He held his head high, he was one of the elite, no one would ever find out his secret. His robe was as luxurious, gleaming white as the best. His locks shining like a dark resplendent crown upon his intelligent brow. As he laughed, joked or discoursed learnedly according to the occasion, his eyes twinkled with life; even they did not give away his deep dark secret.
But when night came and the shades of darkness fell around him he shed his robe, shed his egotistical shell… and feared. His hand groped unwillingly to the spot on his broad, manly chest, the sore. His hand touched the edges, had they grown? Surely, surely not, it cannot be leprosy, it cannot, but it was, and he knew.
The days sped swiftly by. How long could he keep his secret? How long before the ugly, destructive spots would show up in some more conspicuous part of his body? He lived life to the fullest, some would say on the edge. He tried so hard to reach the top in his chosen career, so hard not to be found out.
A group of known lepers screamed shrilly “Unclean, unclean,” as he passed by, and he drew back repulsed like all the rest, no one must ever know that I am one of them. But then a spot showed up his hand and he took to hiding it in his sash. Even as his fear grew his laugh grew louder, his wit keener. Did anyone guess?
A Healer came to town. The rich young man had no time for common country preachers but his friends were curious so he went along. A leper came close to the Healer. The crowd surged backward, screaming, but not Jesus, for that is who it was. He stepped forward, reached out and touched the diseased face of of the leper. He was healed. They all saw it, they knew.
The young man froze. It would destroy his reputation to step forward and admit he had leprosy. Dare he admit it? Dare he not?
Leprosy is like hidden sin; will we admit it and be cleansed before it destroys us?