Lenten Reflection – Day 7 of the Great Lent
Garbo Sunday – The Sunday of the Leper: St. Luke 5:12-16; 4:40-41
“Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean.” (Luke 5:12)
We have arrived at the second Sunday of the Great Lent.
For six days we have been walking into the fast. We entered the wilderness with Christ and faced temptation. We were called to forgive. We were told that hearing the word without doing it is worth nothing. We stood before the narrow gate. We looked at the war inside our own hearts. Yesterday Paul showed us what love in action looks like – feeding the enemy, blessing the one who curses you, overcoming evil with good.
Now, on this seventh day, the Church brings us face to face with a man who had lost everything – his health, his home, his community, his place in the world. A leper. And this Sunday, known in the Indian Orthodox tradition as Garbo Sunday – the Sunday of the Leper – asks us a question that cuts to the heart of everything we have been reflecting on: Do you believe that Christ is willing to touch the untouchable?
Not just able. Willing.
That word – willing – changes everything.
The Man Full of Leprosy (Luke 5:12–13)
“And it happened when He was in a certain city, that behold, a man who was full of leprosy saw Jesus; and he fell on his face and implored Him, saying, ‘Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean.’ Then He put out His hand and touched him, saying, ‘I am willing; be cleansed.’ Immediately the leprosy left him.”
Luke is careful with his words. He does not say the man had leprosy. He says the man was full of leprosy. This was not an early case. This was not a small patch that could be hidden under clothing. This man’s disease had consumed him. He was leprous from head to foot.
Under the Law of Moses (Leviticus 13–14), a leper was required to live outside the community. He had to tear his clothes, leave his hair uncombed, cover his upper lip, and cry out “Unclean! Unclean!” whenever anyone came near. He could not enter the synagogue. He could not share a meal. He could not embrace his wife or hold his children. He was, in every way that mattered in his society, a dead man walking.
And yet this man came to Jesus.
That alone is remarkable. He broke every rule by entering the city. He broke every boundary by approaching a rabbi. He broke every expectation by falling on his face before this Teacher from Nazareth. Something in him – call it desperation, call it faith, call it the last flicker of hope in a man who had run out of options – drove him past the barriers and into the presence of Christ.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, sees in this leper a picture of all humanity approaching God. Cyril teaches that the human race, infected by sin, is in the same condition as this man – cut off from communion with God, unable to heal itself, aware of its uncleanness but powerless to change it. The leper’s cry, “Lord, if You are willing,” is the cry of every human soul that has become honest enough to stop pretending it is well. Cyril notes that the leper did not doubt Christ’s power. He said, “You can make me clean.” What he did not know – what he could not be sure of – was whether Christ would. Whether the Holy One of God would be willing to come near a man like him.1
This is the question the Great Lent forces us to face. Not whether God is powerful enough to save us. We know He is. The question is whether He is willing to touch what we are most ashamed of – the parts of our lives we have hidden, the sins we have justified, the brokenness we have stopped believing can be healed.
The leper came with no righteousness to offer. He had no spiritual achievements, no record of fasting, no impressive prayers. He had only his disease and his honesty. And that was enough.
The Touch (Luke 5:13)
“Then He put out His hand and touched him.”
This is the most important sentence in the Gospel reading. Christ could have healed with a word. He had healed from a distance before – He would do so again with the centurion’s servant (Luke 7:1-10). He did not need to touch the leper. He chose to.
Under the Law, to touch a leper was to become unclean yourself. The contamination flowed from the sick to the healthy, from the unclean to the clean. Everyone knew this. Every person watching would have recoiled. But when Christ touched the leper, the flow reversed. Cleanness flowed from Christ into the man. Life flowed into death. Wholeness flowed into brokenness. The pollution did not contaminate Christ. Christ’s purity overwhelmed the pollution.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Hymns on the Nativity and Hymns on Faith, returns again and again to this mystery of the Incarnation – that God took on human flesh not to be contaminated by it but to heal it from within. Ephrem uses the image of fire entering iron: the iron does not extinguish the fire; the fire transforms the iron. So it was when Christ touched the leper. The uncleanness did not pass to Christ. Christ’s holiness passed to the man. Ephrem teaches that the Incarnation itself is the great healing touch – God reaching out His hand to humanity in our sickness and making us clean not from a distance but by contact, by presence, by the willingness to be near us in our worst condition.2
This is what makes Garbo Sunday so important for the Lenten journey. The fast can sometimes make us feel that we must clean ourselves up before approaching God – that we must earn His attention by our discipline, our prayer, our effort. The leper corrects this. He came to Christ not after he was healed but in order to be healed. He did not wait until he was presentable. He came as he was – full of leprosy, full of shame, full of need – and Christ reached out and touched him.
St. Jacob of Sarug, the great Syriac poet-theologian, composed a memra (metrical homily) on the healing of the leper in which he describes the moment of touch with astonishing tenderness. Jacob writes that when Christ extended His hand, heaven itself held its breath – for the Creator of all things was reaching toward the ruin of His creation, not to destroy it but to remake it. The hand that shaped Adam from the dust now touched the flesh that had been eaten away by disease, and in that touch, the original creation was renewed. Jacob sees in this healing a second act of creation – the same hand, the same love, the same will to make something beautiful out of brokenness.3
“I Am Willing” (Luke 5:13)
“I am willing; be cleansed.”
Three words in English. Two in Greek: Thelō, katharisthēti — “I will it; be clean.”
The leper had said, “If You are willing.” Christ answered without hesitation: “I am willing.” There was no pause to consider. No calculation of cost. No condition attached. No lecture about the man’s past. No instruction to first prove his faith by some act of obedience. Just the immediate, total, unconditional willingness of God to heal.
St. John Chrysostom, in a homily on the parallel passage in Matthew 8, makes a point that is easy to miss. He notes that Christ did not say, “God is willing” or “My Father is willing.” He said, “I am willing.” Chrysostom teaches that this is a declaration of divine authority – Christ healing not as a prophet who channels God’s power but as God Himself exercising His own will directly. The leper, perhaps without fully understanding what he was doing, had addressed his prayer to the right Person. He had called Him “Lord” – and the Lord answered as only God can: with the sovereign authority to will and to accomplish healing in the same breath.4
For us in the Great Lent, this is the foundation on which everything else rests. If we are not sure that God is willing – willing to forgive, willing to heal, willing to receive us as we are – then all our fasting is just hunger and all our prayer is just words. But if God is willing – if the hand that made us is reaching toward us right now, in the middle of our uncleanness, in the depth of our shame – then the Lenten journey is not a punishment but a homecoming. We are not climbing toward a reluctant God. We are falling into the arms of a willing one.
“Tell No One” (Luke 5:14-16)
“And He charged him to tell no one, ‘But go and show yourself to the priest, and make an offering for your cleansing, as a testimony to them, as Moses commanded.’ However, the report went around concerning Him all the more; and great multitudes came together to hear, and to be healed by Him of their infirmities. So He Himself often withdrew into the wilderness and prayed.”
Christ heals – and then He says an extraordinary thing. He tells the man to be quiet about it.
This is strange to us. We live in a world that broadcasts every achievement, every experience, every moment of drama. If we had been healed of leprosy, we would have posted it immediately. But Christ commands silence. Why?
St. Cyril of Alexandria offers a practical reason: Christ sends the man to the priest because the Law required a priestly examination and a sacrifice before a healed leper could be restored to the community (Leviticus 14). The man needed to follow the proper process so that his healing would be recognised officially and he could return to normal life. Christ did not come to abolish the Law but to fulfil it, and He honoured the structures that God had given, even as He transcended them.5
But there is a deeper reason. Christ’s consistent pattern of silencing those He healed – what scholars sometimes call the “messianic secret” – points to something about the nature of His mission. He did not come to be a wonder-worker. He did not come to build a following based on spectacular miracles. He came to suffer, to die, and to rise again. The miracles were signs of who He was, but they were not the point. The point was the Cross. And the Cross cannot be understood by people who are only interested in power.
Notice what Luke says next: “He Himself often withdrew into the wilderness and prayed.” In the middle of crowds pressing in, in the middle of demands for healing, in the middle of growing fame and expectation, Christ withdrew. He went to the quiet place. He prayed.
This is the rhythm the Great Lent teaches us. Action and withdrawal. Service and silence. Touching the leper and retreating to the wilderness. We cannot do one without the other. The person who only serves will burn out. The person who only prays will become disconnected from the needs of the world. Christ held both together – the outstretched hand and the quiet prayer – and He calls us to do the same.
He Healed Them All (Luke 4:40-41)
“When the sun was setting, all those who had any that were sick with various diseases brought them to Him; and He laid His hands on every one of them and healed them. And demons also came out of many, crying out and saying, ‘You are the Christ, the Son of God!’ And He, rebuking them, did not allow them to speak, for they knew that He was the Christ.”
The Church pairs this passage with the healing of the leper for a reason. It widens the lens. The leper was one man. Here, an entire city comes to Jesus – everyone who was sick, everyone who was suffering, everyone who was broken. And Luke says something quietly astonishing: He laid His hands on every one of them.
Not just some. Not just the deserving. Not just the ones with the most faith or the worst conditions. Every one. Christ did not triage. He did not prioritise. He touched them all.
St. Athanasius the Great, in On the Incarnation, teaches that this is the very nature of the Incarnation – God entering into the totality of human suffering, not selectively but comprehensively. Christ did not come to save one type of person or one category of sin. He came to heal the whole of human nature. Every disease He cured was a sign that the decay and corruption introduced by sin was being reversed. Every demon He cast out was a sign that the power of the enemy was being broken. The healings at sunset in Capernaum were a preview of the Resurrection – the moment when death itself, the ultimate disease, would be defeated once and for all.6
And notice – it happened at sunset. The day was ending. Darkness was falling. And it was precisely in that failing light that Christ did His most comprehensive healing work. The Oriental Orthodox tradition has always understood this: God does His deepest work in the dark. The Incarnation happened in a cave. The Crucifixion happened under a darkened sky. The Resurrection happened before dawn. And the healing of a whole city happened as the sun went down.
If we find ourselves in a dark place in during the Lenten journey – if the fast feels heavy, if prayer feels empty, if the week has been hard – this is the word for us all. Christ heals at sunset. He works in the fading light. He does not wait for our morning. He comes in our evening.
What Garbo Sunday Means for Our Lent
The first week of the Great Lent is complete. We have walked through wilderness, forgiveness, action, judgment, inner warfare, and enemy-love. And now the Church gathers us together on Sunday morning and places before us a man full of leprosy who dared to approach Christ and say the most honest prayer in the Gospels: “Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean.”
This is the prayer of the Great Lent. Not “Lord, look at how well I am fasting.” Not “Lord, see how disciplined I am.” Not “Lord, I have earned Your attention.” Just this: Lord, I am sick. I am unclean. I cannot heal myself. But if You are willing – and I believe You are – You can make me clean.
The Indian Orthodox tradition calls this Garbo Sunday for a reason. The word Garbo comes from the Syriac, pointing to the leper’s condition – his affliction, his hiddenness, the way disease had consumed him. But the Sunday is not named for the disease. It is named for the healing. It is named for the moment when Christ said, “I am willing,” and everything changed.
Wherever we might be today – in our parish, in our home, in our struggle, in our doubt – the hand of Christ is extended toward us. He is not waiting for us to become clean before He touches us. He is reaching out now, into our leprosy, into our shame, into the parts of our life we have hidden from everyone including our own self.
His word to you is the same word He spoke to that man in the city: I am willing. Be clean.
For Our Journey Today
Come as we are. The leper did not wait until he was healed to approach Christ. He came in his sickness. Today, bring to God the thing we are most ashamed of – the sin we keep repeating, the wound we keep hiding, the part of our life we think is too broken to be fixed. Do not clean ourself up first. Just come.
Trust the willingness. The leper did not doubt Christ’s power. He doubted His willingness. Many of us make the same mistake. We believe God can help but we are not sure He wants to help – not someone like us, not with a problem like ours. Hear Christ’s answer today: “I am willing.” He is not reluctant. He is not calculating. He is reaching toward me and you.
Withdraw and pray. Christ healed the leper and then withdrew to the wilderness to pray. After the intensity of the first week’s fast, take time today for quiet. Not more reading. Not more activity. Just silence and the presence of God. Let the Sunday be what it is – a day of rest, a day of worship, a day to let the Healer do His work in you.
Lord Jesus Christ, who touched the leper and made him clean, touch us today. We come to You not because we are worthy but because You are willing. We have nothing to offer but our sickness, our shame, and our small, faltering faith. But You have never turned away a single soul that came to You honestly. Heal what is broken in us. Cleanse what is unclean. Restore us to the communion we have lost – with You, with one another, with ourselves. And when You have healed us, teach us to withdraw into the quiet place and pray, as You did, so that our healing may become not a spectacle but a life. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Evangelist Luke, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
- St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444) – Commentary on the Gospel of Luke (Exegesis on Luke), translated by R. Payne Smith (Studion Publishers, 1983; reprinted by Astir Publishing, 2009). Excerpts also in the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Luke, edited by Arthur A. Just Jr. (IVP Academic, 2003). ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373) – Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns, translated by Kathleen E. McVey, Classics of Western Spirituality (Paulist Press, 1989). Also Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns on Faith, translated by Jeffrey T. Wickes, Fathers of the Church Series, Vol. 130 (Catholic University of America Press, 2015). For a thematic overview: Sebastian Brock, The Luminous Eye: The Spiritual World Vision of Saint Ephrem the Syrian (Cistercian Publications, 1992). ↩︎
- St. Jacob of Sarug (c. 451–521) — Memra on the Healing of the Leper. Selected homilies of Jacob of Sarug are available in Sebastian Brock (ed.), Jacob of Sarug’s Homilies (multiple volumes, Gorgias Press). ↩︎
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407) — Homily 25 on Matthew, on Matthew 8:1–4 (the parallel account of the leper’s healing). Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (NPNF), Series I, Vol. 10: Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew, translated by George Prevost and M.B. Riddle (available at newadvent.org and ccel.org). ↩︎
- Same as Reference 1 above ↩︎
- St. Athanasius the Great (c. 296–373) — On the Incarnation of the Word (De Incarnatione Verbi Dei), translated by John Behr, Popular Patristics Series (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2011). Also translated by a Religious of C.S.M.V., with an introduction by C.S. Lewis (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1944). Available in NPNF, Series II, Vol. 4. ↩︎
