Distance

Lepers. Unclean. No contact. No acceptance.

In a group they came that day, standing at the required distance, calling out for mercy.

He told them, across the distance of rules and customs and space, to go to a place they'd never been.

Yes, go to that place where you've never been welcomed, never been touched, never been allowed to enter, he said. Just go.

He never came near or touched them. All they asked for was mercy and he sent them elsewhere.

Obedient: Did as they were told. Followed his command to go to the place that shunned them, the unclean; to show their ravaged and deformed bodies to religious authorities who wanted nothing to do with them, let alone come near or acknowledge them.

Risking everything to follow his command that defied all reason -
They became clean on the way.

Mercy restored them to community, to health, to life.

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Homeless. Unclean. Frightening. Dirty. Sleeping in the rain on the cement. Hiding in the alcove.

In a group they came that day, passing by quickly, not wanting to take notice, keeping distance.

Three feet through the wall from his dirty, wet alcove to their table in the posh restaurant with the overly stuffed buffet of prime rib, turkey and salmon.

Three feet, a very short distance  ---
One in despair no longer seeking mercy -
One struggling to comprehend.

Then, he spoke again: Yes, go to that place that scares you and you don't understand. Risk everything. Don't judge, he said. Just go.

In obediance, paying for the extra meal, tying up the bag, walking out the door -  the healing came.

"Happy Thanksgiving. The food is hot."

Mercy given. Mercy received.

The Way becomes clear when we listen to the Truth and mercy brings others (and ourselves) back to Life, back to the Table.

The lepers of Jesus' day still call out for mercy through the world's refugees and homeless.

The Table is big enough.
The distance is irrelevent.
He continues to say it:  Just go.