Luke 17:11-19 · Ten Healed of Leprosy
The Saving Grace Of Gratitude
Luke 17:11-19
Sermon
by Larry R. Kalajainen
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On the old television show "All In The Family," there was an episode when Archie Bunker's son-in-law Mike, or "Meathead" as Archie always called him, asks Archie a riddle. "A young man is seriously injured in an accident and is rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. When the surgeon is called, it turned out that the young man was the son of the surgeon, but the surgeon was not the boy's father." Archie suggests that the boy was adopted, or that the surgeon was his step-father. But with a triumphant glint in his eye, Mike informs Archie that the surgeon was the boy's mother. Good old Archie, the archetypal male chauvinist, would never have seen the answer to that one. His presuppositions blinded him to the obvious.

The prophet Micah, many centuries ago, proclaimed some obvious, but unpleasant realities to people who were likewise blinded to the truth of their situation by their suppositions. They were solid, middle-class citizens of Jerusalem, morally upright, religious, and socially respectable. They thought God was in their camp, and that their prosperity was the sign of God's favor. But Micah told them otherwise. Their prosperity, he told them, was the result of their having coveted their poorer and weaker neighbors' fields and houses. They seized what they wanted, enriching themselves at the expense of those weaker. But God, who sees what proud and greedy human beings do not, stands over against such pride and power, and takes the part of the weak and the poor. God's judgment is not based on human standards, but on God's own truth and righteousness, and God makes it clear that oppression and exploitation will bear its own bitter fruit.

The people, of course, do not want to hear this message of the prophet. "Don't preach this way," they tell him, "One should not preach this way; disgrace will not overtake us" (Micah 2:6). Micah, however, rages against such moral and spiritual blindness and presumption. Sarcastically he tells them that the sort of preacher they want is someone who will tell them about the evils of drinking liquor. That's always a good, safe topic for a preacher. After all, who can argue with sermons about the benefits of sobriety? His listeners are probably the most sober people around. Of course they'll listen to sermons on the evils of drunkenness. Such sermons are aimed at somebody else, and those are the sermons that all of us want to hear.

It's easy to be morally outraged at the drug traffic in our inner cities, at the corruption and degradation of the welfare system, at the city schools that are more often battlegrounds than they are places of education, at the racial violence that erupts spectacularly in places like Los Angeles. It's easy to point fingers and assign blame to a particular ethnic group or political party, a particular civic leader or government program. What we don't want to hear is that we ourselves are responsible. That is not something we want to deal with. We don't personally wish to be oppressive or exploitative, we don't personally engage in greedy or overly self-indulgent lifestyles, and so we don't want to hear that we are all, in some way, responsible, or that we are likely to experience the judgment that is inherent in the injustices of our society. Even if we are willing to hear about our own complicity in the oppressive structures of our social order, we often feel helpless to do anything about it. What can one person, or even one congregation, do about such massive, structural and systematic problems?

Our gospel lesson, which is the story of Jesus and the healing of ten people with leprosy, may give us some clues. At first, when I read the lessons for this week, I was stumped. What on earth did this story in Luke's gospel have to do with Micah's harsh indictment of the good, solid, middle-class citizens of ancient Jerusalem? But the more I reflected on them, the more I began to see some connections -- not only connections between the two passages of scripture, but connections to my own life and to our life together as the Body of Christ.

The first clue that may hint at some connections is the simple fact that Jesus, in stark contrast to all the social taboos of his day, stopped to listen to the request of a group of lepers. Today, we know that leprosy is not only easily curable with the right medication, but is not very contagious at all. In fact, if one person were married to another who had an active case of Hansen's disease, which is the medical name for leprosy, there would only be a five percent chance of contagious infection. But because leprosy is such a disfiguring disease, it was greatly feared, and in the ancient world, and even today, it is accompanied by strong social taboos. In Jesus' day, to even come into close proximity to a leper was to risk spiritual pollution. And to touch a leper was to incur such pollution that exaggerated rituals of cleansing would be necessary before one was allowed back into polite company. Even the strong enmity between Jews and Samaritans was overcome by the stronger social taboo of leprosy. Nine of the ten lepers were Jews; one was a Samaritan. Their common affliction brought them into community with each other -- a community of the socially damned.

It's not difficult to see parallels between the social taboos against leprosy in Jesus' day, and the social taboos against victims of AIDS in our own, is it? Moody Monthly, a Christian magazine, reported the story of a woman who called a church and asked the pastor if he would please pray for her son. "Of course, I will," replied the pastor. "Is there something in particular I should pray for?" The mother replied, "He has AIDS. And this is the fifth church I've called to find someone willing to pray for my son. The first two ministers I talked to hung up on me when I told them my son's problem. One simply said no, and one didn't call back when I left a message on the answering machine."

Jesus stopped to listen to a group of people who were the silenced people of his day. The social outcasts. The pariahs. Others went out of their way to avoid any contact with lepers. Jesus stopped, listened, and responded to their request for healing. He went against the grain of his own society's rules and taboos. He risked social ostracism himself in order to minister to those silenced ones, those who were excluded from polite company.

A second clue is in the response of those healed. Ten lepers were healed; nine of them followed Jesus' instructions to go show themselves to the priests in the temple at Jerusalem. To the priests was committed the responsibility for admitting or excluding someone from the community. Since leprosy excluded a person from the community, a priest had to pronounce that a person was cured of leprosy in order for him to be readmitted into society. So the nine lepers did what Jesus told them, went to the priests, and presumably were readmitted into society and became solid middle-class citizens once again. And although Luke doesn't say so directly, it might not be stretching the point too far to think that once readmitted, they might have conformed to society's values and taboos themselves. They probably took up despising Samaritans again just like the rest of polite society.

But one leper came back to Jesus to thank him and to give praise to God for his healing. And to top it off, he was the doubly damned one -- the Samaritan. Jesus expressed astonishment that the only one who had enough gratitude to praise God for his healing was this despised foreigner, this one who was double the outsider, both because of his leprosy and because he was a Samaritan. And Jesus' statement to this grateful man hits us like a stroke of lightning. "Go your way, your faith has saved you." Jesus had already healed him of leprosy. But now, he receives something more as a result of his gratitude to God for the blessing of the recovery of his health and readmission to human society: salvation -- the wholeness of life, the total well-being that comes to those who depend entirely upon God and not on themselves. That's the word that is used in Jesus' statement -- the word salvation. Jesus equates this man's gratitude with faith, faith in God, dependence upon God, trust in God's mercy, and that is the attitude which brings him the blessing of salvation.

The final clue to the connections between this story and Micah's prophecy, and the clue to the connections to our own lives comes in Jesus' answer to the question raised by the Pharisees immediately following this story. It's no accident that Luke places this question and answer right after the story of the salvation of the grateful leper. The Pharisees are the morally upright, deeply religious, and socially respectable citizens of their day. Solid people. Good people. They ask Jesus, "When is the kingdom of God coming?" Jesus replies, "The kingdom of God is not coming with spectacular signs; in fact, the kingdom of God is among you." What does this mean? It means that the kingdom of God is present where we are least disposed to look, especially if we're the solid, respectable, morally upright, hard-working, salt-of-the-earth types that we are. It means that we probably ought not to be blinded like the people of Micah's day and think that our prosperity and our solid middle-class values and the fact that we're sober and not drunken sots are the signs of God's kingdom. Rather, the signs of God's kingdom are when people like us, out of gratitude, begin to pay attention to the outcasts, to the silenced, to the socially unacceptable. When we overcome our fears and taboos to minister to AIDS victims, when we offer our time and energies to providing for the needs of children damaged because their parents were drug addicts, when we open our doors to the poor and welcome them among us, when we work for better housing and better health care, even though it may mean paying higher taxes to make it possible, and when we do it because we are grateful that we ourselves have been healed and touched by God, then we know that the kingdom of God is among us.

I know of an urban congregation, an old "downtown" church, which took some bold steps in 1987 to reach out to the silenced and excluded people of the inner city. Most of them were not residents of the inner city themselves. For the most part, they were respectable, middle-class people who lived in the suburbs. But their church had been standing on the central square of the city for many years. Through all the prosperity of the '50s, the social revolution of the '60s and the urban blight of the '70s, they had stayed downtown because they knew they had a mission there, even if it wasn't always clear to them what it was or how to go about it.

But it was becoming obvious that they needed help to fulfill it. And so, in cooperation with a sister church in the affluent suburbs, they began an Urban Mission Project amid many uncertainties, with inadequate planning, inadequate funds, and little idea where it would all lead, if anywhere. And God honored that vision. They hired a full-time staff person skilled in urban ministry to coordinate their efforts. The program, however, was dependent upon the participation of many volunteers from the two congregations.

With financial strain an ever-present companion, they began ministries with inner city children, homeless men, and welfare mothers -- ministries which have brought hope and transformed lives to many who were without hope. Before that bold step, people in the city used to ask if there was still an active congregation at that church; it always looked as though it were closed. Now, no one asks that question. Now that church is known as the church which is "doing something" in the city, and other churches and city officials alike look to that congregation for a model of what ordinary people who care can do.

When asked why they took such a risk of faith to reach out to people at the bottom of the social and economic ladder, many of those who volunteer in the various ministries simply reply that they feel it's the least they can do in light of all of God's blessings which they enjoy. In other words, they are grateful. Gratitude motivates them and enables them to be beacons of hope to those without hope.

D. T. Niles, the Indian theologian, once defined evangelism as "one hungry beggar telling another hungry beggar where to find bread." When we are grateful enough for the bread that we have received that we are willing to reach out to the lost and hurting and lonely and excluded ones around us, we will discover that we ourselves are being saved.

CSS Publishing Company, Inc, Extrodinary Faith For Ordinary Time, by Larry R. Kalajainen