[Pentecost+21] "Were none of them found to return and give thanks except this foreigner?"

On the journey to Jerusalem, Jesus passed along the borders of Samaria and Galilee. Upon entering a village, Jesus was approached by ten people with leprosy. Keeping their distance, they raised their voices and said, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!"

Seeing them, Jesus responded, "Go and show yourselves to the priests."

As they were going, they were cleansed. One of them, perceiving the healing, returned, praising God in a loud voice, then fell down at Jesus' feet and gave thanks to Jesus. The individual was a Samaritan.

Jesus replied, "Weren't all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Were none of them found to return and give thanks except this foreigner?" Then Jesus said to the Samaritan, "Stand up and go your way; your faith has saved you."

Luke 17:11-19 (The Inclusive Bible, alt.)

The tenth individual was already cleansed of leprosy along with the other nine, so what "faith" "saved" this individual?

The word "faith" is just the standard Greek pistis.

"Saved" is the Greek sozo, which my Interlinear Bible says means, "to save, i.e. deliver or protect (literally or figuratively)" and in the KJV is variously translated "heal, preserve, save (self), do well, be (make) whole."

Elsewhere in Luke's Gospel, Jesus says this same thing ("your faith has saved you") to:

• the "sinful" woman who anointed Jesus at the house of a Pharisee (7:50 in 7:36-50)
• the woman who had suffered from a flow of blood for twelve years who touched the hem of Jesus' garment (8:48 in 8:42b-48)
• the blind beggar near Jericho who called out to Jesus despite being shushed (18:42 in 18:35-43)

In those three instances, there's a common thread of an active boldness, so one might suggest that that is what is what is being called out and praised.

The individual in this story, though, isn't any bolder than the other nine -- except in returning to Jesus.

The word "thanks" is euchariste -- as in, Eucharist. The commemoration of the "Last Supper" wasn't necessarily known by that name at the time that this story was written down, but those telling the story would hear that word every time they did so, every time they recalled that Jesus took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and shared it with those gathered.

At Bible study on Tuesday, someone suggested that the use of that word for "gave thanks" here suggested an outpouring (like the outpouring of the Cup and all that that symbolizes). In this context, perhaps, an idea of being so overcome by emotion, so in the moment, that you don't censor yourself -- that you're able to be fully present, fully experiencing and expressing, in the moment. I think "euchariste" is a fairly standard word for "thanks," but I'm intrigued by this interpretation.

Pastors Robb McCoy and Eric Fistler, in their worship notes for this Sunday, say:

More than just saying “thank you,” this is an outpouring of worship that shows us the Samaritan is the only one that gets the full benefit of Jesus’ healing. The others are healed, yes. This is the one that is redeemed.

“The passage confronts us with more than a push for common courtesy of saying our thank-yous. It gives us an outsider whose unrestrained and spontaneous appreciation dramatizes the essence of faith and who disrupts an otherwise easy perception that we know who the real insiders are.” (Charles Cousar, Texts for Preaching, Year C)

This idea of disrupting expected ideas of who is "inside," who is preferred, who is specially blessed, is something we'll return to.

First, I want to be clear that this thanksgiving, this gratitude, is not a condition of this salvation.

Brian P. Stoffregen's Exegetical Notes on this passage remind us:

In contrast to a common understanding that "If you just had enough faith, God would heal you," we have this story where faith is not mentioned before the healings, but comes afterwards. Did the other nine, who are not told, "Your faith has saved/healed you," suddenly have their leprosy return?

[...]

Green (The Gospel of Luke) writes about the declaration, "Your faith has saved you":

Here, something more than healing must be intended, since (1) the efficacy of faith is mentioned and (2) all ten lepers experienced cleansing. The Samaritan was not only cleansed, but on account of faith gained something more -- namely, insight into Jesus' role in the inbreaking kingdom. He is enabled to see and is thus enlightened, itself a metaphor for redemption. [p. 627]

[...]

I think that our text relates the typical pattern of God's activities throughout scriptures -- namely, God acts first. Then our proper response to God's actions is praise and thanksgiving -- to see God's hand in what has happened.

God did not tell the Israelites in Egypt, "If you only had enough faith, I would lead you to the promised land." God led them out of slavery to Canaan.

God did not tell us, "If you only had enough faith, I would send Jesus to suffer and die for your sins." It was because we had no faith that he sent us Jesus. As Paul writes in Romans 5:8: "God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us."

God doesn't wait for us to have enough faith. God acts first. God's actions are to lead to a faithful response.

Stoffregen notes that the literal meaning of "orthodoxy" is "correct praise" (the "doxology" in a worship service is a hymn of praise), and I wonder about the idea of directing our praise correctly. Not that we need to thank God instead of the medical professionals for healing, but I know I for one have a tendency to overstate the degree to which I'm responsible for my own good fortune.

Certainly those of us in positions of privilege often fail to acknowledge the many ways in which we've been handed good fortune through no effort or "merit" of our own.

Stoffregen says:

A friend of mine, after returning from a trip to Africa, said that he had become much more thankful for many things we often take for granted in America: flush toilets, running water, drinkable water, gasoline stations, paved roads. Should we thank God that we have such good things in our lives?

The rest of the world may be like the nine lepers. They have been graced by God in many ways, but they don't recognize the source of such blessings. They don't offer the proper thanks and praise through Jesus.

My family did two month-long camping trips when I was an adolescent, and I still remember how emphatically grateful I was for running water, a bed with a mattress, a bedroom door of my own to shut, etc., when we got home.

What most brought home for me how gratitude can be a blessing on top of an already positive situation was David Lose on Working Preacher saying:

Have you ever noticed just how powerful it is not only to receive blessing but also to name it and give thanks for it? Maybe you’re at dinner with family or friends, and it’s one of those meals, prepared with love and served and eaten deliberately, where time just stops for a little while and you’re all caught up and bound together by this nearly unfathomable sense of community and joy. And then you lean over to another, or maybe raise your glass in a toast, and say, “This is great. This time, this meal, you all. Thank you.” And in seeing and giving thanks, the original blessing is somehow multiplied. You’ve been blessed a second time.

Meda Stamper on Working Preacher writes:

The Samaritan’s thanksgiving and prostration at Jesus’ feet; his recognition that God is at work when Jesus notices and heals hurts and brokenness that are not noticed by others; his understanding that to thank Jesus is to glorify God: this is the manifestation of faith that makes well, as the NRSV puts it here. And this seems to come easiest to the people who have received most from Jesus, the ones who are otherwise ignored, scorned, untouched. As Jesus observes in the case of the anointing woman (7:47), the one who has been given much also loves greatly. Love that springs from gratitude is the essence of faith.

[...]

There is no doubt something to be understood here about the people who live on the margins of our communities, who are treated as invisible or unlovely because of how they look or who they are or where they come from. Jesus clearly notices and loves them and calls us to do the same.

But we might also consider the parts of us that are hidden in the borderlands of ourselves where we may least want to be seen and most need to be touched. Jesus, who is not afraid of borderlands, does not mind meeting us in those places, and it may be that by recognizing him there, we will find in our deepest selves a new outpouring of the grateful love that makes well.

I want to call out that last bit: the parts of us that are hidden in the borderlands of ourselves where we may least want to be seen and most need to be touched.

We talk a lot in this congregation about extending our ministry outside the walls of this church -- partnering with other organizations. But what about ministry within this community? On Sunday, Molly talked about turning church-friends into friend-friends. Are there ways that we can make ourselves vulnerable, to cry out to those around us, "Have mercy!"? Are there ways we can make this space feel like a safe one for people to reveal those leper piece of themselves? (Not that we don't do that already, but are there ways we can continue that work?)

Mark Davis (whose blog I really appreciate for digging into language/translation) says, "Showing oneself to the priest was an essential step in being welcomed/permitted back into the community by being declared no longer unclean. Perhaps within the language of this pericope, the priestly declaration is where the 'cure' (ἰάομαι) takes place."

While commentaries concur about the role of the priest, I'm uncomfortable with the implication that they all showed themselves to the priests and got their "clean of leprosy" certification -- because I think the point brought up by many commentaries that the Samaritan would not necessarily have been received by the Temple authorities is an important one.

Stoffregen also notes:

Another addition to this image is the fact that Jesus calls the Samaritan a foreigner (allogenes) in v. 18. Although this is the only occurrence in the NT of this Greek word, it was used in an inscription in the temple in Jerusalem: "no foreigner is to enter." The same word was used in the Septuagint in laws that forbade outsiders from coming near the tabernacle -- with a penalty of death for those who did (Numbers 1:51; 3:10, 38; 16:40; 18:4, 7; Ezekiel 44:7, 9). However, Isaiah welcomes foreigners (53:3, 6). This man who would not have been allowed in the inner areas of the Jerusalem Temple, is welcomed to worship at Jesus' feet.

I am really uncomfortable with basically any commentary that criticizes the institutional Judaism of Jesus' time because it's so easy to slide from there to asserting that Jesus (and the institution that grew up around Jesus) is better than all Judaism -- but it's true that there were deep divides between Jews and Samaritans, and Jesus works to bring about Isaiah's vision of welcoming the Gentiles into the kindom of God.

Luke tells us that Jesus saw the lepers. Unlike in some of the healing stories, Jesus doesn't physically touch them at all to heal them. This is healing at a distance -- both physically and temporally; the people aren't healed until they're on their way to the priests.

I wonder if they went to the priests because they had faith that something good would happen, or if they were just sort of going through the motions, thinking, "Well that Jesus sure wasn't all he was cracked up to be -- maybe we'll find somewhere else to beg along the way."

I'm hard-pressed to come up with a contemporary equivalent to leprosy -- yes, it still exists, but in our First World lives it's rather distant.

And then I read something Barbara Sholis wrote in The Christian Century almost a decade ago:

When chemotherapy causes your hair to fall out, robs you of your energy and fills your mouth with canker sores, you begin to develop empathy with the ten lepers. There is no hiding the fact that you are diseased. Your cancer walks into the room before you do and people who know better still flinch -- as they did before lepers, who were made to live outside the community, who had to beg for survival.

Many of us remember when Molly was going through chemotherapy treatment for her cancer. Often, we couldn't touch her lest we risk her health.

A friend of mine has chronic pain, and when I worshiped with her, I (and the rest of the small community) learned to hug her very gently during the Passing of the Peace. There are those who due to past trauma or other reasons do not want a full-contact Passing of the Peace and may not want physical touch (even a gentle handshake) at all.

I wonder if there's a way in which Jesus not touching the lepers was a gift to them.

This certainly seems a kinder reading than one comment I read while prepping for Bible study -- "Perhaps, he just doesn’t have time for this kind of distraction. Jesus is on a purposeful journey – Luke’s story. His ability to heal is no longer a question in most people’s minds. His objective, Jerusalem and the cross, are very close."

I'm sure that my theology of the import or purpose of the Cross differs greatly from that of this commentor, but I don't think I'm unorthodox in insisting that Jesus cared about individuals, had a particular mission to those on the margins. Earlier in Luke, Jesus asserted that God knows the very hairs on our head (Luke 12:7; also Matthew 10:30). And even earlier in Luke (4:18), Jesus proclaims that Isaiah's prophecy has been fulfilled in Jesus:

The Spirit of our God is upon me,
    because God has anointed me
      to bring good news to the poor.
God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
    and recovery of sight to the blind,
      to let the oppressed go free

GoodPreacher.com posted an excerpt of a piece by Prince Raney Rivers (or possibly David Howell -- I'm a little confused) that says:

The Gospel is for those who are crying out.

[...]

Jesus sees the lepers and tells them, "Go show yourselves to the priests." As they go, they are cleansed. Whenever Jesus sees someone, everything changes. When Jesus sees a person, they move to the center stage of God’s redemptive drama. When Jesus sees a person, she or he becomes the primary beneficiary of the Father’s love. We are never so isolated that God cannot see us. We are never so hopeless that God does not want to see us. You may want to remind people of this good news.

We are never so isolated that God cannot see us. We are never so hopeless that God does not want to see us.

Picking up on the movement of those cleansed to the priests for certification (so they can begin their reintegration into society), Nancy Rockwell says:

But joy will always elude them, for they only believe their healing when others believe it, they seek its confirmation from others, and so they will be forever subject to the joy-snatching comments Anne Lamott calls ‘drive-by shootings of the mouth’: Hey, aren’t you the guy who had leprosy?

They’ll be held at arms’ length by some, maybe even by some in the family. Recovering alcoholics, clean addicts, ex-cons, the disabled, all know about this kind of life. You can go home, but belonging at home is something else, when in someone else’s opinion you are still unclean, still unacceptable. And that seems to be where Jesus brought wellness in. Giving thanks is the beginning, because thanks is an act of accepting yourself as the be-gifted, the be-loved.

[...]

The one healed leper who could never belong in Israel because of being foreign, knew this. He understood that his home was now with the man who understood his misery in grace, who heard his prayer. The unkindness of the world cannot touch him, for he is not seeking a return to life before leprosy. He is walking forward into the unknown world of wellness, where what is foreign is no longer of importance, nor is what has been unclean, nor are there distinctions between the spirits of the living and the dead.

Are there ways that we have found healing from God?

What new life is God calling you into?

One piece of the story I really hadn't noticed until some of the commentaries noted it was that Jesus doesn't just say, "your faith has saved you," but also says, "Stand up, and go your way."

Alyce M. McKenzie on Patheos comments that:

[Jesus] is not interested in having people hang around and thank him. Often, when he heals people, he doesn't say "Stick around and thank me." He says, "Go your way, your faith has made you well." I am reminded of the college president faced with a large graduating class. As each person came across the stage, he handed them their diploma, while shaking their hand and said, "Congratulations ...and keep moving." It was a stage direction to keep the ceremony moving, but it was also good life advice. Jesus says to those he heals, "Congratulations and keep moving. Don't stick around thanking me."

Robert Cornwall says:

One of the ten, a Samaritan, upon recognizing that he is now clean, doesn’t continue on his way to the priests. He returns to Jesus, prostrates himself before Jesus and praises God with a loud voice. Jesus points to this act of faith and commends the man, for alone among the ten he had recognized the source of his healing. But, I wonder if there’s not another reason. This Samaritan could have gone to the priests, but would they have received him – for he was a stranger. Perhaps the Samaritan recognized in Jesus a person who would welcome him though he was a Samaritan. This isn’t to condemn the Jewish people or its priests, but simply to point out that being the stranger can be difficult. Recognizing the source of his healing to be found in Jesus, he returned to that source, and offered words of praise.

Jesus commends the man, and points out that it is a foreigner who recognizes the work of God in Jesus. Luke tells this story in part to draw contrasts between those who should have been at the forefront of recognizing presence in Jesus, and those who actually did. Whether they recognized it or not all had been liberated from the borders that had kept them separated – whether by disease of ethnicity – from the whole people of God. De La Torre writes that the Samaritan is the one who truly recognized his liberation – liberation from marginalization.

He was no longer forced to live in the borderlands. In this passage we discover a Jesus who saves all living on the borders between what is defined as clean and unclean, between native and foreign. [Preaching God’s Transforming Justice, p. 424].

As I read this passage I hear in it not just the story of healing a body. I hear in it an invitation to allow Jesus to transcend our borders, to liberate us from our cells, so that we can enjoy the fullness of God’s realm. For many of us, it’s difficult to imagine this border situation, but in what way does Jesus liberate all of us from living beyond the borders of separation? How might we participate in God’s work of healing rifts within the world community? What does Jesus have to say to us about this matter?

These seem as good questions as any with which to close:

• in what way does Jesus liberate all of us from living beyond the borders of separation?
• How might we participate in God’s work of healing rifts within the world community?

On Sunday, Molly inaugurated A Year of Radical Curiosity (and Gratitude), largely in response to the fact that First Church Somerville is growing and it can be difficult to retain some of what we really valued about being a small(er) more intimate community in that growth. When there were fewer people, everyone did all the work and everyone knew each other -- because we didn't have a choice. Perhaps not unlike the ten lepers, who banded together because they had no choice. And perhaps those lepers sometimes felt lonely even in that constant group of people. Can we find ways to grow more deeply in relationship with each other, to lay open our vulnerabilities and make space for healing, to ask for aid from those around us, to become radically curious about the particular situations of those around us?

(As always, you're invited to comment anonymously/pseudonymously if you prefer.)