What it Really Means to be Human

What it really means to be human

Unclean. That word has plagued my life for the past 12 years. It’s become more who I am than simply what I am. Unclean… rejected, banished, ignored, pitied but never really loved. Twelve years living on the fringes, tucked away and forgotten.

The bleeding started one day and never stopped. A week turned into two, and then three. By the second month, I wondered if it would ever end. The doctor had no answers for me, nor did the midwife or any of the women I knew. Every day I’d hope that this would be the last day. But every day, it kept going.

As the weeks dragged on, even those I loved began to treat me differently. I saw their stares and noticed how they’d give me a wider berth as I walked by. And how could I blame them? To touch a person who is unclean means you are now unclean too.

Soon, my neighbors began to talk too. I could hear their whispered wonderings, asking themselves what horrible sin I had committed that God would inflict such a punishment on me. Soon, I began to wonder too.

Each night, alone in my room, I’d cry out to the God of heaven and earth, begging Him for answers. What sin did I need to repent of? What could I have done that could be so horrible as to deserve this? Was it a sickness that caused this affliction? What cure could possibly save me? With my face pressed to the ground, I pleaded night after night, begging Him to hear my cries. But the silence was deafening.

As the months have turned into years, I’ve resigned myself to this fate — to being separated and outcast for the rest of my life. But oh, how I long for the gentle touch of someone who truly cares. It’s been twelve years since I’ve been embraced, twelve years since someone has held my hand or given me a hug.

Twelve years is a long time to be so alone… long enough to start to wonder if I’m really any longer human at all.

Can someone really be human without love? Without touch? Without friendship and society? Can someone really be human without being seen?

When I heard He was coming, my first instinct was to flee. How could someone so holy be around someone like me? Will my presence in the city be enough to cause Him to stay away? Can He tell somehow that God’s wrath is upon me?

But then again, I’ve hearing about all the miracles, and my rebellious brain has begun to hope that maybe there is something this man can do for me. I know it’s silly to even consider it, but something inside me won’t let it go.

Walking by the market, I see Benjamin, my dear childhood friend. I haven’t seen him in years — not since he had left the city to live among the other lepers. Seeing him now, I audibly gasp. His skin is clear, his eyes are bright, and his movements are strong. He laughs and embraces Michael, the seller of fruits. Michael embraces him in return, laughter crinkling the corners of both their eyes.

Astonishment ripples through me. How could this be?

Hunger gnaws on my brain – hunger to know how he has been delivered from a fate worse than mine. How is it that God has lifted His wrath from Benjamin? And is there hope He could do the same for me? I hurry toward him, careful not to accidentally brush against any of the crowd that is gathering.

“Benjamin?” The words escape my lips, breathy with amazement. I almost expect him to correct me and tell me he couldn’t be Benjamin, just someone who looks like him.

But the smile that fills his face tells me the truth before his words do. “Rebekah! It’s amazing to see you!”

He reaches for me to pull me into an embrace. I pull away sharply. “No, you cannot touch me.” Tears fill my eyes. “I am unclean, Benjamin.”

His eyes soften with compassion and understanding. “Next week, then my friend. After you’ve had a chance to take part in mikvah.”

I shake my head as a tear slips down my cheek, amazed that after all these years I still have any tears to shed. “No, Benjamin. Not next week. Not the next either. I am cursed. There is no mikvah for me.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean, my friend?”

By now a crowd is forming around us — others recognizing Benjamin and hurrying to satisfy their own curiosity at his restored appearance. Anxiety climbs in my chest. So many people… so close… so dangerous.

I shake my head and step back. “I have to go. It’s great to see you, Benjamin. It’s obvious God has given you His blessing. I’m happy for you, my friend.”

Darting from the crowd, I hurry to the only place that has always felt safe, to my little corner of the riverside where no one ever bothers me or tells me I have to move on. Feeling the overwhelming emotions choking me, I let the inevitable tears slide down my cheeks.

My heart sinks as the sound of soft footsteps on the grass behind me warn of someone approaching. Who would bother me here? This is my spot, my sanctuary away from others. Everyone understands, and although I know they avoided this spot out of pure pity, I am grateful they do so all the same.

I turn, and astonishment sweeps over me to see Benjamin walking toward me with a small smile on his face. As he nears, I wipe the tears from my eyes and stand to face him.

“Can I sit with you for a while?” He gestures to the riverbank.

Feeling unsure, I nod and wait for him to choose his spot to sit. Sitting a respectful distance from him, I pull my knees up and arrange my skirts around me, ever aware of how I sit and where I sit, knowing any place I sit will then be unclean too.

“Tell me what’s going on, Rebekah.” His words are kind and gentle, inviting me to trust him. But can I? Will he understand? Or will his eyes fill with wariness the moment I tell him the whole story? Will he look at me the way everyone else does? Or, with his past, can he offer some semblance of understanding?

My heart craves the human connection that I sense Benjamin might offer me. Lifting a small prayer, I take a slow breath. Where do I begin? Speaking of such things, especially with a man who was not in my family, is not considered acceptable. But something inside me tells me I’m safe with him.

“It’s been twelve years, Benjamin. It won’t stop. I’ve sought answers from the doctors, from priests, from the midwives… everyone I can think of. No one knows why God has done this. I am cursed.”

Benjamin lets out a soft sigh. “Oh friend. I’m so sorry. I know how terrible that feeling is.”

“But how are you whole, Benjamin? How were you restored?”

His eyes fill with excitement as a wide smile stretches across his face. “I was healed by Jesus of Nazareth.”

“What? What do you mean? How?”

He shifts to look at me directly. “I was walking down the road when I saw Him and His disciples. I don’t know what overcame me. Maybe it was pure insanity. I had been hearing tales of all the miracles He was performing… blind people receiving sight, lame people walking again, even the dead being raised back to life. I just had to find out for myself.”

“So, I did the unthinkable and approached them. His disciples did what everyone always does. They began shouting at me to get away, hiding the Teacher behind them as they covered their mouth and nose. But not Jesus.”

“His eyes met mine and I just knew He saw me… like really saw me. I could feel His love for me even from a distance. He told His disciples to leave me alone and even pushed past them to get to me. He ignored their pleas for Him to stay away. He just kept looking at me with those eyes—so full of compassion and love that I couldn’t look away.”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I listen to Benjamin tell his story. “Then what happened?”

He lets out a slow breath as if soaking in the truth of his story all over again. “Then He touched me. No… He more than touched me; He embraced me. I imagine you can understand how amazing that felt. So long without human connection… so long without tenderness or kindness. As His arms came around me, I felt this heat fill my whole body. It was like nothing I had ever felt. And in that instant, I was healed.”

“The sores disappeared. The ache in my bones relented. The tremors ceased. My eyes cleared, and I knew I had been made whole.”

Benjamin’s eyes glisten with tears as he looks me in the face. “And He can do the same for you too, Rebekah. I know He can.”

I shake my head, the hope in his words feeling too dangerous. “I don’t think so.”

The feel of Benjamin’s hand on mine causes me to gasp. Instinctively, I pull away, but he holds my hand firm. “Benjamin, no. Now you are unclean.”

He lifts his shoulder. “What is that to me? I’ve spent the last 20 years of my life unclean. What is a day more? I will go wash tonight. But you have spent the last 12 years without the blessing of human touch. I remember what that is like. But Jesus gave me that gift back. Let me give it to you too.”

The tears fall unhindered down my cheeks, unstoppable now. The warmth of his hand on mine seeps through my skin, reminding me I am human after all. He moves near me and pulls me into a gentle embrace as a soft sob escapes my lips.

Unsure at first, I finally relent and wrap my arms around him, letting the embrace soothe my tired soul like a healing balm. The sobs come then, one rolling over the other out of my control.

“I know,” his soft words caress my heart. “I know, my friend. It’s okay.”

When the tears finally relent, Benjamin releases me with a satisfied smile. “I can’t wait for you to meet Jesus.” His excitement bubbles over me like a wave.

I shake my head, wiping the remaining tears from under my eyes. “I don’t know…”

“He will heal you, Rebekah.” Benjamin cuts in. “You just have to have faith. He’s not just a prophet. He is Messiah. I am sure of it. He will do for you what He did for me. Trust me.”

Hope nags at my brain, tempting me to believe. Messiah? Could it really be?

“How do you know?” I ask, uncertainty still causing a lump in my chest.

“Because He has to be! Everything we’ve been waiting for… it’s Him, Rebekah! He is Messiah. You just have to meet Him, and then you’ll see. It’s not just one thing… It’s His whole being. He carries the presence of God with Him wherever He goes. Will you come with me? Will you come meet Him?”

Questions and doubts waged war on my brain, tempting me to reject Benjamin’s offer. But desperation screams that if there is even a slight chance that this man could be the promised Messiah, then I would be foolish not to try.

But what if it doesn’t work? What if He touches me and becomes unclean? I know He touched Benjamin. But what if He is not willing to touch me?

A scripture from the prophet Malachi that I learned in my childhood springs to life in my brain. “But for you who fear My name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings.” Wings… kānāp̄… The word we use to describe the outer edge of a robe.

An idea forms in my mind. If I could just get close enough to Him to touch the corner of His robe, maybe that will be enough. And if I only touch His robe, He will not be unclean. Maybe all I need is to be near Him. If He really is the Messiah, maybe that simple touch will be enough.

“Okay, let’s go see Him.”

A wide smile stretches across Benjamin’s face. We both stand and dust the dirt from our clothes. He prances in place, waiting for me to finish arranging my skirts, obvious excitement bubbling up in him.

I follow him back toward the city. His steps are hurried, and I match my pace to his to keep up. As we come into the marketplace, I hear the murmur of a crowd along one alleyway. Benjamin and I hurry toward the sound, which feels completely out of place for the two of us to do. A leper and an unclean woman hurrying toward a crowd… how ironic. But Benjamin isn’t a leper anymore, and maybe, just maybe, today will be the day that I’m no longer unclean.

As we near where the crowd circles around Jesus, I pause, unsure how to get near Him. But Benjamin grasps my hand and starts pushing toward the crowd. Shoulders bump into me, bodies bouncing off mine as Benjamin pulls me toward Jesus. Shame engulfs me. Every bump and jostle, every collision of my body against another’s passes my unclean status to them unknowingly.

If this doesn’t work, I’ll be even more of a social pariah than I already am. If Jesus doesn’t heal me, and the people realize what I’ve done, I can’t even imagine what will happen. But Benjamin keeps going, keeps pressing, as if nothing will stop him from getting me to Jesus.

So close now, but Jesus is walking away. I just need to touch the hem of His robe. I lunge, my feet tripping over those around me, my hands falling hard against the dirt road. But my eyes are on His robe, so close I can almost reach it. I crawl now, just a little more.

In total desperation, I reach out and my fingers wrap around the fringe of His robe. Warmth spreads through my whole body as the garment slides out of my hand. Tears of relief fill my eyes. I am whole; I can feel it now. The bleeding has stopped. For the first time in twelve years, I am healed.

Jesus turns, startled, searching the crowd. “Who touched My garments?”

Fear trembles in my gut. Will He chastise me now? Will He know that I received the healing from Him without His permission. What will happen to me?

One of those following Jesus looked around. “Teacher, the crowds are pressing in around you. Why are you asking who touched you? Many people have touched you.”

The fear from moments before bubbles up into full-blown terror. Falling on my face before Him in the dirt, I confess. “It was me, Teacher. An issue of blood has afflicted me for twelve years. I heard you are Messiah and reasoned that if I could only touch your robe, perhaps that would be enough to receive the healing I’ve so desperately prayed for. And it worked! I am healed! The moment I touched your robe, I was instantly healed. You are truly the Messiah. Forgive me for touching you. I know I shouldn’t have.”

Jesus’s eyes land on me and suddenly I know exactly what Benjamin meant by Him really seeing you. They aren’t filled with condemnation or anger. Just the opposite. The love that pours from Him fills my whole being, and for the first time in my life, I understand what it means to be truly seen and loved by God Himself.

Compassion fills His eyes as He crouches down in front of me. “Daughter,” He lifts a gentle hand to my cheek, and I press into His tender touch. “Your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be cured of your disease.”

Tears fall down my cheeks as He offers me His hand and helps me stand. He places His hands on my shoulders and our eyes meet again for a moment before one of His disciples interrupts us and calls Him away.

As I watch Him move on, I realize that more has been healed this day than just my body. A brokenness that I hadn’t ever realized was there, one that I’ve carried all my life, now feels mended. This encounter with Jesus… His tender touch… Now I know what it means to be fully human after all. I know who I am.

I am a daughter of the King.

I am beloved.

I am seen.

I am worthy.

I am made whole.