Two Lepers at My Door

During long stays in India, I could only call home every two weeks because of the expense of long-distance calls. The first thing Treva always asked was, “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine,” I always said.

“Please be honest with me,” she would say, because she knew from experience that I was likely to have a bout with stomach problems.

In the beginning, when I was with the villagers, I knew if I were to be in tune with them, I would have to eat what they ate and drink what they drank. I was not walking in as an American with bottled water. Invariably, I would get sick, but that was part of the deal. I would go through one of those bouts for 24-48 hours and then be back on my feet, going at full speed. 

However, that was not the case in 1988 when I came down with dengue fever, which is sometimes called “bone-breaking disease.” I had traveled to India planning to keep my typical hectic schedule, including overseeing the planning of a Trees for Life tree distribution at the 1989 Kumbh Mela where we planned to distribute 300,000 guava saplings as an act of communion.

The dengue fever lasted three months. My body burned and shivered. My back and joints ached. I could hardly eat or drink. This torture left me completely drained.

Lying on my sickbed day after day, the hours became long and heavy. An awful darkness filled my mind and body. I longed for the tender, loving touch of my wife and the company of my children. Unable to focus on anything, doubts began to fill my mind.

Somewhere in the depth of my being, I heard a dark, sinister voice of doubt chiding me: “How long are you going to keep exposing yourself to such diseases?” it asked. “Ha, what an ego!” It taunted me. “The problem of hunger is so great, and you are so small. If what you are doing is right, then why isn’t everyone else doing it?”

It was depression at its very worst. Life seemed so bleak, so hopeless.

I was suffering through this long tyranny when the houseboy in my relative’s home came to inform me that I had some visitors. 

“Send them in,” I said.

The houseboy shook his head, indicating by his hesitation that the visitors should not be allowed inside the house. My state of health did not permit me to meet someone at the gate. However, mustering all my strength, I decided to go out and meet these strangers. I walked out wondering why I was putting myself through this torture.

There in front of me stood two lepers. I did not recognize them. One of them mustered enough courage to speak. He swallowed hard and said, “Sir, four years ago you helped us plant 60 guava trees at our colony. We have brought you some . . . ” His voice trailed away, and with his stubby-fingered hand he pointed to a cardboard box of guava fruits they had brought with them.

There was a mixture of pride and embarrassment on the disheveled faces of my two visitors. Pride because, four years ago, I had challenged them, in spite of their condition, to help themselves. Embarrassment because they believed that even their best offering was inadequate for this occasion.

In the box were nine of the largest, most beautiful green guavas I had ever seen. I was touched beyond words, and tears rolled down my cheeks. I had not labored in vain. What I had done in the previous five years did have meaning. It mattered.

I tried to thank them, but the words stuck in my throat. Words, however, were not necessary for them. They knew I was thanking them for something more than the guavas.

“How did you know I was in New Delhi?” I inquired.

They had traveled 25 miles, though they had no way of knowing that I was even in India. From the look they gave each other, it was evident they had not thought of that. One of them shrugged his shoulders, while the other tried to step back. The startled look on his face said it all. Their visit had been an act of faith. They did not even have the fare to get home. I could feel my doubts of the past weeks melt away. There was light in my life! Even in my weakened state, I could have jumped for joy!

I do not know what is within the human soul that makes it reach out and touch someone so unerringly at the right time and the right place.

* * *

A few days later I awoke in the middle of the night. Lying there in the dark, I witnessed a scene. It was as if I were seeing an image projected on a screen in a darkened theater. It was not a dream. I realized I was in a trance-like state.

In the scene, people were dancing in a large circle, holding each other around the waist and moving in a counter-clockwise direction. They wore colorful attire and were moving at a very fast pace. Their speed was so rapid that the colors blended into a beautiful hue. Somehow, I was part of the circle dancing and, at the same time, I was outside the circle watching the dance from my bed.

Then another figure appeared on the scene and the circle of dancers came to a standstill. This person was frail and dressed in white. As it joined the other dancers, it was difficult to tell if the figure was male or female.

“Are you a healer?” I asked the newcomer.

My question seemed to embarrass the person. “No, I am the one who was healed.” The answer came shyly as the figure tried to meld into the circle. 

The dancing began again and soon reached the same crescendo. Another figure appeared, wishing to join. The dancing stopped again. 

I asked the same question, “Are you a healer?” and received the same answer. This scenario repeated itself nine times. Then the circle melted away.

Why nine? I wondered to myself, lying in bed. Then I noticed a figure on my right. Somehow, I knew it was Jesus. He was silently conveying something to me.

Of the ten lepers he had healed, one had come back to thank him. That one then transcended our known universe. The other nine had remained to heal others in the same way they had been healed.

“The healed is the healer,” Jesus said gently. There was conviction and finality in his message.

At that moment everything seemed so clear to me.

It was evident that in the process of healing others we are healed. The one perceived to be the sufferer bonds with the one perceived to be the healer. In this linkage, both are healed simultaneously. Thus, is the universe healed.

I was overcome with the same joy I had felt when my two visitors had come to my home.

“Oh, Jesus, the same lepers you healed came to heal me,” I confided to him. “Thank you for healing them.”