The One I Sought

Luke 5:12-15 (Healing of the Leper)

I immerse myself in the visualization of the passage with the leper. Then I see this place of our meeting for the first time: dry, hard yellow earth stretching endlessly, small hills, sparse stunted trees in the distance, the shore of a lake. Now I call it a desert. I think I will see the moment of healing, but there is no leper in sight. It is just me and Christ. He stands right before me in a long simple white robe.

I do not dare to lift my eyes to Him. I do not know what to say. He takes my hand and leads me somewhere. We walk and walk until a building appears before us, the likes of which I have never seen before. It looks like a hemisphere of the same colour as the earth around, two storeys high with an arched entrance. Inside, in the middle, a tree grows, above which is a round opening in the ceiling, through which a column of light pours, playing reflections in the foliage. It all looks very beautiful and unusual. Along the entire circular wall runs a continuous wooden bench. We sit down on it.

I look at the tree, at the wonderful ceiling, at the walls, at everything but Him. I delay this moment as much as I can. Finally realising how foolish this is, I gather my courage and turn to Him.

He sits turned slightly towards me and looks at me. In His gaze is such a poignant tenderness, love, compassion, and a playful glimmer that my throat tightens and tears well up. I am drowning in His eyes, I am floating in them. Suddenly, with utmost clarity, I understand that this very gaze is what I have always sought in people, especially in men. It happens that a reflection of this very gaze can suddenly be seen when they toss a child to the ceiling, look at a beloved woman, or gently scratch their dog’s belly.

The recognition to myself of whom I have truly been seeking shakes me to my core.

Suddenly I remember the questions I came with and for which I want answers, and I begin to ponder in my notebook, with the awareness that He is nearby.

***

What is my resentment for? Why do I cling to it? Why do I not want to let go?

I want justice to be restored. Justice = punishment for the offenders, for the guilty.

How does punishment restore justice?

I see justice as the balance of evil.

Here a phrase from one of the characters in an old Russian police series comes to mind, the head of the operatives, who knew all too well about extracting confessions:

"Violence is not like loose sweets, you cannot just sprinkle it out evenly."

This is a trap. Wishing harm to others will not achieve justice. Can the pain of others ease my own? How can I ease my pain without wishing harm to others? It seems that evil can only be defeated by even greater evil, but that is absurd.

How can evil be overcome with good?

Burn it with the fire of the desires of my heart to stop it within myself. Yes, I was hurt, but I will not wish it in return. And it will lose its power, and then disappear.

I suddenly see a large rusty chest, in which something black, something terribly poisonous, dangerous, incredibly disgusting lies. My resentments. And this is what I carry with me? Inside me? This darkness?

Mercy is freedom. Freedom from this filth.

There is more good in a person than evil. Those who have hurt me simply made mistakes. I do not wish harm to anyone, I do not want anyone to suffer.

Justice is God's affair.

Only good brings forth balance, harmony, and beauty.

***

I fear You because I think You will act as I do.

But it is I who should act as You do.