18th Sunday after Pentecost

"Ten Lepers" James Christensen

          In every life there comes a time when we are desperate. We will try almost anything to make life better. You know what I mean, right? Sometimes the pain comes from a lingering illness, when every day you feel your strength leaving your body. Sometimes it comes when a heart has been broken one time too many. Sometimes it comes when everything you've worked for and lived for has simply caved in. In the deepest places of our sorrow, in the heaviest places of our fears, we know a desperation that just wants the pain to end. You and I have both had times like this.                                           

The ten lepers in our familiar Gospel lesson knew it all: the loss of family, of work, of home, of human touch, of laughter, of rest. Body, mind and spirit were being eaten away by a disease that would reduce them to nothing. There wouldn’t even be a place for them in the graveyard because they weren't allowed to be buried with normal folks. They were in physical pain as their skin and muscles, joints and bones deteriorated.

          They were hungry all the time, because who would give these beggars a full meal? Without food, their strength diminished, and with no place to lay their heads, all they could do was walk around the edges of their community until they collapsed. No one would welcome them, touch them or talk to them. People feared to catch their disease, and since no one back then knew about bacteria and viruses, those who had leprosy were counted as cursed by God. That, everyone said, was why they had the leprosy, and so they were cast out of the communities.          Underneath all that physical and emotional distress was a torrent of spiritual agony that was far worse, for as they looked at one another’s mutilated bodies and then at their own, they could no longer recognize themselves as human beings, as people made in the image of God. Maybe they really were cursed by God for their sins, they thought. Maybe what others said about them was true.                                 

They see Jesus in their no-man’s land between Samaria and Galilee. Jesus, who is walking through their wilderness. They have heard of him, for even lepers hear the rumors of a new healer. So, they cry out for mercy, and they’ll take it any way they can get it. Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.                                                

Even though these lepers have long been chased out of the Temple, here they cry out the words of Psalm 51--"Have mercy on me, O Lord according to your loving kindness. Have mercy on me. In your great compassion blot out all my offenses. Have mercy on me. Create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit within me. Have mercy on me…" They want an end to their sickness; They want an end to their pain; They want an end to their isolation; And Jesus who walks into the borderlands of all of our lives speaks his eternal mercy into them.                                    

  “Go and show yourselves to the priests,” he commands, go to the ones who can pronounce you clean. Hoping against hope, they listen to him. Anxious to have their lives restored, they follow his orders and set out on their way, but his Word was already cleansing them before they travelled very far. Long before they got near to the priest, they were made clean. Like the scales that fell from St. Paul’s eyes, they could see a new future beyond anything they had imagined.                    

All ten of them were cured by his Word, cleansed as if they had come through a sparkling waterfall. Flowing water over them and around them, pure and clear—everything old and decaying washed away—able to start anew—a second chance at life.                                                                              

All ten of them were cured, but only one of them turns towards Jesus. All ten of them were cured, but only one comes and falls at Jesus’ feet. All ten of them were cured, but only one gives thanks to God. All ten of them were cured, but only one was healed. For only one, this one, a Samaritan, an outsider among outsiders sees that the kingdom of God, and that the King himself, has come near.                  In this world, it’s easy for us to think that the cure of a disease is the end all and be all-- the greatest thing that could ever happen. Cancer, diabetes, heart diseas: billions of dollars are spent in making a cure. And make no mistake, the curing of every disease is a cause for rejoicing. I don’t know of a single person who hasn’t prayed, who hasn’t begged for such a miracle on behalf a loved one who is suffering. But on this day Jesus is showing us that there is even something more than a cure, something greater, and that is faith, for without faith, we won’t know how to live even when we are made well.                                                                    When the Samaritan saw what was happening to him, and who the source of this incredible goodness was, he turned to Jesus. The direction of his life—its purpose, its meaning, its value has changed. He falls at Jesus’ feet. He worships him. He worships him with all his heart, soul, mind, and at last his strength. He worships him with his whole body. He praises God by thanking Jesus, and the implication is as clear as day: Lord have mercy, the faithful have always cried, and now, the Lord, the King of all creation has come among us with healing in his wings.                                                                                                                     

Ten have been equally cured: they will be restored to the love of their families and the dignity of their labors, but the one who receives this healing in faith is receiving so much more. For when all the diseases and heartbreaks of this life have taken their toll on us, when there is more scar tissue on our limbs than there is youthful flesh, when all we can hear over the hiss of our oxygen mask is the whisper of the nurses’ shoes around our bed, when all earthly hope is gone, we know that this One, this Jesus will make us new again.                                                      

The Samaritan, as with all who live in faith, will live his life thanking and praising God continuously, witnessing to all the world that God’s great love is for every human being. By living such a life of thanksgiving, all who trust in God will be re-ordering the gift of every day according to God’s holy will. And it is a gift, for when lives are lived with faith in Jesus Christ, our hearts will have already been drawn to eternity, where his healing water flows without ceasing.

May you, like the Samaritan, rise and go into the world on this day, trusting in faith that God will make all things well. That no matter what is happening in your bodies, your homes, at school, at work--that God will make all things well on a deeper level than you can even imagine or hope for, that God will make you well. Amen.