Desperation has a way of overruling the rules. This man breaks every regulation written about him and walks straight into the crowd. People stumble backward and pull their children away, and at the center of their fear he falls on his knees before Jesus. Then he speaks words in which every syllable matters. Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.
Notice that he is only half unsure. He is completely certain of one thing. He does not say, Lord, I wonder if you are able. In the Jewish mind, healing a leper was about as likely as raising the dead; it was the kind of thing only God could do. Yet he looks at Jesus and says, in effect, I know you can do the impossible. His faith is not the problem. His faith is stunning. There is only one thing he is unsure about. He is not sure Jesus will want to.
That is where so many of us get stuck. We do not usually doubt that God is able. We sing all morning about a God who parts seas and empties tombs. Our trouble is quieter and more personal. We look at our record, at the thing we hope no one ever discovers, at the same sin we have returned to thirty times, and a voice whispers, Sure, he could clean you up. He just would not want to. Not you. Not again. The real question hanging over this scene is not can he, but will he for someone like me.