Per Caritatem

In the history of Western philosophy, it is interesting to note the primacy given to “seeing” as the metaphor for knowing. In a cursory reading of Plato, for example, one encounters this “seeing” metaphor time and again. In the Republic, Plato speaks of “seeing,” “looking to” and “viewing” the Forms. He also describes certain people as having “dim sight” and still others who tend to “look” in the wrong direction, i.e., rather than “looking to” the Forms, they focus on the shadows of the sense world. There are numerous other instances in which the privileged “seeing” metaphor could be cited (in Aristotle, Descartes, Kant etc.). However, I’ve noticed that many postmodern philosophers and theologians have introduced the more “neglected” senses as metaphors in various contexts—taste, touch and hearing (e.g., Jean-Luc Marion, John Milbank, Catherine Pickstock).

Though I’m not focusing so much on metaphors in the context below, this somewhat new turn to the less-privileged senses, reminds me of an experience I had while living in Russia and relatedly, of a few verses from Scripture that speak of the power of “touch.” Over the course of our three years in Moscow, Russia, we had the opportunity to visit various cities, small towns and villages in Russia. One winter we traveled by train to a city called Kirov where we stayed for about two weeks. During this time, we were invited to spend a day at one of the orphanages just outside the city. The memories of that visit are quite vivid, and the time with the children was (though brief) an incredible and life changing experience. When we first arrived, the children (from 4-16 years old) were very shy and stand-off-ish. I noticed immediately a cute little boy, Sasha, who was about 5 years old and who seemed extremely withdrawn. I walked up to Sasha and said, “Привет Саша,” [“hello, Sasha”] (thankfully he did not correct my Russian grammar), but he said nothing—no smile—nothing. As the day progressed, we played games, performed skits, ate and so on. While playing one of the more active games (something like dodge-ball), Sasha and I began to slowly “bond” (e.g., I would catch the ball and give it him and things like that). When it was time to eat, I noticed that he wanted to sit with me (which made me of course extremely happy), so I tried to take his hand, however, he did not want me to touch him and quickly pulled it away—but he still wanted to sit with me. So we sat and ate borsch together and then went off to play more games. As the day was drawing to a close, I was sitting on a bench resting and Sasha walked up to me, sat next to me, and to my surprise (and joy) he let me hold his hand. After that connection, he would not leave my side and even let me hold him in my lap. He actually wanted very much to be held and touched, but he of course was simply “one among many” in the orphanage and was by and large deprived of physical touch. When it was time to leave, he did not want to let go of my hand (nor did I want to let go of his). Then the dreaded time came and we were told that the bus was leaving and we’d better pack up and grab seats. As we drove off, the kids ran behind the bus as long as they could keep up, and we of course cried our eyes out. I often think about Sasha, and hope that he remembers me—more than that, I hope that finds a home and a family that will give him the affection that he longs for and needs.

Not long after our short trip to Kirov, I began studying the book of Leviticus, which among other things describes the law of the leper’s cleansing (chapter 13). For example in Lev. 13:45-46, we read, “As for the leper who has the infection, his clothes shall be torn, and the hair of his head shall be uncovered, and he shall cover his mustache and cry, ‘Unclean! Unclean!’ He shall remain unclean all the days during which he has the infection; he is unclean. He shall live alone; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.” [*The following observations are based on observations made by Dr. S. Lewis Johnson in his series on Leviticus]. The first thing to notice is that “his clothes shall be torn.” Why? In the Old Testament, rending one’s clothes expressed symbolically one’s morning over death. Here, the tearing of the leper’s clothes represents the absolutely hopeless condition of the leper. Perhaps it would be worthwhile for us to pause and meditate on the disease itself. It is doubtful that there is any disease that so completely destroys the human body as the disease of leprosy (e.g., ulcers cover the body, the person’s hair falls out, and he/she experiences extremely slow bodily decay–even to the point of losing limbs, not to mention the mental anguish the person endures). In fact, leprosy has been described as a kind of progressive death in which a person dies inch by inch (certain kinds of leprosy can last from 20-30 years). As Johnson points out, though we are not exactly certain of the kind of leprosy that existed in the time of the OT, we can however readily “see” or better “feel” that this disease illustrates well the nature of sin in the spiritual sphere.

Returning to our passage, we read that the leper must cry, “Unclean, unclean.” When the word “unclean” appears, it is not so much a reference to the physical disease itself as it is to the ceremonial status of the person before the Levitical economy. That is, the individual remains unclean ceremonially until he is pronounced “clean” by the priest when (and if) healing comes. Lastly, we notice verse 46, “He shall live alone; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.” In other words, the leper experiences a separation—he has no fellowship with the people of God, as he is considered to be ceremonially under judgment.

Though we do read in the OT of some lepers who were healed, there are very few illustrations of healing from leprosy until our Lord Jesus came. We could more or less say that as to the “tonal center” of the OT, it was extremely unusual for anyone to be healed of leprosy. Then we read, in Mark’s gospel, “And a leper came to Jesus, beseeching Him and falling on his knees before Him, and saying, ‘Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean.’ Moved with compassion, Jesus stretched out His hand and touched him, and said to him, ‘I am willing; be cleansed.’ Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cleansed” (Mark 1:40-42, italics added). It continually amazes me when I read this passage that Jesus reached out His hand and touched the leper—the one covered in ulcers, the social outcast, the one dying a slow, painful, and lonely death. Not only did Jesus reveal Himself as the Lord and Healer, but He revealed Himself as a God of compassion and fellowship, for He stretched out His hand of flesh and touched this diseased, leperous man, choosing to show His healing power by means of physical touch. Altering Wesley’s hymn slightly, I could imagine the leper, who had probably not been touched by another human being for many years, singing with heartfelt joy, “Amazing Love, how can it be that Thou My God, would touch me—a poor and wretched leper!” Spiritually speaking, this leper likewise shouts, “what amazing love.”