October 14, 2007 - Pentecost 20, Year C
Saint James Episcopal Church, Saint James, NY

It was like any town or village. Arrive from the wrong direction,
and instead of tree lined boulevards and signposts welcoming you,
you see dilapidated homes and run down strip malls,
and if you stop long enough for anyone to notice that your car isn’t pockmarked with rust or that your clothes fit well enough that they must have come to you new rather than from the thrift store,
if you stop that long,
someone is likely to come and ask you
for a few dollars for some food
or train fare
or whatever else they need.
Most of us try to avoid stopping;
but it’s much harder if you’re on foot;
you can miss the worst parts of New York
if you stay on I-95,
but if you arrive there via the Port Authority Bus Station
you’ll likely have to pass a couple of people begging
before you even make it onto the street.

It was no different in biblical times. At the back entry to every village
were the poor and dispossessed,
those people
who for one reason or another
didn’t fit in to regular society, most often because of one illness or another.
They stayed in the shadows,
emerging only to ask for help
from any travelers
who happened to pass that way.
And so it wasn’t anything unusual
when Jesus and his disciples came along
for for them to see a group of lepers hunched over in the narrow shade of a shack,
scarred faces part hidden
by the makeshift hoods draped over their heads, hands twisted and scarred.
They kept their distance;
no matter how much they craved human contact, they knew that if they endangered anyone
they would be run out of town,
and there would be no shelter for them;
and in any case, they had no wish to inflict their suffering
on anyone else.
But their only livelihood
was the charity of strangers,
and so as they saw Jesus coming, they called out
“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”
Perhaps they had heard stories of his healing
and wondered if he could help them;
perhaps it was just their usual call,
a desperate cry
for a few coins
to pay for food
for another day.

Either way, they called out to Jesus,
and he heard them.
Heard them
and instead of tossing them a few coins
told them to go show themselves to the priest.
Their hearts leapt for a moment; the only reason they could enter the village, the only reason, they’d be welcome by the priests, would be if the leprosy were gone.
But their hands and feet
looked as scarred and twisted as ever;
this was one of those times
when it took
enormous trust
to do as Jesus said,
because nothing had happened.
But they risked it, and shuffled their way down the street,
and as they went, they felt their legs strengthen
and saw their skin clear
and by the time they got to the priests
apart from the dusty rages they wore,
there was nothing to show
they had ever had leprosy
nothing to show the priests
except strong, healthy, unblemished bodies.
It was more than they had ever imagined,
a resurrection
of sorts.
And as soon as the priests
acknowledged them clean
they were free,
free to return to the families
who had given them up
as dead,
free to kiss their wives
and hug their children
and invite their old friends
for a great celebration.
They couldn’t think of anything else; even the memory of the traveller who had answered their plea
was pushed aside in their joy.
All except for one man.
As soon as he saw
his skin begin to clear
he turned back. The priests could wait a few more minutes. But Jesus, the traveller, he might be gone, onto the next village in his journey.
Jesus was still
making his way through the village,
and the leper found him,
fell at his feet
and thanked him.
and Jesus blessed him. “Get up. Go on your way. And be whole.”

It’s a wonderful story,
and one that reminds us
of how important it is
to give thanks.
To other people
and to God.
But there’s more.

As I read this story
what struck me
was not so much
what the lepers did
as what Jesus did.
Because in each part of the story
Jesus did more
than anyone asked him.
When the lepers first called out,
they simply asked for mercy.
What Jesus gave them
was healing.
They were made clean. All traces of their disease
were removed.

And then that one leper came back.
He came back to thank Jesus, not asking, not expecting any more.
And Jesus blessed him.
And how much Jesus blessed him
is something that we kind of miss
in our English translation.
Because all through the story, it talks about the lepers
being cleansed.
But here, this last time, when Jesus says
“your faith has made you well,”
he’s not just talking about cleansing
any more.
Instead, he uses a word
that has a double meaning.
It’s a word that means to heal.
But it’s a word that also means
to save.
“Your faith has saved you.”
That leper, that leper didn’t just receive healing of his body. e received
healing of his soul.

It’s like those other times
when people come to Jesus to ask for healing,
people who are paralyzed or lame,
they come to ask for healing
and what Jesus does
is forgives their sins.
He heals their bodies,
but he goes further; he heals
their souls.

Not because they ask for it,
not because they have any expectation of it, not because they have any right to it.
But because he can. Because he wants to.
Jesus wants to bring healing
not just to bodies
but to souls.
That leper came back,
not asking, not expecting
anything.
He came back simply to give thanks.
And Jesus blessed him, blessed him beyond anything he could have imagined.
He healed his body,
and he healed his soul.
He made him whole.

And God still stands ready for us,
ready to hear our prayer, the things we call out
as we see him pass,
“God, have mercy on us!”
God is ready to hear our calls,
and to answer our prayer.
but not always in exactly
the ways we expect.
God stands ready to hear us,
hear us when we turn back to say,
“Thank you.”
And God stands ready for us,
ready to bless us,
to make us whole
in ways we can barely imagine.
God stands ready.

Thanks be to God.

.

©Raewynne J.Whiteley, 2007