The One

By Pastor Vinnie MacIsaac

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Imagine a story from Luke 17, told from the perspective of Jesus himself. Step into this sacred moment with your heart and mind open, engaging your holy, sanctified imagination. Let us walk together on this dusty road and witness the power of compassion, healing, and gratitude as we see through Jesus’ own eyes.

I am on my way to Jerusalem, walking along the dusty border between Samaria and Galilee. The land here is rugged, filled with rocks and dry shrubs clinging to cracked earth under the relentless sun. Villages are scattered across this barren landscape, each one like an oasis of life in a harsh, unforgiving world. As I enter one of these villages—a small, quiet place on the edge of the wilderness—I hear voices calling out.

At first, they are low and hesitant, as if they are unsure they even have the right to ask. But then, the cries grow louder, and the desperation in them strikes me deeply. “Are you the One? Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

I turn toward the sound and see them—a group of ten men standing far off, beyond the village boundary. They are lepers. They stand apart, unable to come closer, bound by the weight of a disease that has stripped them of everything. The sight of them brings a deep ache to my heart. These men—these beloved souls, known to me from the beginning—have waited lifetimes to meet me here on this road. My Father and I have seen every person who would come to me, heavy-laden, burdened, and broken. They all matter to my Father. He loves each one so completely. These ten are a special joy to me today. No matter their pasts, I am here with the joy of healing every single one of them. Father, I know how you delight to see them healed; I do this for you!

Leprosy steals more than just the body. It eats away at the skin and nerves, twisting hands and feet. But it goes deeper, forcing a person to live apart, away from family, friends, and worship. With every scar, a leper loses more than health; they lose hope, connection, and life itself. Each of these men, created and loved by my Father, has been living in the shadows, isolated, watching life move on without them.

I look at them, and a surge of compassion fills me—not only for the suffering they’ve endured but for the beauty of each soul I know lies beneath the pain. I have known these men before the world was formed. I have watched over them from the beginning, waiting for this moment to meet them, to restore them fully. This is a moment my Father and I have prepared for since eternity. Father, I know you are just as excited as I am! And here they are, all ten of them, calling out to me with the last flicker of hope in their hearts, wondering if I could possibly be the One to change everything.

I take a step closer, meeting their eyes, and say, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” It’s a simple command, but they understand its meaning. Only a priest can declare them clean, allowing them to return to their homes and their lives. And though their bodies still bear the marks of disease as I speak, they believe—enough to turn and start walking, trusting that healing is already beginning.

I watch them as they walk away, these men who have been forced to the edges, taking slow, tentative steps down the road. And then, as they move, I see it. Their skin begins to change—scars melting away, sores vanishing, twisted hands straightening, strength returning to limbs. I see them pause, looking down at their hands, touching their faces in wonder. Then, in one glorious, unstoppable moment, they erupt with laughter. Real, joyful, full-bellied laughter—the kind that starts deep in the soul and rises up like a flood. I hear shouts of amazement, their voices calling to each other, words tumbling over each other in a rush of joy.

The sight fills me with a joy so fierce it’s almost overwhelming. I want to laugh with them, to leap and shout, my heart lifting with excitement as I watch my Father’s love pour out into their lives. My Father, Abba in Heaven, smiles down on this moment, His joy filling me, spilling over as I watch these souls—these children of His—discover the fullness of life once more.

As their voices ring out, I think of my Father’s unending goodness. Abba’s love knows no limits, no boundaries. His joy is in restoring, in mending broken lives, in giving life back where there was once only death. In these healings, I feel His love reaching out, not just to touch their bodies but to call their hearts into wholeness. I long for each of them to know this depth, to stay in this joy, to feel the fullness of the life my Father and I offer them.

Then, something else catches my attention. Among the ten, only one of them stops. He looks down at himself, his hands trembling, his eyes wide with wonder. And then, as if pulled by a force he can’t resist, he turns and starts running back to me. This man—a Samaritan, an outsider even among outcasts—runs, tears streaming down his face, laughter spilling from his lips, praising God with every breath.

It means even more that this man is a Samaritan. The Samaritans are a people set apart, often despised by their neighbors. Long ago, their ancestors were part of Israel, but generations of mixed marriages with foreigners and disputes over worship have left them isolated. While my people worship at the Temple in Jerusalem, the Samaritans worship on Mount Gerizim. To many in Israel, they are no longer seen as true children of Abraham, as if they have no part in the covenant promises. They are viewed as defiled, unworthy, their worship corrupt. And here is this Samaritan, this one deemed unworthy by so many, returning to give thanks, offering his whole heart to the God who has made him whole.

I watch him approach, and as he reaches me, he falls at my feet, overcome. His laughter mixes with gratitude, his words tumbling out in praise, his hands reaching toward me in a gesture of complete awe. I kneel beside him, my own heart so full it feels close to bursting. Here, in this man, is a gratitude that reaches beyond his healed body. He has found the heart of my Father, found the joy that comes from knowing you are known, loved, and cherished.

“Were not all ten cleansed?” I ask him softly, still catching my breath from the joy filling the air around us. “Where are the other nine?” The question is not for my sake but for his. I want him to see the beauty of his gratitude, to know that what he has received is a gift beyond anything he could touch. This Samaritan, this man of faith, has come back not only to be restored in body but to be restored in spirit.

I place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his newly healed skin, and say with a voice filled with love, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.” His eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I know he will carry this joy, this wholeness, with him for the rest of his days. He will go back to his family, his village, his people, not only as a healed man but as one who has encountered the heart of God.

As he walks away, his face radiant with joy, I feel my Father’s peace settle within me. This is why I have come—not only to heal bodies but to restore souls, to bring people into the fullness of my Father’s love. I want this for every soul, not just relief from pain but a life transformed by Abba’s unending love.

I watch him disappear over the hill, still praising, still laughing, and I think back to that question they asked as I entered this village: Are you the One?

They all could have come back but only one did.

Yes, I am the One, the Healer, the Restorer, the Giver of Life. But today, it is this man, this Samaritan, who becomes “the one.” He is the one who returns, who truly sees the gift, who opens his heart fully to my Father. He is the one who understands that healing goes beyond the body; it fills the soul.

And now, I look at you, beloved. Yes, you reading these words. You, too, are invited into this healing, this fullness of life. You are invited to come closer, to be “the one”—the one who doesn’t just walk away with a touch, but who comes all the way into the love my Father longs to give you.

Will you be the one who returns to find more than healing, more than relief? Will you be the one who discovers the heart of God, who knows that my Father’s love goes deeper than you can imagine? He’s calling you, not only to be restored in what’s broken but to be made whole, to live in the fullness of His love.

I invite you to be like this Samaritan—to come back with a heart full of gratitude, to know and cherish the One who loves you. Let His love fill every part of you. And then, share that love. Spread the joy you have found in me, like a light that can’t be contained. My Father’s goodness is for all, and the world needs to see it through you.

Be the one who carries this good news, who lives in the freedom of my Father’s love and shares it with others. Be the one who shows the world what it means to be truly healed, whole, and beloved.

So come, be the one who goes deeper, who walks with me, who shares my Father’s heart. There is more waiting for you, more than you can imagine. Will you take that step? Will you be the one?

The post The One appeared first on Simply Vinnie - Unpacking The Complicated.

Trapped in the Moment Before the Miracle

When Waiting Feels Unfair

By Pastor Vinnie MacIsaac

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Have you ever felt the ache of waiting—wondering why God doesn’t step in right when you need Him most? Come with me into the story in the Gospel of Luke (8:40-53), where two lives intersect in a crowd, each one desperate for a miracle. Look around. Can you sense the tension, feel the weight in the air as these two souls press into the crowd, hoping for the same thing—a touch from Jesus that will bring healing?

First, there’s Jairus—a man whose life has likely never known such desperation. He’s a respected synagogue leader, a man used to being in control, with people looking up to him. But now, none of that matters. His twelve-year-old daughter, the light of his life, is at death’s door. Every second is precious as he finally spots Jesus. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jairus pushes through the crowd, urgency overriding his dignity. He falls at Jesus’ feet, pleading for his child’s life with a voice thick with desperation.

Then, look over to the edge of the crowd, and you’ll see her—a woman who’s been suffering in silence for twelve long years, hidden from society because of her condition. That’s as long as Jairus’s daughter has been alive. For twelve years, she’s watched life pass her by, felt her health deteriorate, and endured isolation, loss, and shame. But today, she’s determined. She won’t stop until she reaches Jesus, even if it’s only to touch His garment. She’s tried everything else. If anyone understands the desperation of Jairus, it’s this woman who’s lived a life defined by waiting.

Imagine for a moment the tension that hangs between these two lives. Who should be healed first? The girl, whose life has barely begun, or the woman, who has suffered the same number of years the girl has been alive? The crowd surges around Jesus, but He’s focused on the people before Him. Jairus leads Him through the throng, urging Him to hurry, while this woman follows in silence, hoping just for a brief touch, an instant of healing.

And then, it happens. As Jairus walks beside Jesus, trying to pull Him through the crowd, he suddenly feels the frustration of delay as Jesus stops. The woman, unnoticed by most, has reached out and touched His garment. That single touch is her boldest act of faith, her deepest cry for mercy, and she can feel it—the suffering ends in an instant. Jesus has stopped, turned, and asked, “Who touched me?”

Can you imagine Jairus in this moment? His heart must be pounding with impatience and confusion. He’s trapped in this maddening pause, watching someone else receive the miracle he so urgently needs for his daughter. This woman is healed; she’s finally freed from twelve years of pain. But Jairus is gripped by the thought, Why her and not my child? Why is God helping her first?

The woman, realizing she can’t stay hidden, comes forward. She falls at Jesus’ feet and tells Him everything. The twelve years of shame, the hopeless visits to physicians, the long nights of pain, and the isolation that almost broke her spirit. Jesus listens, and then His face softens. He calls her “Daughter,” a name that must warm her heart and bring tears to her eyes. “Your faith has healed you; go in peace.” She’s no longer “unclean,” no longer a forgotten outcast. Her faith has been honored, and she has been made whole.

But for Jairus, it’s a bitter pill to swallow. He’s waiting, caught in the agony of helplessness as he watches a stranger receive what he needs so desperately. And then the unthinkable happens. A messenger arrives, his face grim, and delivers the news Jairus dreads most: “Your daughter is dead.” Those words must pierce him like a knife. His hopes, his faith—all of it seems to collapse in an instant. He followed Jesus, he pleaded with all he had, yet it feels like the heavens have been silent, like God has chosen someone else over his own daughter. Why would God allow this? he must wonder, Isn’t my daughter’s life as important as this woman’s healing?

Before Jairus can even process the heartbreak, Jesus turns to him. He doesn’t ignore his pain or dismiss his fear. He looks right into Jairus’s eyes, His gaze filled with an understanding far beyond what anyone else could offer. “Don’t be afraid,” Jesus tells him, “just believe, and she will be healed.” These words—simple, yet profoundly challenging—call Jairus to a faith that holds on, even in the face of despair. He’s still reeling, still grieving, but he follows, trapped in the moment before the miracle.

As they reach his home, the mourners are already gathered, their wails filling the air, a heart-wrenching symphony of sorrow. Jairus’s heart must be breaking, the sound a stark reminder that he’s already too late. But Jesus sends the mourners away, allowing only Jairus, his wife, and three disciples into the room. It’s quiet now, still. And then, with a gentleness that defies the weight of the situation, Jesus takes the girl’s hand and speaks, “My child, get up.”

And there, in that moment, life returns. The girl rises, breath filling her lungs, color returning to her cheeks. Imagine Jairus’s face, the astonishment, the fierce, almost painful joy as he realizes his daughter is alive. The delay that felt so unfair, the wait that seemed endless, has led to a miracle greater than he could have dreamed.

Trapped in the Moment Before the Miracle

How many of us know this feeling—trapped in the excruciating pause, watching others receive the blessings we’re longing for, feeling like our prayers are unheard? We see others’ needs being met, and bitterness starts to rise. Jairus must have felt it—the pang of perceived unfairness as he watched the woman healed, all while he faced the news of his daughter’s death.

But here’s the truth Jesus shows us through Jairus and this woman: there is a purpose in the delay. The woman endured twelve years of waiting for her healing, and Jairus had to wait while someone else received their miracle. Both were trapped in those moments of waiting, where faith feels stretched beyond its limits. But Jesus had something greater in store for each of them. For the woman, the wait ended with immediate healing; for Jairus, the delay led to a resurrection beyond what he had asked for.

So, if you’re waiting, feeling trapped in the moment before the miracle, hold on. Jesus is near, even in the silence, even in the pause. He hasn’t forgotten you. Like Jairus and the woman, you’ll find that in His perfect time—whether the answer is immediate or after a longer journey—His presence and His power will be the answer you’ve been seeking. Hold fast, for the miracle may be closer than you think.

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