Saving Spleen

A man with leprosy came to him and begged him on his knees, "If you are willing, you can make me clean." Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. "I am willing," he said. "Be clean!" Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cured. Mark 1:40-42

I can't believe Jesus touched the man. Before he even healed the guy, he touched him. There are two reasons I say that I can't believe that. The first is that leprosy was grotesque. The word used by Mark when he wrote this account encompasses contagious skin diseases in general, which, at the time Jesus touched this man, were rampant and barely treatable. And Jesus was a cool guy - not only could he put his health in danger by touching the guy, but he's risking his reputation as an upstart teacher from down south.

But the other thing I can't believe is that Jesus still touches lepers. Figuratively, of course, but bear with me. Jesus did not "zap" cleanliness into the man before reaching out and touching him. No... he touched this untouchable as he was, as filthy and contagious and outcast as he was. Similarly, at the deepest reaches of depravity that I've known first-hand, Jesus reaches out and touches me. He has not denied fellowship with me until I've "shaped up," but rather has embraced me when nobody knew how badly I needed an embrace.

What motivates the holy God of heaven and earth to associate with lepers like me?

His spleen.

There is just one word in the Greek that has been translated into "filled with compassion." It's a great word, spelled in English splangknistheis. (Isn't that fantastic?) It's a passive participle whose root is in the word splangknon. Literally, that means the entrails or the spleen. Figuratively, it's the seat of emotions. If this seems weird, consider the fact that we Americans refer to a 1-pd pulsating chunk of muscle as the symbol of affection. It almost makes more sense to use the spleen/entrails, because that's the gut, the center of gravity.

That's where Jesus was moved. His inmost being, his deepest part, his vulnerable abdomen. At the sight of a leprous beggar, he felt kicked in the gut with sorrow and love. That compassion welled through him at the sight of crowds hungry for teaching, it was the experience of the father whose prodigal son returned home, that compassion means healing and reconciliation and more.

I want to lead with my spleen. To see as Jesus sees, feel as he feels, do as he does. I fail miserably in those areas most times, but thankfully Jesus has compassion on me. He still reaches out.