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On a certain day, long ago, I awoke and said: "Another day ... If only I could sleep all day ... Sleep is so comfortable ... I'd like to go back to sleep ... But the pain makes it impossible ..."

"Another day ... I'll get up and do something. What shall I do? What do I ever do? No purpose... no reason ... If I could only do something, I might get my mind off this pain.

"Another day ... I must begin with prayer ... Sometimes I wonder if it does any good. Sometimes I'm sure that if I didn't pray I would go insane. Sometimes I doubt ... Sometimes I don't believe in anything, but I must pray ... I must ... There is nowhere else to turn. Some of the others say that it's no use ... But I am helpless ... I must pray."

On a certain day, long ago, I awoke with these thoughts on my mind. My name is unimportant. What happened to me that day is important, and I'd like to tell you about it.

I looked about me and saw the others. "How pitiful ... the others ... look at them ... animals ... pitiful animals ... and I am an animal too ... If only I could be a human being again ... O Lord, if only I could be a human being again ... But if not, then give me strength to endure ..."

"Some have not had strength. Some have gone mad with pain. Some have committed suicide. All of us look forward to death. Then maybe we will know a few moments when our bodies are not racked with pain.

"Pain ... You see a man's toes or fingers drop off and you know that it is only a matter of time before it will happen to you. There's no cure. Even those who want to help cannot come near us. Some bring us food and leave it at a distance. They'd like to help, but they are afraid ... and they can't stand the smell. You get used to it after a while ... rotting flesh ... the smell of rotting flesh ... all of us have rotting flesh.

"That's strange in a way ... All of us ... are all alike here. Before this happened, I was one of those outcasts, those so-called 'impure Samaritans.' The Jews turned up their noses at me. Here everybody is the same. Your color of skin, your nationality, your background - none of these matter. Here you are just one of the pack.

"The pack. Once in a while you've got to try to get away from the pack ... It's no use, of course. You must come back. You must ... You must leave the others in their own world. They just throw words and stones at you. They are afraid. You get used to it. You become hard. I am hard. Can anything soften me? Can anyone help me? What can I do?"

These were my thoughts as I stood and looked at my fellow leper prisoners.

Then someone came shouting, "The woman who brought the food says that a man named Jesus of Nazareth is passing by on his way to Jerusalem. They say that he is a healer ... that he has even cured lepers." The ten of us arose with excitement. We hoped that he was not just another charlatan. He wasn't.

Someone said, "Look at him. He doesn't look like a miracle worker. He is plainly dressed. Be careful. Don't go too close. Look at those eyes ... all-knowing eyes. There is something about him ... something different. He almost seems to be inviting us to come closer." Those about him scattered. He came closer. He looked at us, reached out for us. He didn't throw stones. We chanted: "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us." It was the inner groanings of our hearts coming out before God ...

"Go show yourselves to the priests," he said. We departed. As simple as that. What does it mean? Does he want us to pray again? I'm so tired of praying ... Why doesn't someone help us? They always tell us to pray ...

"No. The priests are the health officers ... They are the ones who declare the lepers clean.

"Clean ... But we are not ... Why, you are ... So am I ... The sores are ... gone. It has been years since I smelled fresh air. My God! I am clean ... We are all clean. Clean. Are we really clean? Feel. See. Touch. Smell. Everybody is clean.

"What to do next? There are different opinions. 'I must run home and see my wife.' 'I'll bet my son is grown.' "Don't you think ..." I started to say. "I can return to my business.' 'I can go to my friends.' 'Don't you think that we should ...' " I started again. My voice trailed off in an unanswered question as my friends scattered.

Only two of us remained. "Let's go back and thank the one who did this," I said. "Yes, we really should," said my companion. "But there is so much to do ..." "I must be going with the rest ..." "I have no time to spare ..." "Don't you think we should go back?" I said. "After all ..." "I must go see about my farm," said the man, only half hearing my question. Then he said some words, which I will never forget: "Oh yeah, if you go back, be sure to thank him for me too ... Be
sure to thank him ... What's his name?" "His name is Jesus," I said. "Yeah, tell Jesus, 'Thanks a lot from all of us.' "

"Don't you want to tell him yourself?" I asked. "Yes, but ..." "Aren't you grateful?" I asked again. "Of course, but he didn't do any more for me than he did for the others. They left. I'm going too. There are so many things to do ... so many people to see ... Besides he's got plenty of people to compliment him." And off he went.

I ran back, sick inside about the others. "Look what God has done ... Look ..." I shouted to all I saw. Then I saw him again ... He was surrounded by a crowd, but you could see him plainly ... so much like the others ... yet so different.

There was so much to say, but words were too small. I was dead. I was given life again. How do you talk about something like that? I lay prostrate at his feet. What could I say? But he knew. I sensed that he knew that my feelings were too big to come out. He knew.

Then he spoke. "Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has only this one who is a Samaritan returned to give glory to God?" I could say nothing to him. That they thought they had other, more important things to do was so very sickening.

"Arise and go your way, for your faith has saved you," he said.

I got up and walked among the crowd ... as one of them. I was clean outside ... My flesh was human again. There was no smell. It was so good to be alive again.

But I felt clean inside too. The others were clean outside by the act of Jesus, but were they clean inside? Maybe that's what he meant by my faith having saved me. The others had outer physical health. I had more. I sensed it. Praising God for what he had done was necessary for me. It cleansed me inside. Praise is like that. It is inner renewal, inner peace, inner spiritual health, put into words.

Jesus did not need my words. He doesn't need our peeps of praise. If all he wanted was the assurance that someone appreciated what he had done, he could wind up an angel like a toy and hear repeated praise, day and night.

God is not like a vain woman who needs to have someone tell her over and over how beautiful she is or how well she cooks. He doesn't need our compliments. Jesus wanted all ten of us to return to him and give praise to God, not for his sake, but for ours. He knew, and I was beginning to understand, that a man can be perfectly healthy outside but is inwardly sick unless he returns thanks to God. God doesn't need to have someone tell him how wonderful he is, but he knows that we need to praise him. It is for our sakes that he commands us to worship.

I felt so bad, so deeply frustrated. The others thought other things more important ... How sick they really were. They still had leprosy of the soul, and this might never be cleansed. They thought that they were cured, but they are still sick. I must seek them out and tell them.

Maybe they won't understand. Maybe they still won't understand. But I must tell them. I must tell everyone who will listen. Maybe someone will listen. Maybe someone will understand. Maybe someone will learn that if we do not turn to God with thanksgiving and praise, we are sick unto death.

As I look back on my experience, I see something else too. It was only because I prayed to God in time of adversity that I returned to him at the time of joy. I was tempted to give up on this business of prayer when I was surrounded by the living death, leprosy. How many times I swore that my prayers were unheard and that they did no good.

But by the grace of God, I hung on to what little faith I had, even during those times. Many others did not. That's why they did not think of God first when they were healed. They thought of themselves first. That's why they are still sick.

If we don't learn to praise God in hardship, we will never learn to praise him at all. I understand that now, although I must admit that there were times when I was damnably close to giving up all hope. I shudder to think of how close I was to being like the other nine.

There are times when it seems that the silence of God is almost unbearable. You ask, as I did, "Why doesn't he help me?" It is at times like those that we discover whether we have faith.

There are so many people who live in your day and in your town who don't understand what it means to have a thankful heart. They are outwardly clean, but inwardly sick. They have not learned to praise God in times of adversity. They have not learned that praise is the spiritual life blood of the soul.

These are things that I have learned about prayer and praise. I hope that they will be helpful to you in your day and your town. For your own spiritual health, you must learn how to persevere in prayer and praise God at all times.

Many people do not know about any of these things. Many do not know this Master who heals us inside and out. Many do not know the power of prayer. Nine out of ten don't know.

Won't you help me find them?

Won't you help me tell them? If you don't, perhaps no one will.