Many of us are pretty terrible at keeping secrets.
How many times you have heard, “Tell me, I will never tell anyone!” Of course, the next thing you know, almost everyone knows the secret. Or there are times a friend will tell you, “Do not tell anyone. This is just between you and me.” But later, you learn that everyone knows about it anyway. After all, what is the point of having “secret knowledge” if you cannot share the fact that you have it?
The lure of “secret knowledge” that is known and controlled by a select few is what has kept all sorts of organizations going – such as modern day fraternities and sororities. They all have their secrets which are only known to a select few.
In Mark’s gospel, biblical scholars have long noted the apparent theme of a “messianic secret.” Of course, by the time Mark had written it down, the “secret” many had known about it.
Every time Jesus responded to the needs of people who were sick, they would tell others about it, that there were times when Jesus had to go somewhere to be away from the crowd.
And this is what happened in our story. When Jesus healed the man with leprosy, he told him not to tell anyone about it. But when the human spirit of the man with leprosy was released from its prison of isolation and expulsion, through the power of Jesus’ touch and word, he could not help but share his experience with others. It’s almost as if we could hear the leper singing the popular praise song How Can I Keep from Singing?
Despite Jesus’ command to keep quiet, the man healed of his leprosy cannot help but proclaim his miraculous transformation and “broadcast” far and wide who had made that wholeness possible. Primed with joy, this man’s exuberant exclamations declared the power of Jesus the Christ.
Mark’s text declares that it was because of the proclamations of this cleansed leper that Jesus’ popularity grew so great, forcing him to stay outside the synagogues and cities, sending him ever further out into the countryside.
There, his work and words became even more widespread and well known. Instead of staying within the safe circle of the synagogue circuit, the joyous witness of this one man ushered Jesus into the next phase of his mission and journey.
In other words, when the leper in the gospel story encountered Jesus, he could not help but become a reflection of Christ’s transforming, healing wholeness. He reflected God’s power and glory with his cleansed skin and his clear voice.
And this happened several times in the ministry of Jesus. Again and again when Jesus cautioned the crowds to be quiet, they would respond by spreading the news of his healing powers, his authoritative words, his depth of knowledge, his good news of the kingdom.
What does it mean for us to be an echo, a reflection of Christ in our time? Like that leper healed by Jesus, it means giving up some control, letting the personal experience of a Christ-encounter take hold and take us away.
Once we experience the power and presence of Jesus, we cannot help but be fundamentally altered. We are changed. We are charged. We are challenged.
When I saw people with fear in their eyes because of the earthquake they had experienced; when I saw victims of Sendong desperately reaching for a bottle of water and a handful of rice; when I saw people not knowing what to do next because of the calamity they went through, I, too, wanted to shout, “Where is God?”
However, as I see other people bringing in food to be given to victims of the flooding and the earthquake; as I see the hands of people helping others get out from the water; as I see the arms of two people slowly guiding one of the staff members as they go down the steps of the administration building during the earthquake, I see the presence of Christ, I see his arms, I see his hands.
Robert Fulghum in his book It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It
(1989) wrote about the time when he attended a summer program of Alexander Papaderos on the Greek isle of Crete.
Papaderos created an institute to heal the memories between the Greeks and the Germans, even after the Germans were guilty of some of the most heinous crimes imaginable against the Greek people.
According to Fulghum, “By the time I came to the institute for a summer session, Alexander Papaderos had become a living legend. One look at him and you saw his strength and intensity energy, physical power, courage, intelligence, passion, and vivacity radiated from this person. And to speak to him, to shake his hand, to be in a room with him when he spoke, was to experience his extraordinary electric humanity.”
At the last session of their two-week seminar on Greek culture led by intellectuals and experts in their fields who were recruited by Papaderos from across Greece, Papaderos rose from his chair at the back of the room, and walked to the front where he stood in the bright Greek sunlight of an open window and looked out. He made the ritual gesture: “Are there any questions?”
Quiet quilted the room. “No questions?” Papaderos swept the room with his eyes.
Fulghum asked, “Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?”The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go.
Papaderos held up his hand, and stilled the room and looked at Fulghum for a long time, asking with his eyes if he was serious and seeing from his eyes that he was. “I will answer your question.”
Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this: “When I was a small child during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day on the road, I found broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone, I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.
“I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game.
“As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child’s game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light–truth, understanding, knowledge–is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.
“I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless with what I have, I can reflect light into the dark places of this world–into the black places in the hearts of men–and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life.”
And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto Fulghum’s face and onto his hands folded on the desk.
During the calamities that we had gone through–the Sindong and lately the earthquake–I see some people who reflected the Christ in their lives. Like the man healed from leprosy, I saw in them the joy, the exuberant exclamations declaring the person and power of Jesus the Christ through their actions as they reach out to others.
In the days to come, I encourage you to carry around with you in the wallet of your mind a small round mirror as a reminder that you are a reflection of the Christ in you. So don’t hide your light under a bushel. Share with others of the secret relation you have with Jesus who is the Christ. Share with them what Christ has done to you. Share with them the good news of God’s love as you reach out to them with that love.
