Unpacking Matthew 8:1-5

Just one touch…

yellow and red flower in tilt shift lens

It’s a well-known, quick story – you won’t fall asleep reading it. It’s the kind of story where there was this, there was that, and then it was all over. Perhaps the story before was more gripping, more exciting, but not if you were a leper.

Matthew 8:1-5
So, Jesus comes down the mountain.

He’s just delivered what would become the greatest sermon ever given, the Sermon on the Mount, and the people are buzzing – could this be the One? The air is thick with hope, wonder, and possibilities about the future.

And then Jesus unexpectedly (to us) meets a leper. #awkward.

Now, to understand the shock of this, you have to grasp how lepers were seen at the time. They weren’t just sick; they were unclean. Untouchable. Invisible by law and by culture. To be a leper was to be living but not alive, human but somehow not. A walking symbol of sin, cursed, cut off from God’s presence in the temple where they might find help, comfort, mercy, and food, because surely (in their minds) God couldn’t be anywhere near this kind of brokenness.

But this leper – this man living on the edges of society, who shouts “unclean” as a courtesy warning to anyone who might accidentally come too close, this man who hasn’t felt a human touch that wasn’t recoiling in horror for years, if not decades – this man sees Jesus and breaks all the rules. If Jesus were an American president, the Secret Service would be nowhere to be seen. He approaches Jesus and makes an audacious, faith-filled statement: “Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.”

Cue the sound effects…

He doesn’t even ask to be healed. He asks to be made clean. To be restored not just in body but in humanity, in community, in relationship with God and others.

He’s standing there – in front of Jesus. We all find ourselves there one day or another.

Now, Jesus could have said anything here. He could have healed the man with a word from a distance. He could have simply nodded. But what he does is something else entirely. He reaches out. He touches the man.

Imagine the gasps from the crowd. The stunned silence. The disciples perhaps reaching out to hold him back. Touching a leper? Unthinkable. Scandalous. Revolutionary.

“I will; be clean,” Jesus says. Cut to the adverts…it’s as dramatic and mic-dropping as that.

In that moment, it’s not just the leprosy that’s confronted. It’s every law, every tradition, every barrier that we put up between ourselves and ‘those people.’ Jesus isn’t just healing a man’s body; he’s pointing to a new kingdom – a kingdom where the sick are touched, the outcasts are invited in, the unclean are made clean not just on the outside but on the inside. Where our very worst isn’t the end of our story.

This is the absolute scandal of grace. This is the offence of the gospel: that God moves toward those everyone else moves away from – that God in Christ touches the untouchable, loves the unlovable, cleanses the unclean.

This is good news that demands a church so it can be proclaimed in every nation of the world.

So, what does this mean for us? The challenge is: are there people we consider ‘untouchable,’ wounds we deem too dirty to touch? Or, closer to home – are there parts of ourselves we hide away, convinced they’re too broken to bring into the light?

Jesus meets us with the same life-changing response he gave the leper: “I will; be clean.” His unhindered willingness to heal, to restore, to touch our deepest wounds – that’s the good news. And it’s not just for us; as I just mentioned, it’s for the whole world. It’s for every ‘leper’ we meet, for every person we’ve ever looked at and thought, “too far gone, too broken, too unclean, hard work, too much baggage.”

That was me in 1979. Now the leprosy is gone.

That’s the power of the “I Am” who says, “I will.” He’s still speaking it today – to you, to me, to every last one of us who needs it. And we all do. This is a Saviour big enough for the world.

Live like that’s true; be Christlike and touch the untouchable, love the unlovable, cleanse the unclean, in the name of the One who first did it for us.

Samson’s hair began to grow

God is at work – do not give up.

I once was invited to a Saturday night gathering of a number of churches. I hadn’t heard the telephone call correctly. Listening is so over-rated… On arrival, I went into the back room of the church for a cup of coffee and to say hello to the other leaders. A lady came over to explain what was happening—worship, testimonies (remember them?), notices, and then over to me. Me? Turns out I was the preacher. I looked blankly at her, saying nothing, as I frantically scrambled around in my head, wondering what to preach to the 400-strong crowd excitedly worshipping in the main auditorium.

It probably sounded something like this…

“But the hair of his head began to grow again after it had been shaved.” (Judges 16:22, ESV)

Skip through Samson’s brilliant birth story, being set apart, angels, immense strength, and the chaos of his life as power and charisma met with a lack of character and integrity – his demise was an even greater spectacle of astonishment. That previous statement of Scripture about Samson’s hair sits quietly, defying Samson’s failure. No warning or announcement. Just a sentence that whispers. Slips in beneath the noise. And yet, it tells us everything we need to know about the nature of God’s grace.

Samson had fallen hard. Hair cut. Captured. Tortured. His strength, a symbol of God’s calling on his life, had been squandered. He broke his vow, betrayed his consecration, and was handed over to his enemies. And now blind, imprisoned, and ridiculed, he seemed entirely removed from the purpose he was born for. The crowds jeered, the temple echoed with laughter, and Israel’s great, strong, mighty deliverer had become entertainment in their equivalent of the O2 Arena.

But… (The word used in Scripture where despite the odds, the difficulties, the barriers and obstacle, God intervenes) while they paraded him like a trophy of defeat, something began in the shadows. His hair grew.

Not dramatically or suddenly. It rarely does. Just steadily. Quietly. Unseen by those who had written him off. But there it was – evidence that God hadn’t walked away. You might be able to relate. God is relentless and persistent in His grace and blessing for you but it is more often than not, slowly, bit by bit, little by little; and always as much as you need at that moment. The ‘suddenly’ of life comes suddenly and when we least expect it – perhaps a ‘suddenly’ is coming your way. Perhaps.

That process, Samson’s hair slowly growing, is what grace looks like sometimes. Not a rescue with fanfare, but a slow, almost unperceivable reawakening. A silent mercy moving in places no-one’s watching. And though the Philistines didn’t notice it, and Samson perhaps couldn’t feel it, heaven had not forgotten him. The clock was ticking, amber lights are flashing …

This wasn’t a story of second chances as in God’s dealings with Jonah. This was far deeper. This was a God who refuses to abandon what He already began.

There’s no denial; Samson’s failure was real. So was the judgement, but God’s covenant wasn’t based on performance. His purpose ran deeper than the man’s mistakes. And in that slow, almost imperceptible growth, God was preparing a return. Not to restore the past, but to fulfil the purpose.

It’s a word the church in the UK needs to hear. In a cultural moment where influence feels painfully diminished and relevance questioned, where the whispering voice of the church seems quieter and the gospel easily side-lined, it’s tempting to believe the story has moved on. That what once was strong has now been left behind.

But what if, in the silence, God is doing something again?

Not in headlines or social media platforms. Not through popularity or power. But in the unnoticed places. In hearts that are turning. In hidden spaces of prayer. In leaders marked not by charisma, but by repentance, godliness, faith and radical obedience. What if the hair is starting to grow again?

Slow. Quiet. Steady.

Not because we deserve another chance. But because God doesn’t forget His people. His glory isn’t finished with this land. And His mercy doesn’t rely on our performance to move.

It may not look like revival or feel like strength but the signs are there if you take time to look. There’s hunger. There’s confession. There’s a stripping back of the unnecessary. And in it all, there’s a whisper, “I’m not done.”

Samson’s return wasn’t flashy, no smoke machines or music intro. He stood between two pillars, humbled, broken – but with one more prayer on his lips. And God answered. Not because Samson had redeemed himself, but because God remembered him.

We don’t serve a God who forgets. We serve a God who, even in judgement, works toward mercy. Who allows shaking not to shame, but to prepare. Who restores not for nostalgia, but for glory.

The church may feel side-lined. Weak. Misunderstood. But she is not abandoned. And if the hair is growing again – slow as it may be – it’s because God is moving again. Grace upon grace. Quiet. Unseen. But real.

And when He moves, no one will ask how it happened. They’ll simply know: God remembered. And the story was never over.

Here comes the Church …