which I please,

and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.

12 For you shall go out with joy,

and be led out with peace;

the mountains and the hills

shall break forth into singing before you,

and all the trees of the field

shall clap their hands.

13 Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree,

and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree;

and it shall be to the LORD for a memorial,

for an everlasting sign

that shall not be cut off.

This chapter is something the LORD told Isaiah to encourage southern Israel in the 700s BC, as they were facing down the Assyrian Empire, which was devastating all the countries round about—including northern Israel. It’s among the chapters which some scholars call “Second Isaiah,” because they’re so different from chapters 1–39; they’re about hope and future and God’s grace, whereas the first section was about God’s usual frustrations with the Israelis’ rampant sinning. So different, these scholars are pretty sure they were written by a whole different prophet—as if one guy isn’t capable of writing about multiple subjects.

Or, more appropriately, doesn’t radically change when he has God-encounters which convince God’s grace is way more consistent with his character than God’s wrath.

Y’see, God’s wrath is temporary. God doesn’t stay angry long. When he’s outraged, it’s for a few minutes—and mainly, I suspect, to remind us he does get angry, and he’s not ignoring injustice. He’s gonna set things right. He frequently does. But way, WAY more often, God’s about grace: If we stop sinning and turn to him, he hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s always willing to accept repentant people and love on us.

So why do we see so many prophecies in the Old Testament, and so many visions in Revelation, about God’s wrath? Two reasons: We humans suck, and God’s warning us there will be consequences, and they’re coming sooner than we think; and we humans are wrathful—which is why we kept and fixate on God’s statements about wrath.

I’ve no doubt whatsoever that young Isaiah prophesied wrath, because Isaiah himself was likewise outraged about the doings of his fellow citizens. Because he wanted them to cut it out. So did the LORD!—so it’s not that Isaiah was selectively tweaking God’s words to suit himself, like people so often do. But again: God doesn’t stay angry long. We do. We let our frustrations fester. God knows better than to do that… and in time, Isaiah learned better than to do that.

It’s why I’m zeroing in on verse 8 in this chapter: כִּ֣י לֹ֤א מַחְשְׁבוֹתַי֙ מַחְשְׁב֣וֹתֵיכֶ֔ם וְלֹ֥א דַרְכֵיכֶ֖ם דְּרָכָ֑י נְאֻ֖ם יְהוָֽה/Ki lo makhshevótay makhshevóteykhém, velo darkheykhém derkhém, nhum YHWH— “For my inventions aren’t your inventions, and your paths aren’t my paths, the LORD reveals.” We don’t think alike.

So we gotta learn to. We gotta find out how he thinks—it’s in your bibles, folks—and stop presuming since we have the Holy Spirit within, we automatically have the mind of God. Time and again we’ve demonstrated we so don’t. We don’t produce his fruit. Our knee-jerk reactions still aren’t consistent with his character. We imagine good fruit will happen spontaneously ’cause we belong to him now, but that’s not how it works. We gotta practice his fruit, and resist the ever-present temptation to remain fleshly Christians and just relabel all our sinful activity with Christianese words.

We gotta be like God, and unlike other people. Including other Christians, who are often lousy examples anyway. We gotta be unique. Different. Weird. Holy.