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I remember some years ago Bishop Fulton had a prime time
TV show opposite Milton Berle every Wednesday night. One
night he told about his visit to an African leper colony. He had
brought along a supply of little silver crucifixes so he would have
something special to give to each of the 500 lepers in the camp.
The first leper he met had only the stumps of his left arm. And his
right arm and hand were covered with ugly, open sores. Sheen
took one of the little crucifixes, held it a few inches above the
leper’s hand, and then let it drop into his palm.
In a flash, he was struck by what he’d done. “All at once”,
he said, “I realized there were 501 lepers in the camp, and the most
leprous of them all was myself. I had given a crucifix—the
symbol of God’s absolute love for all of us—but then I had pulled
back and closed my eyes to what the symbol implied for me. So I
looked again very hard at that little crucifix, and I knew what I had
to do. I pressed by hand to the leper’s hand with the symbol of love between us,                and then I proceeded to do that for all of the remaining 499 lepers”! None of us, thank God, are lepers. But there’s not one of us,
if we are honest, whose heart hasn’t been wounded or even broken
many times, not one of us who doesn’t need healing. So it is to all
of us that Jesus is speaking by his actions in Sunday’s gospel. In
stretching out his hand, touching that leper and healing him, Jesus
is telling us—once again—that God does love us all no matter how
damaged or broken we are. He’s telling us that no matter how bad
we have been, our God will always be there for us, always be
waiting for us to open our hearts so God can heal us.
That’s the first half of Jesus’ message, but there’s more. In
addition to what God wants to do for us, there’s the matter of what
God wants us to do for one another. And it turns out to be exactly
the same thing; we are to become healers too, healers of one
another. That sounds wonderful, but how do ordinary, wounded
people like us become healers? Very simply by remembering how our own wounds feel and remembering what we need when we are broken. What we would like, of course, is a quick fix for our
wounds, but what we need is a friend who will reach out just as
Jesus did, take us by the hand, when our hand isn’t looking so
good, and walk through the darkness with us and not let go of us
halfway! If that is what we need as we try to walk through our hurts
and losses, it is also exactly what our brothers and sisters need.
And it is something each of us can give.
Here is a real life example of what I am talking about.
Some years ago, an old man collapsed on a busy street corner
in downtown Brooklyn. Within minutes an ambulance rushed him
to Kings County Hospital. There he kept calling his son.
A nurse found a dog-eared letter in the man’s wallet. From it
she learned that his son was a marine stationed in North Carolina.
That night an anxious marine showed up at the hospital.
Immediately, the nurse took him to the old man’s bedside.
The man was heavily sedated. And so the nurse had to tell him several times, “Your son is here! Your son is here!” Finally, the old man opened his eyes. He could barely make
out his son, but he recognized his marine uniform. At that point,
the son took his father’s hand and held it lovingly.
For the rest of that night, the marine sat at the man’s bedside.
Occasionally, he patted the man’s hand and spoke to him tenderly.
Several times the nurse urged the marine to take a break and
get something to eat or drink. But he refused. Toward dawn, the old man died.
When the nurse extended her sympathy to the young man, the
marine said, “Who was that man?”
“Wasn’t he your father?” the nurse asked.
“No, he wasn’t”, said the marine. “I never saw him before in
my life”.
“Why didn’t you say something?” said the nurse.
“I would have”, said the marine, “but I could see that he was
too sick to realize I wasn’t his son. I could also see that he was
slipping fast and needed a son. So, I decided to become that son”. Ordinary—wounded people can do things like this marine
did for the old man. Extend a hand of friendship and help someone
walk through the darkness to a new day.
Jesus did it—this marine did—we are asked to do the same.
Lord Help Us!

At the crack of dawn while the village slept, they made their way to the
place where Jesus was visiting. Some came with paper bags on their heads. Others
had on phony noses and fake mustaches. Yes, some of the men even came
disguised in women’s dresses while some of the women had shoulder pads on
under their sweaters and wore trousers so they’d look like men. Each had come
alone because no one wanted anyone to know the reason for the visit. So, what a
surprise it was to discover themselves in the courtyard of the home where Jesus
was staying.
“Oh no!” One man gasped as he took the paper bag off his head and looked
at the woman sitting across from him as she removed her beehive wig. “You mean
you have a demon too?” “But you’re my wife!” “
And you’re my husband! You never told me you had a demon?” She
exclaimed. The man next to her took off his fake beard and stared in disbelief at his wife
sitting across from him as she took off her fake beard as well. Together they asked,
“Have we both got demons?” And together they answered, “I guess we do.” All over the room people who had come in various sizes and disguises had
surprises as they bumped into neighbors, friends, relatives, and associates. Over
and over they found themselves saying, “You have to be kidding!” “You have a
demon too?” Well I never would have guessed it. How many times had we eaten
together and not once did we suspect one another of having a demon.
Without knowing they would all be together, they had come intending to
have Jesus expel their demons. As they waited in awkward silence for Jesus to
appear, one lady spoke up. “Since now we know we all have demons, we might as
well talk about them more openly to one another. After all, we have time. He can’t
really take off our demons all at once.” So, as they sat there waiting, gradually they began to describe the demons
that possessed them. One potbellied man started out very quietly as he looked
straight forward above the head of the woman across from him. He said he thought
his demon was the suicidal thoughts that came into his head from time to time. He
hadn’t wanted to tell anyone he had that demon because he was afraid they would
think he was crazy.
A woman in floral patterned house dress checked to see if the man who had
just spoken had finished and then she cleared her throat. “I get so depressed. I don’t feel like talking or walking. I just want to sleep all the time, and when I’m not sleeping, I eat donuts. So depression and overeating are my demons but I wouldn’t
tell anyone because I’m afraid people would think I was really off the wall.”
“I get depressed too,” a young boy chimed in. “It is good to know someone
else feels that way,” he said with relief. “I’m afraid to tell my friends because they’d
think I was a wimp.” Well, I have to be strong so my family can lean on me and I don’t feel very
strong a lot of time,” a huge man with big hands and muscular arms and legs said
softly. “My weakness is my demon and I’d be afraid to tell the other fellas that.”
At first, the conversation stopped and started, lapsing into long silences, but
as one, then two, then three villagers spoke up, more and more people wanted to
speak. Husbands and wives shard their demons with one another: fathers and sons,
mothers and sons, brothers and sisters. As one revealed his or her demons and the
fear of speaking about them due to what others might think, everyone else listened
with an understanding heart. Their understanding arose from having many of the
same demons and fears themselves. As they spoke, they gradually readjusted their chairs so they could see and
hear one another more clearly. The potbellied man said, “I’m not as afraid as I was.
I don’t feel so anxious. I wonder if my demon has fallen asleep. And the woman who ate so many donuts said, “I’m not as afraid as I was  either. I think my demon must have gone out to lunch.”
“My demon must have gone with yours,” added the man with the big
muscles. From all over the circle others talked about how they were less fearful.
Then the door opened and there in the archway stood: the one for whom they
had been waiting. He had a warm smile on his face and they all smiled back,
expecting him to call them one by one. But he did not. He surprised them by telling
them they could go home because they had already been exorcised. Their demons
had been expelled and sent on their way.
“How can that be?” Was he kidding them? He motioned them to be quiet as he said, “Think back for a moment about
what had just happened. Many of you have known one another for years. In some
instances you have shared the same bed, the same office or table or playing field.
Yet, you were unaware that each of you had your own special demon. And why
was that? Because of your own fear of admitting what you were going through.
And that is the real demon! That is the demon which had paralyzed and cut you off
from one another. That is the reason the demon has controlled you and had you in his power. The exorcism I have to offer, you have already experienced because you have come together and listened to one another as you have never done before.
Your demon no longer controls you.”
Then he told them that he had lots of work to do that day. They could all go,
and as they left they could drop their disguises in the waste basket near the door.
After all, they no longer had any need of disguises. Their demons had gone.

As Jesus was preaching in the synagogue at Capernaum, a
poor crazy man created a scene. He cried out, “What do you want
with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?” In
effect what the man was saying was, “Leave me alone! I’m no
good. I’m evil. I’m not worthy of love or care.”
It’s a cry we hear more than once in the Gospel from people
who believed they were possessed by devils. “Don’t meddle with
us. Leave us alone. Don’t try to change us”. They recognized that
change is painful. Whether they were actually possessed by devils
we do not know. But what we do know is that they were sick,
broken, isolated, unloved people, who had no dignity and whose
self-worth was nil.
There are many such people in our world today – in our
prisons, in our psychiatric hospitals, and on the street. Any of us
can be caught in some desperate situation. At least the man in the
synagogue didn’t try to hide how he was. He came to Jesus. Jesus
wasn’t put off by his desperate cry. In the cry, “Leave me alone!”
Jesus heard a cry for help. And he cured him. People find it hard
to admit that they can’t manage their problems. Pride tells them: I
should be able to handle my own problems. Recognition that there
is a problem is the first step towards rehabilitation. The
acknowledgement of our weakness and need would open the way
to recovery. It’s the courageous ones that ask for help.
Psychologists tell us that sometimes people don’t really want
to be cured. Why is this? Because a cure can be painful – it
involves a process which requires a lot of change, and all change is
painful. The idea of recovery can even be terrifying.
Often, we are afraid to talk about something that is hurting
us. We keep it locked up inside us where it festers. We may not
say, “Leave me alone”, but that is what it amounts to: “You
wouldn’t know, you couldn’t possibly understand.” Unvoiced
suffering is more harrowing than suffering that cries aloud.
Shortly after the birth of her son a young mother discovered
that he was blind. She called her family together and said, “I don’t
want my child to know that he is blind.” She insisted that from
that point on everyone should avoid using words such as ‘light’,
‘color’, and ‘sight’. The child grew up believing that he was like
everyone else until one day a strange girl jumped over the garden
wall and used all the forbidden words.
The story symbolizes much of our behavior. Many of us
seek to hide what is strange and painful, and to act as if things are
normal. We act as if we had no problems, no abnormalities, no
pains, no wounds, no failures. The urge to hide is very powerful,
and can be more harmful than what it tries to conceal.
I close, when we have the courage to face our problems, new
creative energies became available to us. Fear, shame, and guilt
often make us stay in isolation. It is by showing our wounds, by
allowing ourselves to touch and be touched that we are healed. It
is in our brokenness, our woundedness, that God the Holy can heal
us – if we give God a chance. Will we give God a chance?