Approximately two miles away from Carpharnaum, lay the village of Chorazin.

A Roman temple was there erected to the glory of Hercules (Heracles of ancient Greek heroes and gods), who appeared engraved on a wall holding a club. Other engravings such as a medusa and a centaur adorned the grey, stone walls. Outside the temple there hovered in the shadows a man hunkered over, clothed in burlap and assorted colored rags, grey with the dinge common to dirt mixed with outdoor exposure. He sat still and unmoving, head drooped, his hands bandaged in rags. He held a walking stick broken from some unfortunate sapling, still green with ebbing life.

The stick was like the man himself, who could not be more than a few winters past twenty, yet he huddled as if four times that age. The rags on his blackened feet covered with both wet and dried blood, toes protruding, elongated black toenails, what few there were left, trimmed only by the rough rocks of the road. Rheumy eyes glanced furtively around looking for something, anything, someone, anyone to release him from this body of ulcerated skin, bone and viscera; this paralyzed body extinct of sensation, this rotting body of gangrenous flesh and deformation. All who saw him averted their eyes and put as much distance between him and them as possible, as they continued on their way doing their best to think of something else, anything to push his image from their minds and his smell from their nostrils. And then the rheumy eyes blinked.

One of the many dark forms that passed as people borne on their way to assorted destinations had stopped and was gazing at him. This usually happened with children, before their parents yanked them along. This person was not a child.

The man who had stopped took a few steps toward him. Sensing approach through orbs that could barely see, the sick man cried out, "Unclean! Stay away!" This seemed effective. The man halted his approach momentarily and then, ignoring the warning, continued. "Stop, I say! Unclean! I am a leper!"

"You are also a man." Quiet. Soft-spoken. Gentle. Inviting inquiry. "Do you know me?"

Forsaken eyes searched the man's face.

"No," responded the derelict. Apart from mother, father and brother, none of whom had he seen in years, he knew only other lepers; he knew no one else. His only friends were dogs with whom he shared the garbage pails behind inns and other dining establishments.

"I am Jesus, of Nazareth."

The man emitted a deep, guttural sigh. "Oh-h-h." He knew of Jesus of Nazareth. Who in all of Galilee didn't? Especially those in the colony of lepers where he spent most of his days. The talk, the rumors, the gossip.

"He can heal leprosy," some said.

"He is a faker," said others.

"He holds out false hope. He is dangerous!"

"He is of God."

"No!"

And so the talk and rumors of talk continued. The man in rags had heard just about everything that could be said about someone whom others claimed could heal. Now he actually faced this famous man, or infamous, depending on one's perspective.

What had he heard? Simple words. But the tone in which they were issued. Could he not hear compassion? Hope? Something beckoning him to believe? "Lord," he said, just above a whisper that began in the remotest reaches of infected bowels. "Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean." Despite conflicted rumors, despite their uncertainty, the power of hope emerged.

Jesus reached out his hand and took the man's face in his hands; "I am willing," he said gently as if this man was the only man on earth besides himself. And the man heard the words spoken as if meant for no other, "You are clean!"

And so he was.

Odor of disease evaporated. Blighted eyes that formerly could discern only shapes and distorted shades of grey sharpened into clarified focus, now discerned the brilliant, varied colors of the rainbow. Fingers and toes long rotted off, reappeared pink and ruddy; patches of hair fallen away turned from white to dark new growth; disfigured features of face took on definition; sad, rheumy, blighted eyes were now white and blue; parched, flaking lips now soft and supple; the man stooped and bent, the man with rotting flesh, stood now straight and whole! New, fresh vapors filled healthy lungs. The natural order of progressing disease ceased and in its place the natural order of health and vitality stood! Love had intervened.

Then Jesus said to him, "Don't tell anyone about this, but go now." With vehemence, waving his hand toward the pagan temple, "Get away from this place. Show yourself to the priest at the synagogue, and offer the sacrifices that Moses commanded for your cleansing." He spoke the word Moses with emphasis, indicating clearly the demarcation between the pagan god and the God of Israel. The vehemence in Jesus' tone was not lost on the man. He vacated the pagan temple area instantly and sought out the priest at the synagogue. He did not, however, remain quiet. He could not restrain himself. He told all he met of the healing that had occurred and how Jesus had warned him to avoid the temple of Hercules.

These things did not sit well with the civic leaders of Chorazin nor with the Romans, whose pretense at worship and jealousy of their adopted gods was well known. Jesus knew this. That is why he told the man to remain quiet. He could only bring trouble on himself as well as Jesus by speaking of what had occurred. The Roman authorities required of the locals a certain respect for their gods, and if someone spread notions that they were vacuous deities, then that amounted to sedition.

How quickly and widespread the news traveled was truly amazing--this miracle of the young leper healed on the very steps of the temple of Hercules.

"There is not a trace of it left!" Animated discussion among the people of the village.

"He gives no allegiance to the gods!" Rumors flew.

"He publicly challenges the Romans!" People began to choose sides.

"He is the Prophet," said some.

"He is a seditionist!" said others.

In a matter of hours almost everyone in Chorazin knew of the healing and of Jesus' supposed anti-government preaching. The Romans were angry, the Jewish leadership afraid, the populace agitated. Hence, Jesus could no longer go about freely in this village. He was forced to withdraw.

Frantically, the people in the community sought him out, ferreting about, seeking his spoor, some to be healed, some to hear his teaching, and some to see if he was really insane enough to offend the Romans. It was impossible for Jesus to keep a low profile. So deeper and deeper he went into the countryside, yet the crowds followed still. At length he abruptly turned away from the road to a stand of forest growth, thereby eluding the horde following not far behind. He quickly searched out a place where he could enjoy a hidden moment of privacy. For him, it was a most uncomfortable episode. He had escaped with his life, but had he stayed in Chorazin, he likely would have been killed or imprisoned. He found a large tree, and himself at its root; chest heaving, he buried his face in his hands. When his heart stopped pounding, he prayed.

He would not forget this man, this leper, this town.