The Man In Line

The line is long and I am very hot, tired, and thirsty.  Yet, I am much better off than some.  For all those in front of me, there are as many and more behind.  It was luck that I got here as soon as I did.  I heard the rumor as it spread and came running to see if it was true.

At least, standing in this line, I am not crowded.  No one will get near me.  I have had this cursed disease almost as long as I can remember.  I long so very much for the touch of human hands.  The last person that I can remember holding me was my mother when I was a small child.  I have no pain except within my own being.  Besides not being able to hug and hold anyone, the worst part is having to shout "unclean" wherever I go.  I don't feel unclean, just very godforsaken.  What did I do to ever deserve a life such as this?  I pray every day for God to either cure me or to end my life.

As I look around the line, there are not many well people to be seen.  Many are on canes or missing limbs or sight.  I saw a very strange sight earlier.  Four friends were carrying a fifth man on a cot.  They were so afraid that they wouldn't get to the head of the line, they carried the cot to the roof top of the house, dug a hole through the roof, and lowered their friend through the hole.  Just moments later, the man on the cot came running from the house jumping and shouting.  His friends could barely keep up with him.  Going ahead of others caused a bit of an uneasy stir in the line, but most of us have learned, because it was necessary, to be very patient.

I once heard the man in the house speak to a large crowd.  I couldn't get very close because of my disease, but I felt that he could look into my eyes, even at a distance, and see my belief in his words of love and healing.  Some say that this man is the son of God.  They say that he has performed mamy miracles, even raising the dead.  I believe that he can and will help me, if only I can get to him.

The line moves slowly.  I count as I get closer to the door.  There are only a dozen people ahead of me now.  Where once I waited hours, I am now down to just minutes.  Only three more people ahead of me and I feel my spirits lift.  I watch healed persons leave through the same door that they entered sick and lame.  Only one more person ahead of me now!  It is next my turn!

It is my turn!  I step forward to go into the darkened room.  Just as I take my step, a strong arm stops me.  It is placed across the door keeping me from entering.  A big, burly man announces, "The Master is tired.  You will have to see him another day."

See him another day!  How can this be?  I have prayed for so long.  I have stood in this line for so long.  I do not know where I might see him again or if I will even have the strength to do so.  How can this man, some say is God, be tired.  Doesn't he hear my prayers?  Doesn't he know of my woes?  Can't he feel my sorrow?  Doesn't he even care?