The Friday after Epiphany, January 10, 2026

Luke 5, 12-16

It happened that there was a man full of leprosy in one of the towns where Jesus was; and when he saw Jesus, he fell prostrate, pleaded with him, and said, “Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean.” Jesus stretched out his hand, touched him, and said, “I do will it. Be made clean.” And the leprosy left him immediately. Then he ordered him not to tell anyone, but “Go, show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing what Moses prescribed; that will be proof for them.” The report about him spread all the more, and great crowds assembled to listen to him and to be cured of their ailments, but he would withdraw to deserted places to pray.

Of all the people who come to Jesus in the Gospels, the leper is among the most vulnerable. Luke describes him starkly: “a man full of leprosy.” This is not simply a medical condition; it is a total human catastrophe. Leprosy in the ancient world meant physical decay, ritual impurity, social exclusion, and spiritual isolation. The leper lived outside the town, outside worship, outside ordinary human touch. He was accustomed not only to pain, but to being avoided.

And yet this man does not cry out from a distance. When he sees Jesus, he falls prostrate — the posture of worship — and speaks one of the most profound prayers in Scripture: “Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean.”

Notice what he does not say. He does not doubt Jesus’ power. He does not bargain. He does not demand. He places everything in the will of Christ. This is faith stripped to its core: absolute confidence in Christ’s ability, joined to complete surrender to Christ’s freedom. It is the prayer of someone who has nothing left but trust.

Jesus’ response is breathtaking in its simplicity. “Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him.” Before the healing word, before the command, comes the touch. This is no incidental detail. According to the Law, touching a leper made one unclean. Jesus does not heal from afar, though he easily could. He enters the man’s uncleanness. He crosses the boundary that had defined this man’s misery. The hand that shaped the stars rests on diseased flesh.

And then the words: “I do will it. Be made clean.” This is not only a healing; it is a revelation of the heart of God. The leper wonders whether Jesus wishes to heal him. Jesus answers that question for all time. God does not heal reluctantly. He does not save grudgingly. His will is mercy. His desire is restoration.

Luke tells us that “the leprosy left him immediately.” The man is restored in an instant — but Jesus does not send him back into life without direction. He tells him to go to the priest and offer what Moses prescribed. Grace does not abolish the law; it fulfills it. The healed man is brought back into the society which had banished him, healed not only in his body, but to the people and the covenant.

Then comes the paradox. The more Jesus withdraws publicity, the more it spreads. The more He seeks solitude, the more crowds pursue Him. And Luke closes the scene not with triumph, but with silence: “He would withdraw to deserted places to pray.”

Here we glimpse something essential. Jesus is not driven by acclaim, even when it comes from genuine need. He heals, He teaches, He restores — but he always returns to the Father. The power that flows through him is rooted in prayer. The stillness of the desert sustains the mercy of the crowds.

This passage invites us to see ourselves in the leper. We all carry uncleanness — sins, wounds, failures, habits we hide or endure in silence. We often believe Jesus can heal us, but we quietly wonder whether he wants to. The Gospel answers that doubt with a touch.

Christ still stretches out his hand. He still crosses the boundaries we think disqualify us. And he still says, with divine clarity and human tenderness: “I do will it.”