Do WE Want to Be Saved?

 
Thursday’s Gospel recounts Jesus healing a leper who approaches Him. That approach itself is already an act of faith. In ancient Israel, lepers were required to keep their distance from others, often ringing a bell or crying out “Unclean! Unclean!” to warn people away. For such a man even to draw near is unusual — and courageous.

The leper then says to Jesus: “If you wish, you can make me clean.” The Gospel tells us that Jesus stretches out His hand, touches him, and replies: “I do will it. Be made clean.” And he was.

Many of us remember the early days of COVID, with the fear of invisible contagion and the instinct to keep one’s distance from anything thought to be dangerous. The isolation of lepers was not mere prejudice. Leprosy can be spread by contact, and its victims often endured what has been called a “living death,” marked by physical decay and social exclusion. That Jesus touches the man is therefore extraordinary.

What deserves closer attention, however, is the spare dialogue itself.

The leper believes Jesus can heal him — if He wishes to do so. Jesus makes His will explicit: He does wish it.

In Scripture, leprosy often functions as a symbol of sin. Seen in that light, the leper’s approach becomes even more significant. Jesus calls people to repentance, as we heard in Monday's Gospel: “Repent and believe in the Gospel.” But God does not force anyone to repent or believe. Grace calls; it does not coerce.

The mystery of the human person is that he is alteri incommunicabilis: no one can will in my place. Others may pressure me, manipulate me, or even compel me externally, but genuine willing remains my own. Where freedom is constrained, responsibility is diminished. No one — not even God — can want for a free man.

This does not mean that whatever we want is good, or that choosing makes the choice good. Still less does it mean that we are shielded from the consequences of our choices. It simply means this: no one can choose for me.

Grace precedes everything. Whatever good we do begins with God’s grace and is sustained by it. But grace is not compulsive. The Russian mystic Theophan the Recluse once compared grace to an alarm clock. It rings and wakes me — but it does not get me out of bed. Rising is my choice. I can respond, or I can turn it off and go back to sleep. The comparison is imperfect, of course, because God’s grace also sustains and strengthens our response. But it remains true: grace invites; it does not violate freedom.

Jesus’ call reached this leper somehow. Despite disappointment, isolation, and years of suffering, he is bold enough to rise, approach Jesus, and say: “If you wish, you can heal me.” The condition reflects a hesitation we often share. Yet Scripture is clear: “God wills all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (1 Tim 2:4). God wants to heal. God wants to forgive. He does not force it.

So the command implicit in this Gospel is simple: get up, like the leper, and approach Him. “Be not afraid.” He will not turn you away.

God forgives if we want to be forgiven — which means wanting to be forgiven completely. Repentance cannot be selective. I cannot love God here but not there. I cannot surrender ten sins while clinging to two favorites. You cannot wash a shirt except for the sleeves and call it clean. You cannot be “a little pregnant.”

Jesus says to the leper, “I do will it.” The same is true for us. The real question is not God’s willingness but ours. When St. Paul urges us to “work out your salvation in fear and trembling” (Phil 2:12–13), the fear is not of God’s fidelity but of our own inconstancy. God’s mercy does not waver; our resolve often does. Conversion postponed — mañana conversion — is a familiar temptation, memorably captured by St. Augustine: “Lord, convert me — but not yet.”

Let us instead be like the leper: bold, honest, and unwavering. Let us go to Jesus — and to His representative in the confessional — and ask to be saved, because He wills it.

Which leaves only one question we must answer truthfully: do we?