“And he was a Samaritan.”
Luke was a story-teller, and he knew how to get your attention. Whenever this story of the Ten Lepers was read in the synagogues or the early Church, there would have been great gasps of astonishment.
We’re not sure what skin condition the Bible calls leprosy, but we know that Lepers were condemned to a double isolation: first from the temple and from worship, because they were deemed ritually unclean; and second, from any close contact with family or friends, because their illness was considered highly contagious. So the first shock of the story was that these ten diseased and unclean men would approach Jesus at all. The second shock was their request for mercy. Now, the word mercy had in its original meaning a technical side, which referred to something we might call amnesty, or clemency. Their request was for their status to be changed, so that they could be restored to community, given amnesty. It was an outrageous thing for them to ask, and outrageous to Jewish listeners that Jesus agreed to their request.
Then there would have been an even greater gasp of disbelief and consternation on hearing how Jesus told them to go and show themselves to the priests. What kind of crazy advice was that? Of course they could not do that! These lepers were officially not allowed through the gates in the walls of Jerusalem, let alone into the temple.
Luke the teacher, having softened up the listener with this series of shocks, now hands them the first lesson. “As they went, they were made clean.” As they went. In moving on with their life, trusting Jesus’ call, accepting God’s pronouncement that they were okay, that they belonged, those ten individuals found their wholeness. How often is that true of us: if we just accept ourselves as we are, not constantly whining that we wish things were better, but get on with life, not letting societal conventions get us down or define us, we find out well-being, our peace, our healing.
But there is more that Luke wants to teach here. He describes how one of the men turns back, offering praise to Almighty God; and prostrates himself in front of Jesus, in the ultimate gesture of worship. Luke wants his readers to make the connection between this man’s praise of God and his obeisance at Jesus’ feet. Of course you would thank God Almighty for such a miracle. But this man prostrates himself in front of Jesus. He doesn’t even bow in the direction of the temple. Luke wants us to understand that Jesus stands in the place of the Divine One of Israel. Why would anyone worship Jesus? Only if is Jesus actually is God .
Third, Luke teaches that God invites intimate contact, even for the unclean. Before, when they had called out, the lepers had held themselves at a distance. Now the distance is gone. This one who returned knows that all the barriers have been removed. That is the true miracle, not just the healing of the leprosy, but the removal of the barriers that fracture community. The barriers that fracture our community, and the communities around the world we see in deadly strife, can be removed with compassion and with the acceptance of differences.
Fourth, Luke adds the punch line: “And he was a Samaritan.” At this the entire audience catches their breath. Jesus has performed a great miracle, but the one who reacts appropriately, turns back to offer thanks, cannot be claimed as “one of us” by any of the people listening to Luke. “And he was a Samaritan.” This story deeply challenged the safe barriers the first century Jews had erected around their world. It challenged their self-identity as the chosen ones of Yahweh. If Luke was telling the story today, what would the “punch-line” be that would cause us to catch our breath in astonishment, and outrage? “And she was indigeneous? And he was a drag queen? And she was an immigrant? And he was a Republican..?” Who are the people we place outside the barriers we have erected?
Finally this story is about thanksgiving. Do we tend to focus on ourselves, on what happens to us, and not acknowledge the things God has done for us? Nine of those lepers did that. Luke wants us to learn how thankfulness can make us well, not rituals and laws, no matter who or where we are. “On your way,” Jesus says to the Samaritan. “You don’t need to join the others at the temple. Your faith – even though you are not even Jewish – has made you well.” Note too, that Jesus did not rescind the gift for those who didn’t come back to offer thanks. Any more than we grandparents take gifts we send to our grandchildren back, even though they never send us thank you cards. Jesus didn’t heal the lepers to get a thank you, but because he loved them.
It is easier, of course, to give thanks, when something wonderful happens. But what about when the chips are down? Then it isn’t so easy. I wonder if you know the story of one of our best-known thanksgiving hymns? Being Lutherans, you probably do; but I’m going to tell you anyway! It was written during the Thirty Years War in Germany, in the early 1600s, by Martin Rinkart, a Lutheran pastor in the town of Eilenburg in Saxony. Eilenburg was a walled city, so it became a haven for refugees seeking safety from the war. The city became too crowded; there was a famine, and with overcrowding and malnutrition a terrible plague swept the town. In one year alone, Pastor Rinkart conducted funerals, often at mass graves, for over 4,000 people, including his own wife. Yet through it all, he never lost courage or faith. He wrote this hymn: “Now thank we all our God, with hearts and hands and voices, Who wondrous things hath done, In whom the world rejoices. So keep us in His grace, and guide us when perplexed, and free us from all ills, in this world and the next.” Pastor Rinkart was able to keep his mind on God's love, when the world was filled with hate and grief and bitterness. It was thanksgiving that kept him sane and hope-filled and able to continue. He chose not to play the role of the victim. He chose to rise above bitterness. His Mantra was not, “I want more, I want a better life” – the mantra we hear so often and so loudly these days – it was, “I want to do more, I want to make a better life for others.” That attitude begins with thankfulness, and creates thankfulness.
Remember the letter Jeremiah sent to the people in exile, the ones who are captives of the enemy, stuck miles from home, in slavery? He tells them, have a good life! Let your kids get married, so there can be grand-children, a new generation; plant your gardens and eat fresh crops. Jeremiah understood that when people engage their sense of thanksgiving they stop complaining. They move out of depression, and grow above the bitterness that builds barriers between people. He tells them, “Seek the welfare of the city you are in, because in its welfare is your welfare.” The Jews must have hated the Babylonians. But by entering a thankful and joyful lifestyle, seeking the well-being of their captors, the exiles would find their own well-being. By rising above the cycle of blame, they could actually find peace.
It is estimated there are some 60 million refugees on earth, people displaced by war, famine, or natural disaster. Exile is well known in our day. In exile, we can be lost, declared unclean, divided from the community, friendless. Even in this beautiful and peaceful island, our griefs, our misfortunes, our illnesses, our fears, our prejudices, can, cut us off from one another, cut us off even from ourselves, as our defensive and fearful barriers go up and we create exile. But offering thanks to God for the mercies we receive is the first step to breaking down those barriers. No matter what has happened in our lives, it is in giving God thanks for the mercies we receive, that we find our wholeness. As we move forward with grateful hearts, we discover we are not isolated, we are not untouchable: we are healed; and we give thanks to God. Amen.
