When You Don't Fit at Church

YouTube Video of the Church Service


A man with leprosy walks straight up to Jesus in the middle of a crowd. He's not supposed to be there. By the rules of his day, he isn't supposed to be near anyone — no temple, no community, no touch. He brings none of the right offerings. He doesn't even bring the right disease (this one was incurable). He just kneels in front of Jesus and says, "If you are willing, you can make me clean."

That word — willing — is the one Mike Harris centres on. It's the question underneath nearly every prayer most of us are too embarrassed to pray out loud. Not "can God do this?" but "would He want to?" Mike, a former PE teacher of fifteen years now working as a gardener in Liverpool, took the second talk in our Jesus the Revolutionary series and used this short passage from Mark 1 to dismantle the lie that quietly keeps people away from God — and away from church.

The Lie That Keeps Us at the Back of the Room

The lie sounds reasonable. Sort yourself out first. Get cleaner. Get sober. Get your marriage in better shape. Get your head straight. Then turn up. Then God might be interested.

Mike confessed at the start that he was the kid in the schoolyard with the talent, the kid who ended up captain, the kid picking teams. "I was heartless," he admits. "I can remember saying, oh, you can have them, we don't want them." He was seven, eight, nine, ten years old. And while he laughs about life eventually getting its own back on him in adult football clubs, the picture still resonates with many of us. Most of us have stood on both sides of that wall — the one doing the picking, and the one waiting to be picked.

The man with leprosy in this story has been on the wrong side of that wall for years.

What Actually Happened on That Hillside

To feel the weight of what Jesus does next, the context matters. Leprosy in this period wasn't a moral failure — Mike is careful to point that out. The book of Leviticus, chapter 14, lays out what happens when you have a skin disease. Torn clothes. Shouting "unclean" so people can step away. Living outside the camp. No temple. No family meals. The closest comparison Mike could think of was the early days of the pandemic, when a positive test sent you behind your front door for two weeks while the rest of life carried on without you. Only this lasted years, and it ended only when the disease did. With leprosy, that ending wasn't coming.

So when this man comes to Jesus, he comes wrong on every count. He's still ill. He shouldn't be in the city. He hasn't brought the sacrifices the law would later require for someone declared clean. As Mike put it — he comes "at the wrong time, in the wrong place, with nothing." All he brings is the threat of contamination.

And Jesus reaches out and touches him.

The Two Words That Reframe Everything

Notice what the man asks for. Not healing — cleansing. He doesn't doubt that Jesus has the power. He's heard enough about this teacher who speaks with more authority than the religious leaders. The thing he's not sure of is whether Jesus would want to.

Mike named that as the deeper crack most of us live with. We can usually agree, in theory, that God is powerful. The harder thing is believing He'd be willing — for us, for the mess we're sitting in, for the prayer we're too tired to keep praying.

Jesus's answer is simple. I am willing.

That's the pivot. Power was never really the question. Willingness was.

When Holiness Goes the Other Way

Here's the bit that would have made the crowd gasp. By every rule the watching crowd had grown up with, touching this man should have made Jesus unclean. That's how it worked. Contamination travelled outwards. You touched the leper, you became the leper's problem. If you'd been there, you'd have been one of the people shouting no, don't touch him.

Instead, the transfer reverses. The man's disease doesn't infect Jesus. Jesus's wholeness flows the other way. Mike calls it the "infectious holiness" of Jesus — and it's a good phrase, because it flips the assumption that drives most of our church-shaped anxiety. We assume our mess will rub off on the holy. Jesus shows us it works the other way around.

And Then He Touched Him

It's easy to skim past the touch and focus on the healing. Don't. Jesus could have spoken a word from a safe distance and the man would have walked home cured. He chooses something more.

He touches him.

We probably don't need a research paper to know how badly humans struggle without physical contact — most of us got a crash course in it not long ago. This man has likely gone years without a hand on his shoulder. Years of people stepping back when he steps forward. The first thing Jesus gives him isn't a clean diagnosis. It's contact. Presence. The sense of being with before he is ever made well.

That's the part that tends to undo people, regardless of where they are with faith.

The Woman on the Other Side of the Road

Mike was honest about how this lands for him in 2026. A few months ago, he was working in someone's garden, walked out to his van, and saw a woman walking towards him on the pavement. She looked, in his words, like she might be a drug addict. His gut reaction — not his thought-out, considered, what-would-Jesus-do reaction, just his body's instinctive move — was to cross the road and give her a wide berth.

Then he got back to the garden and noticed what he'd just done. He'd been listening to a Christian podcast at the time. He'd been preparing to teach.

"My gut reaction was to give her a wide berth. Jesus's gut reaction was to move towards him."

Most of us aren't going to fix our instincts by trying harder to be nicer. The instincts get reshaped slowly, by spending time around the One whose default move is the opposite of ours.

Distance Built Into the Architecture

In the Conversation Street segment that followed, Will Sopwith picked up on a thread that's worth naming. Distance gets built into religious life in subtle ways — sometimes literally, in the architecture of a building, where the priest is high and the people are low, and an awe of God turns into a cold draught between us and Him. The writer of Hebrews talks about a curtain that has been opened so we can come close. Jesus, Will pointed out, is the one who lives that openness in person.

Ade Birkby, joining from North Wales after a properly British battle with the audio gremlins, told his own outsider story. As a kid he developed serious food allergies that drained his energy and meant he was, by his own description, the last person you'd want on your team — unless you were placing bets that the team would lose. He used that to underline something important about this passage. Yes, this man received complete deliverance. But Ade was careful to add that grace doesn't always look like that. Sometimes God's grace is the grit to get through, not the rescue from the situation. Both are mercy. Both are Him being willing.

Ellis asked the question on a lot of people's minds in the chat — "what can we do to help those that we see are left out?" Ade's answer was simple and quietly convicting. After services, after meetings, in any community we belong to, look around the room. Don't just default to the people we always talk to. Notice who's on their own. Listen before fixing. It's a small discipline. It's also how the man on the edge of the camp finds out he's wanted.

You Don't Have to Clean Up First

Mike landed the talk on a quote from Dane Ortlund's book Gentle and Lowly. The line that did the most work was this — that Jesus is "positively drawn toward you when you are most sure he does not want to be." Not tolerated. Not put up with. Drawn towards.

If church has ever felt like a club you don't quite qualify for — like everyone else got a memo about how to dress, what to say, what to feel during the songs — this story is for you. The man at the centre of it didn't qualify either. He came at the wrong time, in the wrong place, with nothing. And Jesus reached out and touched him before he'd cleaned up a single thing.

You don't have to sort yourself out first. You don't have to bring the right sacrifices. You don't have to wait until the chaos has settled. If you are willing, the man said. I am willing, Jesus answered.

That's still the answer.

If you'd like a low-pressure way to ask the questions you've been carrying, our next Alpha course starts on Tuesday 5th May, online, cameras-on-or-off, no expectation that you bring anything but yourself.

 

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