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When asked to describe the
nature of true worship, Martin Luther responded succinctly: “the tenth leper turning back.” Since celebrating the Feast
of Pentecost twenty-one weeks ago, we have been “on the way” in Luke’s Gospel with Jesus
and his followers, making our way to Jerusalem Kingdom
of God
Today, however, we seem to
have taken a detour. Luke in fact begins by reminding us that we are still “on the way” to Jerusalem, but then adds that Jesus is now "going through
that region between Samaria and Galilee. ” We should pay attention! It’d be like saying
that on the way from Worcester to Boston they stopped in Providence
There are three
possibilities for such a detour. One is that Jesus has gotten lost, which is
highly unlikely. In fact, since faithful Jews aren’t supposed to be anywhere
near Samarian soil, it seems Jesus is making a point here. A second possibility
is that Luke doesn’t have a very good sense of first-century Palestinian
geography. Since all of the gospels, including Luke, were written decades after
the events being recounted, it is quite possible that Luke has gotten his
geography wrong. But most scholars think there is a far more likely third
possibility (and I agree with them): that both Jesus (and Luke) know exactly
what they are doing and a serious theological point is being made here. Jesus
is stepping across a boundary where ethnic and religious tensions are palpable.
Think about a detour to Belfast when tensions
were highest between Catholic and Protestant Christians there or to Los Angeles after the Rodney King beating or maybe in East Jerusalem today, where tensions between Muslims and
Jews remain intense. Luke is putting us on notice: while we are still “on the
way” to Jerusalem, something important that reveals something about the Kingdom
of God is going to happen in this little village…
Only Luke gives us that other
famous Samaritan story, the one about the so-called “Good Samaritan.” For any
self-respecting first-century Jew, of course, that phrase (Good Samaritan)
would have been considered an oxymoron. Everybody knew that Samaritans
represented that which was never good: that which was to be feared as unholy
and polluted. Jesus has crossed the tracks, and is in the part of town where
when you hit a red light you don’t stop. He’s traveling through that region
between Samaria and Galilee
when they come to a village.
Now in case anyone reading
Luke’s Gospel has missed the point, we get hit over the head a second time by a
2x4 when Jesus encounters a group of lepers there. Not only is he in a place
considered unclean, but now there are lepers everywhere. People with leprosy
were considered to be ritually unclean and not allowed to come into contact
with “normal people.” Hence the leper colonies where they lived away from the community. They keep their
distance because coming into contact with someone who had this ailment would
make you ritually unclean. In fact,
as you approached a leper, they were required to shout out: “unclean, unclean”
as a kind of warning, just to be sure that you don’t walk up to them
accidentally to ask for directions. Imagine such a life: suffering not only
from a terrible disease but being socially ostracized as well. And then notice
that while they do approach Jesus, Luke makes it clear that they “kept their
distance from him.”
Keeping their distance, they shout
out to Jesus for mercy. And then Jesus sends them along to the priests, because
the Torah says that before they can re-enter the community the priest must
pronounce them ritually clean. As they turn to leave they find their skin
disease is healed. But they still need that “ok” from the Temple
But one of them turned back. Now it may be fair enough as you hear this to say, “Hey,
cut the nine some slack because they are just doing what Jesus said to do.” But
that really isn’t the point of the story. The point here is something that every
parent I know tries to teach their children from a very young age. And even
when you don’t know much about Middle Eastern geography or the ritual laws
about leprosy, this part of the story easily translates from first-century
culture to our own day: it doesn’t cost you anything to say “thank you.” They
can get on their way soon enough. But their lives have just been radically changed. This is huge! And yet
they have tunnel vision: must get to priests! Only one of them takes the time
to turn back and say, “thank you!” And that is what Luther meant when he said
that true worship is to be like this one. Or as Meister Eckhart put it: “if the
only prayer you ever say is ‘thank you’ it would be enough.”
We all know this. But it
takes practice. We are surrounded by miracles and you would have to be blind to
live in New England in October to not notice.
We are part of a faith community that nurtures and sustains our faith. We
experience, even on the most difficult of days, blessing upon blessing. And so
we gather here each weekend to share the Eucharist which means “thank you God.”
We recite the ancient words that are rooted in the Passover story from Exodus,
to thank God for bringing us out of the bondage of slavery and to the Promised
Land. We gather to thank God for this good earth and the gifts of bread and
wine. As we’ll say in a few minutes: “It
is right and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere, to give thanks to
you, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.”
We come here to say our
prayers in order to become more like the one who turned back, because it takes
us to the very heart of the gospel. Ten were healed of their leprosy: their
skin got better and they were all presumably pronounced ritually clean and
allowed to re-enter society. But only one of them truly got well. He isn’t just “not
sick” anymore. He’s alive. He's grateful.
Can I say it this way—“he’s saved?” That word makes Episcopalians
squirm a little bit and I get why: it’s a little like the word “evangelism” or “stewardship.”
Often when someone asks us whether or not we are “saved,” we may be tempted to
run the other way. But that is in fact the Greek word used here: the root sozo
literally means “to be saved” or “to be made well.” In the old King James Version it says, “Your faith
has made you whole"—which of course is what salvation is really all about.
Being saved isn’t about
something that happens to us after we die. The abundant life that Christ
promises begins here and now and this story before us today suggests that we
take hold of that new life—we are made whole—when we cultivate gratitude in our
lives. That part, at least, of this reading is really very simple. Sometimes we
come to Church and the readings make no sense immediately: our cultural and
historical distance from them makes them hard to understand. We don’t immediately
know that this village is not literally “on the way to Jerusalem
But really those are just
details that make it real: the point of this story happens every day. It
happens in the waiting rooms of ICU at our local hospitals; it happens around
our dinner tables or picking apples or hiking up Mount Wachusett
Let me then close with the
words of one of my favorite writers, Anne Lamotte. She says that she has two favorite
prayers that she tries to pray every day: one in the morning and one at night.
When she gets out of bed, she simply prays: “Help me. Help me. Help me.” And at
the end of the day, before her head hits the pillow: “Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you.”
Those are really good prayers. And they will take
you a long way down the path of being made whole, if that is what you seek.
They will take you a long way toward embracing the saving love that is in fact already
ours in Jesus Christ.
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