Luke 17:11-19 · Ten Healed of Leprosy
The Day You Were Healed
Luke 17:11-19
Sermon
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That was a good day, wasn’t it, the day you were healed, when your physician wrote your exit visa from the hospital, when the nurses wheeled you to the front door where your spouse was waiting in the family limo, and you were on your way? Almost forgotten now is the pain, the apprehension, and the helplessness that you had felt when the paramedics brought you in with siren screaming, the intravenous feedings, the wires and the tubes that made you feel like an electrical appliance. Almost forgotten, too is your whispered "Lord, have mercy," your wondering whether you would make it, the concern on faces of your loved ones, the pastor’s prayers, the healing promise of the Lord that he had spoken at your bedside. That was a good day, wasn’t it, the day when you were healed?

On arrival home you told your friends and family how fortunate you were, how the doctor said that if you had not been in good shape otherwise, you probably could not have made it, how the discipline of jogging and aerobics had paid off. You drew a long deep breath and said, "Thank the Lord."

But did I hear you say, "The Lord"? After several days or weeks of convalescence you might get back to church again and nod to God, as is our habit, with a gesture of thanksgiving. For the moment you could isolate him in the closet with your other good luck charms until another desperate need arose and you would have to polish up your lines again, "Jesus, Master, have mercy!"

On Credits and Debits

How can we explain it, that when these ten lepers had received the gift of healing, nine neglected gratitude to him who healed them? Or how do we account for this when we are healed, that God gets little more than casual recognition, an incidental "Thank the Lord," while our personal fitness or the skill of medics or our high tech progress draw the commendation? Or how do we defend the notion that the good gifts of the Father’s kindly hand are listed as our human right, while the Giver of the gifts is thoughtlessly ignored? Someone has said that God is credited with every hook and slice along life’s fairway, while we take credit for the hole-in-one.

One need not page around the Bible very long to find it - the prevailing "Master of my house" approach to life that shifts the credits from God’s side to ours and the debits from our side to God’s. King David, grasping destiny in his own hands, became proud above his people, turned aside from the commandments, and exposed a leprosy of heart more hideous than leprosy of skin. King Uzziah, when he was strong, grew proud to his destruction, usurping rights of temple priests in burning incense at the altar. He was smitten by the Lord with leprosy that forced him from the temple for the balance of his life.

For all the glowing tribute that we pay the virtues of thanksgiving and humility, expressed in our complete dependence on a power not our own, is it not our strength that took us through and our good shape that helped us make it? Or was it not the surgeon’s skill, the advances of technology, the mechanics of science? Is not the produce of the land our own, without the sun and soil chemistry, because we have degrees in agriculture, and the latest methods, and machinery, and herbicides, and pesticides? Is it not our own capacity for work and our long hours in the field that are responsible for our success?

Scarcely do we think of God as the giver of our gifts, or the healer of our diseases, or even as the forgiver of our iniquities. What gifts do we have that have not been earned? What has God done about malaria, or polio, or smallpox? These nearly-obsolete diseases, in America at least, are exhibits of the human genius. What has God done about our coronaries, AIDS, or cancers? What has he done about the hungry Ethiopian? Or what iniquities require his forgiveness? Do we mean to say there are iniquities to be forgiven? Seldom do our lives become a high doxology of praise to anybody but ourselves, or to someone just as mortal and as helpless and dependent as ourselves. The froth of pious praise to God does not befit our self-esteem.

The Nauseous Horror

Leprosy was a nauseous horror. There was little back in Bible days to equal it for that completely hopeless feeling. To describe it in detail might be a little more than we can handle at this hour of the morning. And to detail the leper’s situation as the human outcast, confined not in aseptic isolation wards or nursing homes, but in the dirty caves and off the beaten paths, separated from family, synagogue, and friends - that might be more than our enlightened sense of sympathy could tolerate, for we have learned much better ways of isolating people. But Luke, who was himself a doctor and a partner of the good physician brings us face-to-face with the realities by simply telling us that these ten lepers suffered from the horror. Somewhere near the border of Samaria and Galilee, as Jesus journeyed to Jerusalem, he heard the plea for help that bridged the distance they were forced by law to keep between themselves and others. "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!"

The Spark of Faith and Hope

Whether they were prompted in their plea for mercy by a momentary spark of faith, or whether this was one last shot in the darkness of their living hell, I doubt that we can say. People go to great lengths in search of help in hopeless situations. Some years ago, while serving a small parish near the southern border of Missouri, I traveled weekly to a tiny rural church in Arkansas where Sunday after Sunday the same faces of the faithful could be seen at worship. Suddenly I noted visitors appearing at the worship and discovered that they came from many distant places to the nearby town where a publicized but questioned treatment was administered for cancer. That treatment represented one last hope, however faint. And so it was for these ten lepers also, that in Jesus, rumored as a wonder worker, they grasped for one last hope. But this is certain, that when Jesus said, "Go and show yourselves to the priests," they hit the road with nothing but his word, even with their flesh still rotting with the leprosy. And as they went, they were cleansed.

No magic touch ... no potent potient ... no wonder drug Only the Word. Jesus had not treated them in their disease. He had healed them. And this was a good day for the lepers, this day when they were healed.

Sometimes One Last Hope

We can never give up hope. Although we have added to the list of terminals, and though a few diseases still remain with no known cure, the human genius has made strides of progress through research and treatment. The time and wisdom of our scientific sages still continues in our laboratories all around the world in search of treatments for the endless list of human ills - hypertension, heart disease, diabetes, carcinoma, addictions, AIDS, Alzheimer’s, disorders of the mind, multiple sclerosis, or whatever is your personal plague. We haven’t got time for the pain, and it was God himself who said it, was it not, when he came down from heaven to survey the miracles and wonders of humanity: "This is only the beginning of what these possibility thinkers will do."

We cannot stand by while the human family suffers. We cannot hoard the gifts of God while others hunger. We cannot turn aside when someone hurts. The burden of an agonized humanity is on our hearts, and we respond with prayers and gifts, with dollars for research, with bread for hungry children, and with our presence in compassion at the side of someone close to us in trial. We can never give up hope.

But sometimes there is one last hope - hope discovered not in looking forward to a wonder cure, but in turning backward to the one who heals. When an anxious family has to hear what seems to be the final word, "I’m sorry. There is nothing we can do," the final word remains with God. And please note carefully, the Word of God is never final.

It is a truism that we are living in a world of sickness, death, and separation from our healing God. And when the sickness is our own, when it is our death on its approach, we look for miracles. Often God says "No." But that no is not the final word. We have his promise of a day when suffering, pain and death will be no more, when tears are dried, and when our voices blend in alleluias at the throne of him in whom the new creation has been fully realized. He who came to heal will heal in ways our highest hope could never realize. Threescore years and ten, a little more, a little less, is not the total of our lives. The great shalom is yet to come.

The company of faith, therefore, cannot abandon healing ministry or pass it off to others by default. As we walk the footsteps of the Master, compassion is the very essence of our being, and in that compassion we can be the light that shines in the tunnel of despair and darkness for our suffering fellows. That light, shaped as a cross, spells hope when all is hopeless. We have the promise, and as all his promises have ripened to fulfillment, the promise of his life instead of death, his peace instead of fear, is certain.

One Turned Back

"Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice; and he fell on his face at Jesus’ feet, giving him thanks. Now he was a Samaritan." The differences between Samaritans and Jews, differences which seemed to have dissolved within the bondage of their leprosy, now reappeared. Age-old differences of race and nationality, religion, sex, or age, or whatever we invent to climb a ladder rung above another in the human family, had melted in this company of beggars. The signs of separation in the human family that plague us still had faded. Their common need, their common crisis, their common condemnation to a common death, their common cry for mercy leveled them as beggars just as we together share the isolation that has separated us from God and stand together in our need for healing. But the difference! "Were there not ten cleansed? Where are the nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?"

What was the difference? All of these afflicted, desperate folk had cried for mercy. All obeyed the word of Jesus as, with no sign that their plea was heard, they hurried off to see the priests. They were ready to begin the detailed ritual of cleansing given in remote Leviticus, the complicated liturgy for cleansing lepers and restoring them to their communities and families.

But the lone Samaritan had little taste for liturgy except the liturgy of thanks and praise to him whose word had cleansed. He had little interest in the priestly health officials, for his cleansing had not come from them, but prompted by the mercy he had asked for and received, his impelling interest was in him who healed.

The Gift Without the Giver is Bare

That’s the difference. And in the Gospel as Saint Luke records it, a central message is that in Christ Jesus God has given to the world his healing touch, and that the world would glorify and praise the God of heaven and earth because his grace is given us in Christ. This Samaritan had recognized the glory of the Lord revealed in Jesus Christ. He saw that God was in Christ Jesus, for as he fell at Jesus’ feet, he praised God. And it was a good day for this lone Samaritan, this day when he was healed. "Rise and go your way; your faith has made you well."

In the Midrashim, the Jewish commentaries on the ancient Scriptures written by the learned Jewish rabbis, we can find instruction for the leper. He had to bring before the priest a branch of cedar and a sprig of hyssop, confessing that while he had been proud like cedar, he would henceforth be as humble as the lowly hyssop.* And we recall the Psalm of David who in his penitential plea, as he recalled his sin against Uriah and Bathsheba and a host of others, cried, "Cleanse me with hyssop and I shall be clean. Wash me, and I shall be as white as snow." He begged for healing, for cleansing, and for restoration to the intimate relationship with God that he once knew but now had severed. And he remembered his good day of healing, "I will confess my transgression to the Lord; then thou didst forgive the guilt of my sin."

* See Biblical Archaeology Review, September/October 1986, Vol. XII, No. 5, page 39 for an account of the leper’s cleansing as described in the Midrashim.

Christ is Our Health

The healed Samaritan should not be used to illustrate a primer lesson on remembering to say thank you, or to stir up guilt in little children who forget. This is the Gospel of the grace of God that took on flesh and blood in Jesus Christ through whom we are restored and cleansed and healed, made whole again, and holy in his sight. The Giver is himself the gift. Our need is not for his forgiveness, or his cleansing, or his healing, only to go forth and sin again, and dirty up again, and take on other sicknesses again. Our need is Christ himself, for Christ is our wholeness, Christ is our health.

It was a good day, wasn’t it, the day when we were healed, when we found in Christ the mercy of our God, when our selfinsistence and self-righteousness was drained by our confession, "God, be merciful to me," and when our prayer was answered by the gift he gave in his own Son? In Christ who is our health we are brought back from the pits and reinstated as the children of the Father and as members of his family. It was a good day - not because our self-esteem had been destroyed, but because it was restored; nor because the props beneath us had collapsed, but because our feet were planted on the solid rock again; not because we had a claim on him, but because in mercy he had laid his claim on us.

Life as High Doxology

When we are healed and cleansed, made whole, restored, then life becomes a high doxology of praise, not only as a hymn of thankfulness to sing, but as the motif of our days. From that day forward we will recognize the one who heals all our diseases, who forgives all our iniquities, who gives the sunshine and the rain and blesses us with bread, the one who stands with us in grief and warms us with his presence. We will know that life is lived within the everlasting arms of love, and nothing can isolate us from his love, not even death. We live in his intensive care. We have the promise.

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