Luke 17:11-19
In 2007 a journalist named A.J. Jacobs published a book called The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. The author grew up in what he describes as a secular home, not a religious one—a Jew by birth but an agnostic by belief. He says, “I’m officially Jewish but I’m Jewish in the same way the Olive Garden is an Italian restaurant.”[1] He said he “wanted to explore Biblical literalism for two reasons: one, to understand a worldview shared by millions of Americans, and two, to live religion rather than study it in hopes of discovering if he was missing out on spiritual life.”[2]
During this time he also immersed himself with various groups of people who try to follow the Bible literally, although in very different ways. He spent time with creationists, snake handlers, the Amish, and Hasidic Jews. As he tried to follow the rules of the Bible, some proved more difficult than others, particularly the ones he said “we commit every day, all the time, like lying, gossiping, coveting, even stealing. I work in the media, and I live in New York, so that’s like 90 percent of my day right there! Trying not to covet was a huge challenge. I coveted everything, you know, the iPhone. I do covet that. And my friends live in the suburbs and they have these front yards and I live in an apartment. I covet other authors’ Amazon rankings. So, it’s a disease, and I tried to get rid of it as much as I could.”[3]
Jacobs also embarked on a ritual of daily prayer, which he admitted felt awkward at first, but he grew to appreciate it. “It’s sort of like moral weight training,” he said. “You’re forced to think about other people. And it trains your mind to be less selfish and to be more thoughtful, so in that sense I got really into it. I became an extreme thanker. I was thanking the elevator for coming on time.”[4]
I love that. He wasn’t asking God to intervene on his behalf. He was just thankful when the elevator came. And it was prayer that made him thankful.
I don’t know what it was that made the one leper in our story experience that kind of gratitude. All ten of the lepers were healed, but only one came back to say thank you.
It’s probably good to pause for a moment and remember that leprosy in the Bible was not the same thing that we call leprosy today, which is Hansen’s disease. Leprosy is now curable because it responds easily to antibiotics. But in the ancient world, they didn’t know about bacteria and antibiotics. And they didn’t know what caused some skin conditions to get worse and some to go away, what made some spread to other people and others never change. “What they knew was this: Sometimes what starts out as a simple rash on the skin, can lead to some very bad things, and what starts with one person can end up affecting many more. So what did they do with that knowledge? They kept those ‘lepers’ away is what they did. They separated them from other people, and didn’t let them live with anyone or eat with anyone, or even talk with anyone, except for other lepers. A scaly patch on the back of your hand; a sudden discoloration on the end of your nose, could cost you your job. It could cost you your family and friends. A little shiny white spot on the thick of your thumb, and life as you know it is gone. Unclean — outcast — off you go, with the other ‘lepers.’
There were rules to make that happen, laws about how far away lepers had to stand from other people, about how they had to wear worn-out clothes and warn people in a loud voice whenever they were walking down the street.”[5] “Unclean!” they would call out. How would you like to have to declare your exclusion with every step? to announce your disease with every breath? to further your own loneliness by warning people to stay away? to announce the worst thing that’s ever happened to you? It would be like walking through life shouting, for all to hear: “Stay back! I have cancer!” or constantly having to declare one’s self “Widow!” or “Victim!” or “Addict!”
What a horrible way to live. It’s no wonder they cried out, “Jesus! Have mercy on us!” They needed some mercy. They needed anything he could give them. And he gave them everything.
The Bible says, When he saw them, he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priest.” That’s what lepers would have to do to be declared clean. They had to go to the priest to be examined, and if the priest saw no signs of the disease, they could be admitted back into society. It all hinged upon the priest. So Jesus told them, without yet healing them, “Go and show yourselves to the priest.” And they all turned to do it. Without being healed. Without any proof. Without any assurance that their prayers were being answered. Jesus said, “Go show yourselves to the priest” and they turned and began the journey in faith. It happened after they did what they were told. As they went, they were made clean. So these ten lepers did what Jesus told them to do, and they were healed.
Imagine you are them. So far following Jesus’ instructions has turned out pretty fabulous. Wouldn’t you continue to follow his instructions all the way? to the letter of the law? Of course you would! So you shouldn’t be blamed for not returning to thank Jesus. You could thank him another day. Today you just had to obey him. Something bad might happen if you didn’t. After all, anyone with the power to take away leprosy surely must also have the power to give it back if you didn’t do what they said.
So let’s not point fingers at the nine and declare them horrible ingrates. Instead let’s look at the one who returned and ask, “What made him different?”
First, he was a Samaritan. Even before his disease, he had been shunned by Jewish people. He had already been considered “unclean” to the priests. So he was, in the words of preacher Barbara Brown Taylor, a double loser.[6] She says, “[Nine] behaved like good lepers, good Jews; only one, a double loser, behaved like a man in love.”[7] What made him behave in such a way? What made him throw himself at Jesus’ feet? What made him disobey the instructions that had already led to his cure? What made him “fall in love”? Was it his experience as an outsider that opened his soul to the miracle worker and not just the miracle? Was it his experience as “ a double loser” that taught him to disobey the rules when the rules stood in the way of gratitude? Was there something in his faith, his belief system, that taught him to recognize the surprise of grace? I wish I knew. I wish I knew how it was done. I wish I knew how he fell in love with Jesus. I wish I knew because then maybe I could make it happen here, now. I wish I knew what it takes to help you open your soul to the one who makes us well and whole. I wish I knew how to help you be the one who dances with joy, the one who throws himself at the feet of Jesus, the one so filled with gratitude that she rejects all the rules. I wish I knew, for your sake, how to fall in love with Christ. I wish I knew, for my sake.
But I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong—I love God, and I love Jesus . . . in that non-emotional way that we moderate and progressive Christians possess, that reserved way that is totally comfortable to New Englanders. But to be in love? I am not sure I know how to do that. Every once in a while I get a glimpse of how that feels . . . when I’m watching the sun set over the lake or the waves crash on the shore, when I feel a child’s arms around my neck when I serve you communion or stand in this pulpit declaring the grace and love of God. In those moments I feel so full of gratitude that I get glimpses of being in love. But I don’t know how to sustain it. And I’m not even sure that I want to because being in love makes you so vulnerable.
I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. The preacher I quoted earlier has this to say about being in love with Christ: “I know how to be obedient but I do not know how to be in love. It does not seem to be an ability I can command, like reflective listening or public speaking. And so I do what I know how to do, and I do it as well as I know how. I read my Bible, say my prayers, pay my pledge. And there is nothing wrong with that, nothing at all. It is that kind of steady, law-abiding discipleship—the discipleship of the nine lepers— that has kept the great ship of the church afloat for thousands of years.
I am one of the nine, but it is the tenth leper who interests me— the outsider, the double loser, who captures my imagination— the one whose disease I fear, whose passion confounds me, whom I may not see at all because he does not need a priest to certify his cure. ‘Where are the nine’ Jesus asks, but I know where they are. ‘Where is the tenth leper?’ That is what I want to know. Where is the one who followed his heart instead of his instructions, who accepted his life as a gift and gave it back again, whose thanksgiving rose up from somewhere so deep inside him that it turned him around, changed his direction, led him to Jesus, made him well? Where are the nine?? Where is the tenth?! Where is the disorderly one who failed to go along with the crowd, the impulsive one who fell on his face in the dirt, the fanatical one who loved God so much that obedience was beside the point? Where did that one go? Not that I am likely to go after him. It is safer here with the nine—we know the rules and who does what. We are the ones upon whom the institution depends. But the missing one, the one who turned back, or was turned away, or turned against—where did he go? Who is he, and whom is he with, and what does he know that we do not know? Where are the nine? We are here, right here. But where, for the love of God, is the tenth?”[8]
Tradition tells us that on Thursday, we are supposed to stop and count our blessings. We will pause before our meal—whether surrounded by family or at a table alone—and we will express our gratitude. But this year, let it be more than a list. Let it be more than family and friends, health and home. This year, break the rules. Be the tenth leper. Be the one who falls at the feet of Jesus. Be the one who doesn’t care if others stare. Be the one who is so in love with the giver that the gift becomes secondary. Be the one in ten. Be the tenth.
[1] http://ajjacobs.com/books/the-year-of-living-biblically/
[2] Crabtree, Shona. “Man Takes the Bible Literally for a Year.” Beliefnet.com. October 9, 2007.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Bryte, Scott. “Can’t Stay Away.” Sermons on the Gospel Readings, Series III, Cycle C.
[6] Taylor, Barbara Brown. “The Tenth Leper” in The Preaching Life. Boston: Cowley Publications, 1993, p. 110.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Ibid., p. 112.