PROPER 23-C -- October 10, 2004

That is a very interesting story, is it not? It is about one grateful hero and nine seemingly selfish ingrates who do not even have the common courtesy to return and give thanks for what has just happened to them. All ten lepers have been outcasts from society because leprosy was such a feared and dreaded disease. Now, because of their cleansing by Jesus, they are free to back home and lead a normal life. But our hero is hit with a double whammy. Even though he is now cleansed, he is still an outcast because he is a hated Samaritan. No wonder Jesus praises him so.

We should, too. This morning, however, I would like to think a little with you about the other nine, the ungrateful nine who did not turn back and thank Jesus. Why didn’t they? Were they truly that callous? Martin Bell, an Episcopal priest, in his marvelous book The Way of the Wolf, speculates as to why these nine lepers did not return to give thanks to Jesus for curing them of their leprosy.

The first leper, we'll call him Sam, Martin Bell thinks, did not return simply because he was frightened. Nothing like this had ever happened to Sam before; he really did not understand what happened. And he was scared. So Sam simply ran away and hid.

Mark, the second leper was offended because he was not required to do something difficult before he was cured. It was all too easy. Mark somehow believed that he was responsible for his leprosy, perhaps because of some sin. Before he could be forgiven, he believed he had to do the required penance. But nothing was required. In Mark's mind he had not earned any reward. So Jesus offended Mark's sense of justice; thus, no thanks.

The third leper, named Luke, was born a leper. Luke realized too late that he really did not want to be cured. He had fervently prayed for years that some how in some way he might be healed, but he never realized that his whole identity was wrapped up in his disease. To his family and friends he was always "Luke the Leper." No longer. He suddenly realized just how much he needed his leprosy to define who he was to society and even to himself. Sounds crazy, I know. But it's true.

The fourth leper, Matthew, simply forgot. In his delirium, in his joy, he forgot. That's all. Matthew was so happy he no longer was an outcast of society that he forgot to say thanks to the one who made him whole for the first time in his life. Hard to believe, but it's true.

The fifth leper, Simon, was simply unable to say "thank you" any more to anybody. It's easy to understand. Something happens to a person who must beg and who is shunned by everyone, even his family. His tin cup is always out. People throw in pennies and he is supposed to be eternally grateful. But now Simon is beyond that. His heart is hardened. Simon doesn't say thank you to anyone any more, not even to Jesus.

Sarah is the sixth leper, the only woman in the group. Sarah has had leprosy for eleven years. For eleven years she has not hugged or kissed her children. She sees them on occasion when they come to the outskirts of the town to visit with her. The only thing on Sarah's mind now that she has been cured is to get home as fast as her two legs can carry her. Sarah did not even think about returning to say thank you to Jesus. There were more important things to do.

Bartholomew, the seventh leper, was the resident intellectual in the group of ten. Faith questions, God questions were interesting to discuss. But Bartholomew knew that there is always a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything. He neither believed in magic nor miracles. He did not return to give thanks because Jesus had nothing to do with his healing. He couldn't understand how he was healed or even why, but he was certain it had nothing to do with Jesus.

The eighth leper, Paul, not only believed that Jesus had cured him, he also believed that Jesus was the Messiah and that the Kingdom of God had arrived. He would be wasting his time to go back and give thanks to the Messiah. What he had to do was go out and tell everybody about Jesus. That's what he did and that's why he did not return to give thanks.

We can understand, you and I, I think, why all these lepers did not return. We may not always agree with their reasons, and their reasons may not be totally justified; but we can understand. Sometimes you and I are each of those lepers. Each is part of us sometimes. Jesus scares us sometimes. "Ask and you shall receive," Jesus says. And when we do ask and do receive, we stand back in awe and fear. We are so astounded by our blessings that words of thanks can't even be forced from our lips. We are thankful; but we are scared to death as well. Such is the power of Jesus.

Then there are those times when all we can do is be like Paul and tell everyone about how blessed we have been -- we tell everyone but the one we should tell, God. And sometimes we are like Sarah who has unfinished business at home. There's probably a little of Mark in us, Mark who believes that the bad that happens is because of personal sin and who needs to do penance for real or perceived sins before being blessed.

And there is also a little of Luke the Leper in us. We make excuses why we cannot do something. When the excuses are removed or are proved to be false, we have no more excuse. We love those excuses; we love to make those excuses for those times when we would rather not get involved. Luke lives in you and in me sometimes. And sometimes, like Bartholomew, we don't want to believe in miracles. There is a logical explanation, we say. Keep faith out of it, we say. But we can't.

And then there is Simon, who has been beaten up by society, beaten up by life. We may not be there now, but we probably have been; and we know many who have been and who are. We may not be able to relate to Simon now, but we understand.

We can all relate to the tenth leper, the one who returned to give thanks. Sometimes when really good things happen to us, our first thoughts, our first words, are thanks to God for so blessing us. Not all of the time are we so grateful, as Luke and Mark and Simon remind us, but most of the time we are.

Finally, there is the ninth leper. The ninth leper has no name other than your name and my name. We, you and I are that ninth leper. The ninth leper is simply a reminder that we all have leprosy. We are all outcasts. We are all different. And it is because of those differences that others view us as lepers and outcasts, outsiders even. The only place where those ten lepers found a home, the only place where they were welcomed, was in the society of their fellow lepers. That became their church. They were outcasts as far as the rest of society was concerned, because of their leprosy, because they were different.

But differences are not supposed to make a difference, not in a Christian community anyway, not in a church. Jesus came to take away those differences, to remind us that we are all one, all children of God. The color of our skin or even the condition of our skin; the amount of money we have or do not have; where we were born or work or live or play; where we pray or even how we pray; our ethnic background; all those differences make no difference. We are all outcasts somehow in some way to someone else. Yet we are to be one in Jesus Christ.

We are all lepers, you and I. We are reminded of all that this morning as we welcome Tait Heppler into this church family of ours. Someone once called the church not a hotel for saints but a hospital for sinners, and that is what we are: outcasts and sinners, but healed and forgiven, each different but all one in Jesus Christ.

As long as we allow our differences to separate us, as long as we view those different from us as lepers, as long as we refuse to look into the mirror and discover our own leprosy, we will be like the last leper, perhaps cured but never really healed, never really whole. There is a difference between being cured and being healed. It is only when we understand and internalize that difference that we can not only say thank you but live that thank you as well.