For most of the ten years I was with The Upper Room, we lived in Mt. Juliet. Mt. Juliet is a small rural town about 20 miles east of Nashville, which was fast becoming a densely developed suburb. When we moved there from California, I was looking for space. I’d lived ten feet from my neighbors too long. I wanted at least the “country feeling.”

Mt. Juliet had it.

At least two “famous” people lived in Mt. Juliet. Charlie Daniels of country music fame, who is the best fiddler and whose band continues to be a premier one in music.

You’ve missed something if you’ve never heard the Charlie Daniels band play, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

The other famous person was Will Campbell. Now don’t feel too badly if you don’t know one or both these names. Just take it as a call to humility. None of us are as educated and sophisticated as we pretend.

Will Campbell is famous in a different way than Charlie Daniels. I use the word “famous” advisedly. Will is “famous” in religious circles. Now this is a religious crowd - I mean, here we are in church doing our religious thing. My hunch is, however, that more of you know the name Charlie Daniels than Will Campbell. I don’t have time to talk about what that means, either for you or the church. Again, though, don’t feel bad if you know the secular man, but not the religious one. If you sense some guilt about that, I absolve you.

Will Campbell is a sort of renegade Baptist preacher. He calls himself a “steeple dropout”. He’s a preacher without a pulpit, but people come to him from all over America, and he ministers to people in some of the most interesting and fascinating ways. He is a civil rights activist, prison reform advocate, yet a priest to members of the KKK.

He was minister to the University at Ole Miss at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, and worked with the National Council of Churches in the Civil Rights Movement following his time at Ole Miss. He became disillusioned with the way the National Council did ministry, feeling that they were far more sociological than they were theological, and became a “Minister at Large”.

He had a support group called “The Committee of Southern Churchmen” seeking to minister not only to the victims of oppression but their oppressors as well. His radical, — and I use that word in a positive way — his radical understanding of the Gospel is demonstrated in his intentional relation with leaders of the Ku Klux Klan.

Will lives on a small farm in Mt. Juliet – lectures all over the nation – and writes books. Brother to a Dragonfly is a book I hope you’ll read. It is at once a sensitive biography and a compelling novel. It is philosophy, theology, and sociology communicated by touching, humorous, revealing anecdotes, after the style of Mark Twain. It tells what Southern life is like on the rough side, where the lathe and the plaster have not been smoothed off, including matters of daily bread, race relations and belief in Jesus Christ.

Will is a master writer, a genius with a parable. In BROTHER TO A DRAGONFLY he shares a confrontation with an agnostic friend who compares the church to an Easter chicken. Let me share that with you.

“You know, Preacher Will, that Church of yours and Mr. Jesus is like an Easter chicken my little Karen got one time. Man, it was a pretty thing. Dyed a deep purple. Bought it at the grocery store.”... “but pretty soon that baby chicken started feathering out. You know, sprouting little pin feathers, Wings and tail and all that. And you know what? Them new feathers weren’t purple. No sirree bob, that damn chicken was a Rhode Island Red. And when all them little red feathers started growing out from under that purple it was one hell of a sight. All of a sudden Karen couldn’t stand that chicken any more”.. .“Well, we took that half-purple and half-red thing out to her Grandma’s house and threw it in the chicken yard with all the other chickens. It was still different, you under stand. That little chicken. And the other chickens knew it was different. And they resisted it like hell. Pecked it, chased it all over the yard. Wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Wouldn’t even let it get on the roost with them. And that little chicken knew it was different too. It didn’t bother any of the others. Wouldn’t fight back or anything. Just stayed by itself. Really suffered too. But little by little, day by day, that chicken came around. Pretty soon, even before all the purple grew off it, while it was still just a little bit different, that damn thing was behaving just about like the rest of them chickens. Man, it would fight back, peck the hell out of the ones littler than it was, knock them down to catch a bug if it got to it in time. Yes sirree bob, the chicken would turn that Easter chicken around. And now you can’t tell one chicken from another. They’re all just alike. The Easter chicken is just one more chicken. There ain’t a damn thing different about it.”

I knew he wanted to argue and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Well, P. D., the Easter chicken is still useful. It lays eggs, doesn’t it?”

It was what he wanted me to say. “Yea, Preacher Will. It lays eggs. But they all lay eggs. Who needs an Easter chicken for that? And the Rotary Club serves coffee. And the 4-H Club says prayers. The Red Cross takes up offerings for hurricane victims. Mental Health does counseling, and the Boy Scouts have youth programs.”

(Will D. Campbell, Brother To A Dragonfly, The Seabury Press, New York, 1977, p. 219—220)

I share this story for two reasons. First, to raise the question about the nature of the church.

Who needs the church when human needs formerly met by the church are now being fulfilled through secular agencies and governmental programs? Does the church have any unique role to fill today? If it does, what is that role? What difference would it make if tomorrow the church closed its doors - if we went out of business and directed our time and our resources into other human endeavors?

So that’s the first reason for sharing the story – to raise the question about the nature of the church, and I’ll return to the question later. Let’s look at it that way. Note first the leper in his depth of despair. In New Testament times, leprosy was the most dreaded of all diseases. The victim not only suffered physical debilitation, but also mental and emotional pain and anguish. Lepers were forced to live alone; they had to wear special clothing so others could identify them at a distance and avoid them. The most abysmal humiliation was that they were required by law to announce vocally wherever they went their despicable condition: “Unclean! Unclean!”

“A leper with the flesh dropping off of his bones could not suppose that there was nothing the matter with him. His disease was too gross and able not to be felt.” (Maclaren, p. 40)

Can you even faintly feel at — not really feel because none of us can do that – but can you struggle hard and feel at what the leper felt – absolutely nothing in the leper’s life was not touched by – even determined by his leprosy. And the leper knew. That was why his condition was one of such misery and despair.

The leper knew his condition. His hell was that he could not escape awareness of his dreadful state during any conscious moment. And herein is the parabolic meaning for us. The leper knew, but do we?

Have you ever considered the possibility that the very misery of our deepest misery is that we do not know our condition. (pp. 40-41) We’re not aware of what may even be a sickness unto death. The classic example of it is the alcoholic or addict who is not aware of the seriousness of their affliction.

Jerry and I were in Edinburgh, Scotland, the first part of December – there for three days of vacation following my work in London with the Evangelism Committee of the World Methodist Council. There’s hardly any time, whether on vacation or not, when I’m not thinking about preaching and looking for that which will communicate the word. I knew this particular sermon was in the offing. So, when John Birkbeck and I walked by the church where Alexander White, one of Scotland’s great preachers, had proclaimed the word with such power, I remembered a story out of his life.

Once an evangelist came to Edinburgh, and to enliven his preaching, he began criticizing the local ministers, among them Dr. White. A man who heard the criticisms came the next day to Dr. White. “The Evangelist said that Dr. Hood Wilson... was not a converted man,” he told Dr. White. The great preacher rose from his chair in anger. “The rascal! The rascal! Dr. Wilson not a converted man!” The visitor was amazed at the extent of Dr. White response. He continued, “That wasn’t all he said, Dr. White, he said that you were not a converted man either.”

Alexander White stopped and sank into his chair. He put his face in his hands, and for a moment did not say a word. Then he looked up to his friend, and said with great earnestness, “Leave me, friend, leave me! I must examine my heart.” (William E. Sangster, The Pure in Heart pp. 161—162)

The leper knew his condition, but do we?

Do we know that he anger we repressed is burning into resentment and is taking its toll on our relationship with our husband or wife? Do we know our prejudice toward other races poisons us but more, it poisons our children and distorts their understanding of human worth? Do we know that our indifference to the poor is hardening our hearts and turning us into calloused, unfeeling persons who make snide remarks that our children hear as insensitive and uncaring? Also, remarks that feed the selfishness that is growing all too fast in all of us?

Do we know that our selfish hold on our money, our preoccupation with material security, undermines our trust in God?

Do we know that unconfessed sin will eat away at our soul’s sensitivity – that the refusal to forgive others will fester into spiritual malignancy which will block a growing relationship with God? “If the best of us could see himself for once in the light of God, as the worst of us will see himself one day, the cry would come from the purest lips, ‘0, wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from this body doomed to death?” (Maclaren, page 41)

The leper knew his condition, but do we? We need to constantly pray with the Psalmist: “Search me, O God, and know my heart.

“Try me and know my thoughts!
And see if there be any wicked way in me
and lead me in the way everlasting!” (Psalm 139: 23—24)

II

We’ve looked at the leper as a parable for us — he knew his condition; do we? Now as a second focus, let’s look at Jesus’ response to the leper as a parable for us in the church.

Capture the scene in your mind. Jesus is making his first ministry journey through Galilee. He is preaching and healing – proclaiming the presence and the coming of the Kingdom. Many miracles have taken place, particularly healings. This has evoked interest and excitement. Everybody is talking.

Imagine now that, the news has reached the isolated huts of the lepers. A spark of hope is kindled in one poor wretch. Something stirs within him - a hope he has never had before. So he breaks through all the regulations, and pushes his way toward Jesus. His tainted and unwelcomed presence causes the crowd to shrink back.

“He seems to have appeared there suddenly, having forced his way somehow into Christ’s presence. And there he was, with his horrible face, with his tightened, glistening skin, with a rag over his mouth, and a hunted look as a wild beast in his eyes. The crowd shrank back from him; so he had no difficulty making his way to where Christ is sitting, calmly teaching. (Maclaren, p. 40).

With his lively narrative, Mark gives a vivid picture showing the leper flinging himself down before the Lord. He doesn’t wait for question or pause he interrupts whatever is going on. Kneeling there, he gives his piteous plea. “If you want to, you can make me clean.” Then there is packed into one beautiful sentence, almost everything Jesus was about. Listen as Philipps translates it: “Jesus was filled with ‘pity for him, and stretched out his hand and placed it on the leper, saying ‘Of course, I want to be clean!” (Mark 1:41 Philips)

That tells it all. Stay with that encounter for just a moment to get the full impact of it. By law, the leper had no right to even draw near Jesus, much less speak to Him. How, we don’t know, but this leper knew — to be the Spirit of God witnessing to his spirit — this leper knew that despite his repulsive disease, despite his grotesque appearance, Jesus would see him, really see him, and respond to him as a person, not as a maimed, disfigured piece of flesh. Note Jesus’ response:

He listened at him, He looked at him, and He touched him the three action responses that no one else would dare make.

Let that speak to us now. It’s a powerful parable which pictures Jesus in his most characteristic style —the compassionate Christ. He felt sorry for the leper. He was filled with pity. Compassion is really the word and it’s a positive, warm, personal reaching out in love. No condescension as we sometimes attach the word pity. Jesus listened to him — looked at him — gave him his total loving attention. Then he touched him. That act of identification and solidarity, that’s essential but so often missing quality in relationship.

That’s who Jesus is – the Compassionate One. That’s how He responds to us. But let’s press for meaning as we see this act of Jesus as a parable — a parable which we as persons and as a church are to enact.

Go back to the leper’s hopeful, yet hesitant word: “If you will,” he said with halting reservation, “If you will, you can make me clean.”

The leper does not presume something. He doesn’t know how Jesus is going to respond. He has heard of the miracles and healings, but he doesn’t know anything about how Jesus makes decisions about such things or how he does his mighty work. So he is hopeful in his modest excitement. “If you want to...

Now the parable for the church and for us who act out the church’s ministry, and we get back to the earlier question about the nature of the church. Does the church have anything to offer? Does it really care? What difference would it make if tomorrow the church closed its doors, if we went out of business and directed our time and our energies and our resources into other human endeavors?

It was no use to the leper that others had been healed, that floods of blessing were pouring out in the wake of Jesus preaching journey through Galilee. The leper wanted to know if he would be blessed. Was there a healing here for him. And that’s the way the world is looking at the church. That’s the way people look at you as the church in the world, as Christ on the street and in the marketplace and in the office and at the social gathering. They want to know if there is any blessing, if there is any healing, any hope for them in the community of faith you represent. The only certain way to respond to that desperate question and it is desperate, even though people may not “verbalize it”. The only way to respond to that desperate question is as Jesus did. Look. Listen. Touch. Have compassion. That’s the bottom line.

Let that speak to us now. It’s a powerful parable which pictures Jesus in his most characteristic style - the compassionate Christ. He felt sorry for the leper. He was filled with pity. Compassion - pity: It’s a beautiful word - a positive, warm, personal reaching out in love. No condescension as we sometimes inject in the word pity. Jesus listened to him - looked at him - gave him his total, loving attention. Then He touched him. That act of identification and solidarity. That essential, but so often missing, quality in relationship. That’s who Jesus is - the compassionate one. Compassion for Jesus was not something He did on a preaching journey through Galilee. It was who Jesus was. You remember that powerful passage in Philippians 2 that describes Jesus as one who emptied Himself and assumed the position of a slave. He willingly gave up all the prerogatives of heaven. “Though He was equal to God,” Paul says, “He gave that position of grandeur and power up to become obedient unto death.”

Jesus became subject to the same influences that dominate us, put himself in the position of suffering with our fears, uncertainties, and anxieties. Yet He willingly chose this way of powerlessness and dependency. Selfless compassion and submission was not a part—time activity for Jesus — it was His way of life, It was who He is - the Compassionate One.

Jess Moody, in his book Quote Unquote, has expressed the meaning of a compassion like Jesus: “Compassion is not a snob gone slumming. Anybody can salve his conscience by an occasional foray into patching up a home that is coming apart. But did you ever take a real trip down inside the broken heart of a friend? To feel the sob of the soul — the red, raw crucible of emotional agony? To have this become as much yours as that of your soul-crushed neighbor? Then, to sit down with him and silently weep. This is the beginning of compassion.” (quoted by Bradley Kalajainen, “The Downward Pull of”, First Methodist Church, Grand Rapids, Michigan)

That’s how Jesus responded to the leper looked at him, listened to him, touched him, felt the sob of that soul the red, raw crucible of emotional agony.” And that’s the way He responds to us. But let’s press for meaning as we see this act of Jesus as a parable — a parable which we as persons and as a church are to enact.

Christ’s compassion will go lacking without you. There’s no way for modern lepers to be cleansed without you. No way for Christ’s healing, forgiving, redeeming love to be communicated without you. Imagine that. Christ wanting and needing us.

That’s incredible, isn’t it? That’s a miracle!

Martin Luther, overcome with the glory of knowing that Jesus needed him, even in his weakness, said, “God carves the rotten wood and rides the lame horse.”

The ministry of Christ requires you. Rich and poor, strong and weak, learned and simple, young and old – Christ needs us all to be his compassionate presence in the world.

A little boy looked up at the man who answered his knock and said, “I hear you have some puppies for sale.”

“Yes, indeed,” said the man, “would you like to see them?”

“I’d like to buy one, if it doesn’t cost too much.”

“Well, son, I’m asking ten dollars.”

Disappointment clouded the youngster’s face. “Gee,” he said, “I only have one dollar and sixty—three cents, but could I still look at them?”

“Surely,” said the man. He whistled, the mother dog who came trotting with five puppies waddling behind her.

The little boy looked somewhat puzzled. “I heard there was one with a bad leg.”

“Yes,” said the owner, “there she is and I’m afraid she’s hopelessly lame.”

“That’s the one I want,” said the lad. “Couldn’t I pay for her a little at a time?”

“Of course, son, but wouldn’t you rather have one that can play with you? I’m afraid this crippled puppy will never walk right.”

For an answer, the boy pulled up his pant leg and showed a steel brace on his leg. “I don’t walk so good, either. I reckon that the puppy will need some understanding til she gets used to her bad leg. I did.”

The “lepers” are all around us… and to some degree we are all lepers. But as Christians we know where grace and healing is.

“If you want to... is the cry of the world to us. And our response? We look and listen and touch and say, “Of course we want to be healed.”