Matthew 8:2-3,  And behold, a leper came to him and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”  And Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, “I am willing, be clean.” And immediately his leprosy was cleansed.

Adam had been thinking about the concept of grace since the last group gathering. Something for nothing. He held that thought in his head for a few moments. Then he started writing.

Ben had introduced journaling to him soon after he invited Jesus into his life. It was new to him. (Of course, lots of things were new lately.)

It was like thinking through your fingers. It slowed you way down. It helped you focus and ponder. Ben called it meditating. It was really different from scrolling through Instagram or the quick snaps from Snapchat. Those were stimulating in a surfacy way, like the quick rush of flattery or the stupid lures from marketers trying to manipulate you into buying their stuff. When Adam made the effort to write down his thoughts, he found himself going deeper into what was real. He felt more alive, not like a zombie at all, closer to Jesus, open to hearing him more.

Grace: Something for nothing. He wrote. More than that. It wasn’t just something, it was more.

Adam stopped writing. He thought about what the leper said to Jesus, “If you will…” He picked up his pen.

Why would the leper ask a question like that? Didn’t he know who Jesus was? Of course Jesus would be willing. But maybe the leper didn’t know that about him. 

Adam stopped again and thought. What was it like being a leper, anyway? Henry had talked about lepers being outcasts, like they were a poison, or contagious or something. Like how weird everything got during Covid. Everybody kept away from everybody else. Hiding behind masks. Glad that’s over!

People must have avoided the leper all the time. All the leper ever experienced was people not willing to do anything for him. Not willing to help him, to get close to him, to touch him, to be his friend. He asked Jesus if he was willing because the leper knew nobody who was willing. But Jesus was willing.

Adam looked out the window. His eyes settled on the old tree across the street that he and his friends used to climb. He remembered that stupid game they played seeing who could climb up the highest and jump down. Man, that hurt when he landed. He smiled. It was stupid, but fun. He thought of how intense they were daring one another to go higher. Making fun of the kid who only stayed on the first branch. What was his name? He remembered the excitement, the rush, the pain, the surprise when Tim’s mother came outside and chewed them out for being stupid. He remembered the connection. What’s that phrase? “A band of brothers.”

As Adam stayed in that space, it came to him…the more.

The leper didn’t know if Jesus was willing because nobody was ever willing. But he had been watching Jesus, or at least hearing about him. He seemed to know Jesus could help him, but he really didn’t know if he would, if he cared. But Jesus did care, he was willing, and when Jesus touched him, he wasn’t just healing him, he was giving him himself. That was the more. That is grace. It wasn’t just the healing that the guy needed. It was Jesus.

The leper needed Jesus, and so do I.

Adam paused, and then he heard him again.

“I love you, Adam. I really do.”

Adam wrote that down, like a personal note from Jesus:

Adam, I love you. I really do.  Jesus

Adam stopped writing and starting talking to Jesus.