Twenty Eighth Ordinary

The Introduction 

Luke loves this kind of story. Jesus straddles the border between Samaria and Galilee when he heals some folks. This means we don’t know how many in this leper band were Jews, how many were foreigners. But we do know only one Samaritan shows gratitude. Luke celebrates the unlikely hero: foreigners, sinners, women, the poor. A Samaritan leper inhabited the near bottom of the social barrel to the crowds around Jesus. (The only person lower would have been a poor Samaritan female leper!)

It’s intriguing to note these ten travelled together as lepers: the distance between Jew and Samaritan dissolved by their common affliction. Once healed, would these ten even speak to each other on the street across the chasm of ethnic identity? That’s why Jesus commends the faith – the faith – of the Samaritan. Because faith in Jesus’ eyes isn’t about group identity or religious systems. It’s about knowing divine grace when you receive it. The Samaritan, who will be despised by all tomorrow, walks away free with salvation in his pocket. The other

nine, cleansed of leprosy, will still wear their chains.

How many people do you recognise outside of your religious systems who obviously enjoy a state of grace?

Many of us are still burdened by chains of fear, unforgiveness, indecision, or bitterness. Pray for the release of these chains that bind your heart or the heart of someone close to you.

The Scripture (Luke 17:17-19)

Jesus said, “Were not ten healed? Where are the nine? Can none be found to come back and give glory to God except this outsider?” Then he said to him, “Get up. On your way. Your faith has healed and saved you”.

The Story  – I’ve Been Healed

We’re always aware of our pain … we’re not always aware of our healing. A child will run to a parent and point to the ‘boo boo’ where she scraped her knee but soon be off to play, the pain forgotten. Adults, too, can be absorbed in the pain of the moment but forget all about it when the pain passes. Which is why, perhaps, the line from this week’s gospel is not as odd as it seems. ‘One of the 10 lepers who had been cleansed realizing he had been healed, returned …’

Upon first reading I wondered how the others didn’t realise they were healed. Perhaps it’s because we get so comfortable with our woes that they can become a part of our identity, our sense of self. “I’ve got a bad knee,” I would often say. Then one day my wife noticed, “Your leg hasn’t been hurting you for some time now, has it?” I remember when it used to hurt, but I can’t remember when it stopped.

Those who have the habit of praying throughout the day, as well as those who pray in times of distress, may be so focused on praying about the next worry or difficulty they may not be aware that yesterday’s prayers have been answered. The gospel is about gratitude. Why not stop today and try to remember what you were praying about yesterday? You might have some thanking to do.

The Connection

We teach children the magic words as soon as they learn to speak. Mine often had trouble knowing when to use which. I would prompt, “What do you say?” and they’d answer, “Please and thank you,” just to cover all the bases. In our prayers, we usually have a good handle on “please”. “Please get me a ________________”. “Please don’t let ___________________ happen”. We learn from an early age how to ask for what we need.

The gratitude part, though, often comes out like Bart Simpson saying grace: “Dear Lord, we paid for all this stuff ourselves, so thanks for nothing”. When we don’t know how to make something happen, we call on God. Once it happens, score one for the home team – somehow, we must have figured it out. In this week’s Gospel, Jesus reminds us that all our good comes from God, and that “thank you” is always an appropriate response.

The Commissioning

You come to us in a healing moment, O God.
You give us hope, when the darkness seems overwhelming.
You give us courage, when we want to run and hide.
You give us the will to break out, when we feel in a rut.
You give us the warmth of friendship, when our aloneness chills us.
You go with us now, our companion and our guide.
Amen.

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