Naaman The Syrian Leper

Naaman the Syrian Leper

2 Kings 5:1-14

Karl Evans

Everyone has their own heroes. Men and woman, past and present, offer themselves as models for greatness in life. Some are heroic as they overcome terrible forces stacked against them. Some stand out as ethical and moral lighthouses for the troubled seas of life.

Naaman is one of my own personal heroes. It is not that he was such a brave man. I am sure he was a military genius. He may have been very faithful to the Syrian gods, and even to his own culture.

Rather than these, though, Naaman had a very serious personal problem. His skin was the problem. This was not a race thing, or ethnic. Naaman’s skin problem was the several splotches of unusual colors on his skin.

No one knew what manner of leprosy this was. In fact, no one even guessed these patches of blue and purple and red skin might not even be the disease we now know as Hansen’s Disease. They might have been birthmarks, or psoriasis, or even a skin cancer.

But this did not matter. Society treated all these as the same malady. Any continuing skin blemish was simply leprosy. Any leprosy was the result of any of a few problems.

It could be a simple matter of faithlessness. Perhaps the Syrian god is angry at Naaman for some sin of his ancestors. Naaman may have accidentally knocked over an icon during a visit to a temple in rural Syria.

Naaman’s leprosy may have stemmed from the curse of a witch during a campaign in India, or China, or Greece. So many possibilities. But it really did not matter. Naaman had a disease. He was unclean before the Syrian god.

Naaman was fortunate, though. He was the leader of the Syrian army. We can assume that his skin problems arose late in life. He had probably already found his way to the top of the leadership pyramid, or close to it. At the very least, he was able to hide his blemishes from those around him until he neared the apex of the leadership councils of the Syrians.

If Naaman had shown any weakness, he would have been destroyed. In highly competitive industries, such as military and religious organizations, even a minor weakness is a death sentence. Men who would take lives of royalty without hesitation could surely sink a knife into the heart of a lowly army private who displayed marks of leprosy.

But the commander of the nation’s armies! That was different. Every commander had a guard company around him to protect him from his personal and corporate enemies. These men would risk their own lives to protect their leader from assassination plots and long knives. Even should an assassin make it through the defensive cordon, that assassin would be dead in moments.

But only someone in Naaman’s position could afford that protection. Many men had to gather around him constantly to give him that shield.

But even this armor was not enough for Naaman. This mighty military leader, the man saluted by the whole Syrian army, wanted only one thing desperately. One thing brought him to tears as he climbed into bed every night.

It was his skin. Naaman wanted nothing so much as he wanted rid of those angry red, blue and purple marks on his skin. Oh! To be able to shed his shirt and throw himself into the river with the lowest of his soldiers when they took their bivouac in strange lands. But such was not to be.
So Namaan could only protect himself from the evil-doers of his men.

Now it happened one day that Naaman and his army defeated an army that included mercenaries from many countries. Early in the morning as the dew began to settle on the bodies of slain soldiers, not yet buried, Naaman walked around the battlefield. His walk allowed him to survey the ragged remains of both armies.

Namaan’s own army was in pretty good shape. It had been a vastly superior force on the field. The survivors of the defeated army could only bow or salute as he walked by with his guard. These survivors included a young girl, child bride of one of the now-dead mercenaries.

As Naaman approached her and the body of her young husband, the girl, Qila, did a most unexpected thing. Qila rose from preparing the body of her man for burial. She calmly stepped directly into the path of Naaman and his guards. The armored men, alert for any hostile action from the defeated army, quickly drew their swords and leveled their spears for action against a single, widowed, unarmed fifteen year old Samarian girl.

Naaman’s face showed his puzzlement over her intent, but then he gestured for his troops to lower their weapons. As they did, she cooly walked toward him with her hands open in front of her. She came close, then stopped a few feet away. Naaman spoke first.

"Tell me, girl, why you risk death by stopping me from my walk. You know I need no excuse to have you killed. But you are young and beautiful. I need to bring to my wife a present from this war. That present will be you. You can come to my home, and serve my wife. You will spend your days making my wife more beautiful.

Qila answered slowly, but with certainty in her voice. "Sir, my God knows you are an honorable man. You have been gracious and compassionate in your victories. That is very good. I am content."

So Naaman brought Qila home with him to Damascus as a present for his wife. She immediately began her duties in Naaman’s household. Early in the next morning Qila helped Naaman’s wife with her bath. Presently she spoke openly with her mistress.

"Your husband’s body bears the marks of disease. It is a disease that keeps you both awake at night. This disease even divides you from your family. It is a terrible burden for you."

"Because he is compassionate with God’s people, my God wishes him to be healed of this disease. If only my lord would visit the prophet Elisha who is in Samaria! The great god of the Hebrews will cure my lord of his leprosy!"

Naaman spoke to his king about the girl, asking permission to visit Elisha. Naaman’s king sent the king of Israel appropriate gifts, along with a letter of introduction. The letter told of Naaman’s disease, and the promise of the young Samarian girl.

The king of Israel nearly panicked. "Am I a god, able to give life or death? This mighty king sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? I believe he is trying to start a quarrel with me."
But Elisha heard about the message, and how the king of Israel panicked at being asked to heal in the name of the Lord of the Universe. Elisha asked that Naaman be brought to him.

Naaman came with his horses and his chariots and his armed guard. They rode up in a great charge and wheeled to a stop in front of Naaman’s house. It was only a little distance from the River Jordan. The horses panted and pranced in the hot desert air as Naaman approached the prophet of the Lord. He sat before Elisha and handed the letter to the prophet.

Elisha read the letter from Naaman’s king. He thought briefly, as if in deep prayer. Then he spoke. "Go to the river Jordan. It is very close. It is the river of the Lord. Wash in it seven times, dipping your whole body in it seven times. When you have done this, your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean. You will be clean when you come out of the water of the Lord of Israel."

Naaman jumped to his feet in anger, stomping back to his chariot. "I thought that at least for me he would surely stand and call on the name of the Lord his God. I thought he would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy!"

"We have rivers in Damascus, too, you know. We have the Abana and the Pharpar. Surely these are better than the waters of Israel. They are clean, and fresh. I have bathed before in the great waters of Damascus. Could I not wash in them again, and be clean? Is this country hick prophet saying that his god is stronger than our god? It can not be so!" Naaman stormed with rage at Elisha. His rage shook him so badly the beads of sweat flew from his neck and his nose.

But Naaman had been a very astute man at a good time. He had picked good and wise servants. One of them spoke to Naaman the Syrian hero. "Sir, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? Of course you would have. So all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean!’ "

Well, you should known that Naaman was still pretty smart. He knew when someone was talking sense to him. So Naaman went down to the River Jordan, just a little distance away. He did not have to wait until he came home to Damascus. He only went to the Jordan, a few feet away.

At the Jordan, Naaman dipped himself in the water seven times. This was what Elisha said he must do. Seven times.

Then Naaman’s flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy. He was clean at last.
Naaman did what the Lord asked. He went to the closest water, dipped himself in it seven times, and was healed. It was an act of faith.

Love Talk

Love Talk

Luke 24:13-35

Karl Evans

So it was, on that day the world changed completely, forever. God had risked everything, and won.

Later that day, that first day of the Resurrection of Jesus, life went on. Bartholomew and Kelita walked together through the dusty streets of Jerusalem. The word was spreading fast among the community of faithful. Jesus was no longer in the grave. Jesus was alive.

The faithful community could not bear to be together just yet. Later they would gather to talk about what was going to happen. They would try to fathom what this resurrection meant, if it were really true. Perhaps more, they would just be together as people who knew God loved them. They needed to be together.

As Bartholomew and Kelita walked and talked, they calmed themselves. The close couple was able for the first time to really share what was on their minds. In their faith and their conversation they destroyed for themselves all the old expectations and boxes with which people yet today live with in the resurrection of Jesus. Now Bartholomew and Kelita suddenly felt they didn't need to worry about what other people thought about their relationship. The pair was free to worry only about their relationships with Jesus, and with each other. They held hands walking together on the streets of Jerusalem. This was a strange thing in those days.

Bartholomew and Kelita talked about children and they talked about love. They had the sense of release with forgiveness and grace. Just as water floods over a spillway when the gates are opened, new conversations came, spilled out and found their own channels. New questions arouse about where they wanted to live. They debated their choices of new careers. They talked openly with each other about their sex life and about their feelings when they touched each other.

As they walked along, they thought about the gathering that evening. Nothing was certain in these first few days after the tomb was found empty. They could not know who would come to be with the group and who might pull out. Bartholomew and Kelita knew they had found new ways to show their love for each other. Now they wondered whether it would be this way in the whole group.

Kelita's uncle had given them some money to purchase needed items for the trip back to Galilee. As they went into the market there might be some special things they needed to purchase instead. These articles had nothing to do with the trip home.

Bartholomew found a cloak, a simple but pretty piece of cloth for Peter. Peter had lost his in the scuffle in the Garden of Gethsemane when they arrested Jesus. In the life of a wandering evangelist, it could be a protection from the wind, or a regal show piece, or a tent or even a table covering.

For Matthias, the writer and accountant, they bought a new pen-quill for record keeping. None of the group was concerned about keeping records for later generations. Matthias only recorded some small pieces of discipleship business.

James was the rowdy one who really didn't seem to need anything. He couldn't have kept it in one piece if he had stored anything away. For him, Kelita found a gag gift, a lemon. The sour lemon might make his lips pucker so he couldn't talk so much.

For Judas, not Judas Iscariot, but the one they called the monk because he was so serious, a little carved wooden monkey, making a comic face. Everyone liked this Judas. He listened well, keeping the shared privacies to himself.

For the others there was a little of this and a little of that. Oh, what a difference a few hours can make. Earlier today they were crying. They worried the temple or the government would catch and murder them as well. Now they were buying gag gifts for each other out of their joy.

What a difference! It was not a total change. They were still hungry. As do all the people of the world, these followers of Jesus still needed to eat.

Bartholomew and Kelita supposed they had all the money of the little community. The two of them bought several loaves of bread and some wine. The new harvest had just come in, and the wine had no time to ferment and age properly. It just happened to be the cheapest available, so they bought it with their precious hoard of coins. No one knew how long these coins must last. But this was a special occasion. It called for celebration.

Bartholomew and Kelita left the market feeling good about their treasures. They laughed about the gifts they were making. They joked about the changes in their lives. They carried their sack of treasures slowly toward the meeting place outside town. Oh, it would be a good day! They would be together again. The ability to touch each other with hands and eyes and voice would renew them. To distribute the gifts would feel awfully good later in their nostalgia.

As they came to the city gate, an old woman sat huddled in rags. Poor, dirty, homeless, probably very cold at night, she looked pitiful. Bartholomew and Kelita stopped talking as they came near to her. It was as if they really did not have anything to say to each other just now. They knew each other's thoughts. Perhaps there was a better use for at least one of the gifts.

Peter, the rock, the hard one, wouldn't really need the cloak. He could be warmed with some rags and some hugs until they were all back in Galilee. Besides, in Galilee lots of young women waited to make a new cloak for Peter. He was eligible, you know. The cloak spread nicely over the woman.

Down the road under a tree, an aging rabbi sat with a young student. He was teaching the young man the skill of writing and reading. The new writer struggled with a bit of chalk stone on a hard clay tablet. A piece of scroll and worn-out quill lay beside him. Too many hours of pressure from untrained fingers had made it unusable.

When Bartholomew and Kelita walked on, the young man was the shocked and amazed owner of a fine quill. Matthias would be too busy for a time to do much writing. Besides, the quill would probably be broken before they returned to Galilee anyway.

Now the day was growing hot from the noon time sun. At the first water hole they passed, a family milled about desperately. The small children cried with throats so parched from the desert heat they could scarcely utter a sound. The parents had counted on there being water here, but as water holes will do sometimes, the hole was dry.

Kelita placed the lemon on the ground and then kneaded it with her foot to break the juice free. Then she took Bartholomew's knife and cut the lemon in half and squeezed half into her own water bag and half into Bartholomew's. Now not only was there water for the family, it was a drink fit for royalty. The children and parents drank their fill. Bartholomew whispered they could probably get another lemon for James. James really needed a lemon, sometimes. He really ought to have one. Perhaps this one was too ripe.

Bartholomew was beginning to notice the bag of gifts was not as heavy as it had been. He could walk a little easier now.

Down the road a small boy walked slowly along, in tow behind his mother. Giant tears ran down his face. These were tears such as only a small child can shed. When a Roman chariot ran over a puppy, it was real tragedy. It was just an accident. The puppy just got away from its master as puppies do. It ran out into the road. The charioteer stopped and tried to help the puppy, but it was no use. The puppy was just hurt too badly.

It was Bartholomew's turn. Ah, yes, the little monkey making the funny face. It wasn't quite the same as the puppy, but it did seem to help.

One by one the rest of the gifts made their way out of the sack on Bartholomew's back into the hands of strangers. Finally there was left only one loaf of bread and the wine.

Bartholomew and Kelita talked about this a little. They thought about Jesus who had given and given and given until he had nothing left to give but his life.

Later that night, the disciples and the others gathered to talk about Jesus. They wondered aloud about what had happened to them since the empty tomb was found. They talked about the people they had met and about what might have happened to Jesus.

Someone read the words of Moses about the victory of the Lord. Somehow Jesus was sitting there among them. Somehow, some way, his presence neither really surprised or shocked them. It was almost as if they would expect just such a thing from this Jesus.

Then Jesus said the strangest thing. "I am hungry. I have not tasted food for three days. Do you have anything to eat? It would not take much. Perhaps a little bread and wine."

All there was to eat was the dried loaf of bread and the small skin of wine Bartholomew and Kelita brought from Jerusalem. Bartholomew laid the bread on the small table. He poured the wine into Elijah's Cup which stood waiting for the return of the prophet.

Kelita said "Jesus, three days ago, when we were last together, you took the bread and broke it and blessed it. You passed it out to all of us and said `This is my body broken for you. Take this and eat it.' Then you passed the cup, Elijah's Cup, for all of us to share and you said `This is my blood poured out for you and for many.'”

“Now I also remember another thing you said one day. You said whenever we do something toward the least of the children of the Lord, we do it also to you. Perhaps now I understand."

The Widow's Little Gift

The Widow's Little Gift

Luke 21

Karl Evans

Jesus made his long pilgrimage at last. It was to be the last long journey of his short but eventful life. Before making his way to Jerusalem, Jesus first traveled all over Galilee. He went down into the Decapolis.

Jesus wanted to go to Scythopolis. This Greek city had a major university. The people were skilled in critical thinking, and in debate. Jesus enjoyed discussions of theology, and politics, and reason, and life itself. Scythopolis would provide him with a great challenge. He never made it. Jesus did, however, take some rest and recreation. He moved easily around the tourist cities of Tyre and Sidon on the Mediterranean coast.

Jesus’ followers were most at home around the Sea of Galilee. Jesus seemed to enjoy spending most of his ministry there. This native of Nazareth knew and honored the traditions of the Hebrew people. One great tradition was that the greatest of the prophets would always come from the area of Galilee.

Now Jesus’ ministry was nearing its zenith. He led his small band down from the hill country of Galilee to the southern territories of Palestine. Jesus met Zacheus in Jericho and shared a meal with him. He had given Bartimaeus back his sight at the gate of Jericho. Now in the final passage of his pilgrimage, Jesus left Jericho to come up the long hill to Jerusalem.

In the holiest city of all Jesus now stood before the most holy building in all the world, the great temple of the Jews. Jesus’ eyes widened at its beauty and majesty. The temple no longer held much gold and precious stones. These were long since stolen by despotic rulers, invading mercenaries and unscrupulous priests.

The presence of the temple in Jerusalem spoke volumes of the theology and faith of the Jews. Its design reflected the sentiment of the Jewish people that their god, Yahweh, was the god of the entire universe.

Carved stones and hanging drapes covered the walls of the temple. Statuary and ornaments graced the gateways and door posts and walls. Temple workers embedded the many doors and columns and fixtures with emeralds and rubies.

Hundreds and sometimes thousands of people came into this beautiful scenario on a daily basis. The faithful came to make sacrifices and prayers. Scholars and students came to study the Torah. Questioners came to talk to the priests. Pilgrims came to visit this holiest of holy places. Tourists came to take in the sights. Some came for all these.

On this day, few had any sense the Son of God was teaching in the temple. Nearly everyone was looking to their own needs, or the realities of the crowds. Nothing special.

Marian came to the temple early. She knew nothing of the Messiah teaching in the temple. If she had known, she would have immediately struggled to touch him, or call out his name. She did not know. Rather, Marian came to the Temple to make her gift. She only cared about her God.

Some might say this was not an easy thing for Marian to do. Some would say Marian really had to force herself to give in this way. Some would say that, but it would not be true. Forcing herself to give was not in the way of Marian. Marian, the widow. Marian, the hard worker. Marian, the survivor.

Twelve long years ago Stalyk had died, leaving her alone in Jerusalem. It was quick and unexpected, his death. Since that sad day Marian made this trip, day after day after day. Every day. On the sabbath she carried a different load.

On the sabbath her visit to the temple was different, but she still made the trip. Good weather and bad, hot and cold. Once Marian had been married to Stalyk. They had a good home of their own. Now Marian, the widow, was married only to Yahweh, and the temple was their home.

It wasn't a long trip, only a few minutes, perhaps a mile. It was usually a pleasant walk even when she walked the hill in the heat of the day. On those days she shaded herself with the hood of her robe.

At first she had not noticed all the people along the route. After a few months she became more familiar with the people, and with the animals. She spoke to them as she passed and they came to expect her to walk by each day. Shopkeepers, beggars, children and others, like herself, just kept on keeping on.

Lately Marian simply walked, and kept walking. She always kept her mind on two things. First, she must be in the temple. Second, she must keep on keeping on and keeping on.

Stalyk had been a shoe maker, a sandal maker, a leather and wood worker by trade. He was quite good at making sandals. Many wealthy people came to him for sandals. Many poor came as well. Stalyk sold all he could make. These were good sandals. Stalyk made the sandals many different ways. Some were all of leather. Some had wood soles and leather straps. Some had cloth pads on the straps, or perhaps bits of metal or stone for decoration.

Sometimes the customers called on Stalyk to make harness for horses or donkeys. Sometimes, when he had time to spare, he made leather and wood shields for soldiers or guards. It was simple work for a good leather worker, and easy money. Stalyk would rather have just been making sandals.

Stalyk was a good man, a strong man. He should have lived a long time. It would have been a good life for Stalyk and Marian. Except for the fighting.

A street battle caught Stalyk between Roman soldiers and zealot guerilla fighters. He was killed just down the street from his home by a ricocheting Roman arrow.

When Stalyk died, Marian began her daily routine. She did what she must to survive as best she could in a world long before the coming of Equal Rights.

Long before women were released from being chattel -- some would say cattle -- status, life was not easy. Marian was forced to make her way in a hostile society. This society held a trap for widows and women driven out by their husbands. Many were forced to live the life of a prostitute or slave to survive. Not Marian. She was strong enough to stave off that degradation.

Marian had learned the sandal trade from Stalyk as they had worked together in the shop. Stalyk had learned from his father. Now Marian learned to cut and sew leather. She learned to work leather just right so it would be supple and soft to not rub blisters.

After Stalyk's death Marian carried on the business alone. Being a woman in the craft was difficult. The purchase of leather was perhaps the most frustrating portion. The leather sellers in the market expected any woman to be weak-willed and incapable of sharp trading. Sometimes the traders even refused to bargain with her for the top quality skins.

Some unethical entrepreneurs made a point of attempting to force the lesser quality of skin on Marian. Some demanded a premium price for their own shoddy material and handiwork. Marian could only smile at their greed and move to another trader.

Sometimes friends would give her bits and pieces of leather, wood or cloth to use. Most of her neighbors and relatives depended on her for their own sandal work. Those close to her often gave her a little extra, just to help her hang on. Marian never made much money.

Days passed into each other as she struggled to keep going. The passage of time meant little to Marian. Except for the sabbath, that is. On every day but the sabbath, Marian rose before dawn to make her little meals for the day. Marian usually had some bread, a little fish and meal. On some celebrative occasion she might share a chicken or a piece of lamb or mutton with a friend.

She spent the day at the market. Marian persistently showed her handmade sandals to potential customers. She took her knife and needles with her. Marian had good skill to make on-the-spot repairs for waiting customers. Someone eager to have their sandals repaired seemed to always appear at mealtime. Her skill and willingness to work were a lifesaver. The footwear was all that stood between tender feet and burning sand and rough stone of Jerusalem streets.

Most of Marian's customers paid her in the time-honored way of all the world, in trade, in barter. Some had flour. Others had fish. Some had wood or metal or jewels. Some even had money.

Marian knew the money was most precious. She could trade such coin for almost anything. It could go for services such as doctors, or for the entertainers that set up shop around the town at night. In Marian’s dreams, the coin could go for perfume, or for jewels. She never spent any on those things, but Marian knew it was possible. She could hold the money for the days Marian did not feel well enough to work. Yet something else called for the money in Marian's life.

Since the fighting had killed Stalyk, many things troubled Marian. She had seen the Roman soldiers come and go. She saw the constant fights with the guerrillas who came in off the desert. They irritated the Roman garrison, then ran back into the hills. The fighters never had much opportunity to really do damage to the Roman army. The Roman legions were too many and too well armed. The fighters just pestered the Romans; even killed a few of them. They could not finally defeat the Romans.

Marian saw death and destruction in the streets. The fighters and the soldiers were not the only ones who suffered the ills of society. She saw families breaking up over wine-drinking. She saw men and women and children wandering homelessly about the streets. They had no shelter, no sanctuary from the cold. Many had no sandals, or no blankets.

Marian saw hunger, and sometimes knew it. She saw how fragile was her own existence. She knew she lived in constant danger. Any day might see her raped or ill or homeless.

If Rome attacked the population of the city, she was as defenseless as any. The reality of her whole world could come to pieces around her in an emergency. Marian had no way to defend herself.

Marian couldn't know the future. Almost forty years later, Rome would sack the city trying to destroy the Jewish heritage. Marian could not have seen that ninety years later the Romans would exact bloody revenge for the attacks by the hill country fighters. The Romans would pull the temple down on several hundred men, women and children. The Jews thought they would be safe, and had taken refuge there. They thought the Romans would not spill blood in the temple. She could not have known of the coming disaster, but she could feel it coming.

This widow was not without her own strength, however. With the death of Stalyk, Marian had committed herself to finding her strength in one place, in one relationship. She had no other recourse. She craved no other source of strength.

Marian knew she needed to find at least one anchor, one rock that would stand firm. If she did, she might cope with whatever the world might throw at her. She had to have a solid rock, a foundation.

She had found her rock. The Lord, the ancient God of the Hebrew people, was her foundation. The rock who was present in Sinai and in Babylon. The rock who was later at Auschwitz and Flossenberg, and who was there in Gaza and Tel Aviv. This was her rock, her strength.

So for twelve years, Marian had made the trek to the temple for the sake of her Rock. She went to the Sanctuary of Yahweh, the Lord, the god whose name says "I will risk my very existence for you!" She called on the Lord of the ancient ones, asking for little, giving praise for much.

For twelve long years she brought to the House of the Lord everything she had left at the end of the day. She held nothing back.

Sometimes it was a few coin, sometimes it was some small gift. Sometimes it was a handful of flour, or a pair of children’s sandals or other small item. These she placed on a table from which the poor could help themselves. Always it was a gift of everything she could put together from her own meager supplies.

Then Marian would go to a small corner for a long time in prayer. Each day the prayer was much the same as the day before.

"Blessed art thou, O Lord, Ruler of the universe. Because you walk hand in hand with me through this day, I fear no evil. Your presence is a comfort to me. I bring this small bit you might use.

For the sake of all who need your presence, establish on earth your kingdom among all of us. I thank you, Lord, that I might share in your presence with this gift. Amen."

With that gift, Marian became one with the will of God. She became one with the Lord in love. Faithful Marian shared her life with her creator just as the Son of God would be one day share his life with her. She lived to be faithful. She was faithful to live.

Often Marian stayed late, kneeling in the corner. She listened often, intently focusing for the voice from God, sensing the peace of the presence of God.

Then Marian began her walk back home. After the time around the temple, the walk home was much easier. As she walked, she began to plan her work and schedule for later in the day. She had sandals to repair or make, leather to work, meal to grind, clothes to wash. Each day was much the same. Marian always had time to pet a dog, or smile at a child, or talk with a young mother holding a squirming family together. Occasionally Marian visited with a Roman soldier or a local politician who was wearing her handiwork on his feet.

Jesus, watching all this, said only, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all the wealthiest of the nations have put in together. They have contributed out of their abundance. This woman, giving out of her poverty, has put in all the living she had. The Lord will reward her."

Jesus knew her heart. He talked then about the problems of this life. He talked about the certainty that all cities are places of destruction and desolation to the poor.

Jesus said "In the midst of all this sorrow, lift up your hearts. When the world seems to come unglued in your very presence, lift up your hearts. It is in the midst of that hurt your redemption comes. It is in the midst of turmoil God will save the people."

"When you see the destruction, you will know the Father is at work among you. The Church will be there, clear to the end of all things. It must live there, building, redeeming, empowering, chastening. It must live."

Somewhere, someplace, the words of Isaiah rang again loud and clear just as Jesus had read them two years and a hundred and fifty miles away.

"The spirit of the Lord is upon me, for the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed. The Lord has called me to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord."

Marian went home late in the evening, but not alone.