Proper 23 – 10-13–2019 – St. Paul’s
Where Are The Nine? By Martin Bell
How about a word or two on behalf of the nine lepers who did not return to give thanks? The gospel reads something like this: there were ten lepers cleansed and one of them – just one of them – when he saw that he was healed, turned back and in a loud voice glorified God and fell down on his face at Jesus’ feet, giving him thanks.
And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed? But where are the nine?
Ten lepers were cleansed and one of them returned to give thanks. That must be a nice thing to be able to do.
What about the others? It’s simple, really. One of them was frightened – that’s all. He didn’t understand what had happened, and it frightened him. So he looked for some place to hide. Jesus scared him.
A second was offended because he had not been required to do something difficult before he could be healed. It was all too easy. He had expected months, maybe years, of fasting and prayer and washing and righteous living to be the requirement. But he had done none of this. He had not earned his reward. His motto was you get what you pay for. And so Jesus offended him.
The third had realized too late that he had not really wanted to be cleansed. That he did not know what to do or how to live or even who he was without his leprosy. Although it had been his fervent plea to be healed, he now began to see how much he had needed his leprosy and consequently how necessary it had been in defining him as a person. Jesus had taken away his identity.
It is difficult to explain the reason why the fourth leper did not return to give thanks. Perhaps because it is such a simple reason – and perhaps because we very nearly tread on holy ground even to talk about it. In a word, the fourth leper did not return because in his delirium of joy, he forgot. He forgot. That’s all. He was so happy that he forgot.
The fifth leper was unable to say thank you any more to anybody. There is something that happens to a man who must beg and who is shunned by his fellows, and who is grudgingly thrown a few coins and who is always – in the midst of such an existence and in the face of such treatment (perhaps even because of such treatment, for instance, the few coins) – expected to say thank you. He just doesn’t say thank you any more to anybody – not even to Jesus.
The sixth leper was a woman – a mother who had been separated from her family for eleven years because of the leprosy. She was now free to rejoin her husband and children. She did not return to give thanks because she was hurrying home. Like a wild animal released from captivity, she had been freed by Jesus. And like the animal, she simply went straight home.
The seventh just didn’t believe, that Jesus had anything to do with the cleansing. He knew that healing had taken place, but why and how were the questions. Certainly he did not believe in hocus pocus, magic, miracles – any of that. There was a perfectly intelligible explanation of what had happened, but it didn’t have anything to do with Jesus. He didn’t return to give thanks because Jesus had had nothing to do with the healing event.
The eighth leper did not return precisely because he did believe that Jesus had healed him – that the Kingdom of God was here and the Messiah had arrived. To return to give thanks when the Kingdom of God was so close at hand – unheard of! And so he ran to publish the news.
What shall I say about the ninth leper? What was his experience? Why didn’t he return? I don’t know the answer to either of these questions. All I know is that he showed himself to the priest and immediately was cleansed. He then stood still for a moment and smiled. The priest reports that the ninth leper gave two utterances. First he said, So! And then, Ah, yes! Without another word he walked away. His eyes blazed fire but his shoulders sagged as if under a great burden. The air around him was silent. Then without warning he turned his head suddenly and fixed his eyes upon a rock by the side of the road. Hah! he screamed. And you can make of this what you will, but the priest says that the rock actually jumped a foot off the ground. The ninth leper then said, So! and Ah, yes! and disappeared from sight. It is impossible to say precisely why he did not return to give thanks.
Ten were cleansed and only one returned. It must be nice to be able to do that. What shall I say now – that the real point is not that one returned but that ten were cleansed? You already know that. That condemnation is easier than investigation – that if we take time to investigate the reasons why people act as they do, we would find that they have to act the way they do and that such action in the light of the circumstances is quite understandable and totally forgivable and even completely reasonable and just as it should be? You already know that.
What then shall I say? That it is good to give thanks? Yes. That it is understandable not to give thanks? Yes. That God does not heal people and then stand around just waiting for us to say thank you and then get angry and have his feelings hurt if we don’t? Yes, that’s true. Which is the same thing as saying – no, he certainly doesn’t.
But what of the nine? They are on the way home, hiding in fear, refusing to believe, offended at what they call cheap grace, so happy they forgot, lost without their leprosy, unable to say thank you ever again, publishing the news of the coming of the Kingdom – God, who knows where they are! The point is this: Jesus does. He knows where they are. First he says to the leper who did return, Arise, go thy way, and then he goes his own way – with a strange smile on his lips. But where are the nine? Don’t you see it in his eyes? He knows where they are. He knew all along. Without another word Jesus walks away. His eyes blaze fire but his shoulders sag as if under a great burden. The air around him is silent. Then without warning he turns his head suddenly and fixes his eyes upon a rock by the side of the road. Hah! he screams. And you can make out of this what you will, but they say the rock actually jumped a foot off the ground. Jesus then said, So! and Ah, yes! and disappeared from sight.
It is impossible to say precisely why Jesus did not return to give thanks. He probably went to the Sea of Galilee.
Sea Of Galilee
VERSE ONE
Am I a soldier of the cross, a follower of the lamb?
And shall I fear to own His cause, or I blush to speak His name?
CHORUS
On the sea (The sea, the sea) Of Galilee (Of Galilee)
My Jesus, He’s walking on the sea
On the sea (The sea, the sea) Of Galilee (Of Galilee)
My Jesus, He’s walking on the sea
VERSE TWO
Must I be carried to the skies on some flowery bed of ease?
While others fight to win the prize, and sail through bloody seas?
CHORUS
On the sea (The sea, the sea) Of Galilee (Of Galilee)
My Jesus, He’s walking on the sea
On the sea (The sea, the sea) Of Galilee (Of Galilee)
My Jesus, He’s walking on the sea
VERSE THREE
And there I shall bathe my soul in seas of heavenly rest
And nevermore a troubled thought shall cross my peaceful breast
CHORUS
On the sea (The sea, the sea) Of Galilee (Of Galilee)
My Jesus, He’s walking on the sea
On the sea (The sea, the sea) Of Galilee (Of Galilee)
My Jesus, He’s walking on the sea
My Jesus, He’s walking on the sea
A crisis is a terrible thing to waste…The economist Paul Romer made that observation in a meeting with venture capitalists in 2004. He was commenting on the challenge that rising education levels in other countries pose for the United States, but the sound bite resonated with so many people that today it’s become a meme of sorts. Some of our worst experiences provide fertile ground for our best opportunities.
In the epistle, Paul is in jail in Rome and God was fully present. The historian Garry Wills calls Paul a heroic traveler who logged more than ten thousand miles spreading the good news of God’s love for Jews and Gentiles alike. But in the epistle for this week, Paul isn’t going anywhere. He’s in jail.
Paul says that he’s chained like a criminal in a Roman prison. Remarkably, though, he’s not concerned about his confinement. He’s confident that the word of God is not imprisoned and has plenty of elbow room. In fact, a few days after his conversion, God promised him that he would suffer much for his kingdom (Acts 9:15–16), and that prison and hardship awaited him in every city (Acts 20:23). And so it did.
Luke records eight murder attempts on Paul’s life. Ultimately, he was martyred in Rome. But you’d be hard pressed to name a person other than Jesus who did more to shape human history.
Celebrating God’s mighty acts of power, his dramatic miracles of deliverance, is easy. Who doesn’t long for a personal exodus, whether for work, home, marriage, finances, children — the list is nearly endless. But we know that sometimes things don’t work out as we wish, or as we think they should, or as we pray. History can take a bitter turn. Catastrophe can overtake us, sometimes of our own making, other times for no apparent reason at all.
Living in exile, far from home, in a strange space or place, bereft of all one considers good and familiar, is difficult. Living in exile demands revised expectations. Courage to believe that God is still at work, no matter how bleak the circumstances. Learning a new language and grammar, much as the Jews settling into Babylon learned a new tongue, to articulate your lived experience. Perseverance over the long haul.
Living in exile also requires hope about the future, no matter how dark the present. That, too, was part of God’s message (29:11): “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
We might imagine that God needed Paul out of jail so that he could proclaim the gospel. We might think that the God of Israel worked only in Israel, on home turf. Jeremiah reminds us that God works always and everywhere, in exodus from Egypt, but also in exile to Babylon.
These stories confound our expectations. We should never forfeit our prayers for exodus deliverance, but neither should we forget that God can be just as present in exilic banishment, in Rome and Babylon as well as in Jerusalem and Egypt.
Romer was right — a crisis is a terrible thing to waste. As cramped as we might feel due to our circumstances and whatever comes our way, God provides plenty of elbow room to work things out and share the Good News.
Fifty Miles of Elbow Room
Twelve-hundred miles, it’s length and breadth
That four-square city stands
It’s gem-set walls of jasper shine
They’re not made by human hands
One-hundred miles it’s gates are wide
Abundant entrance there
With fifty miles of elbow room
On either side to spare
Chorus
When the gates swing wide on the other side
Just beyond the sunset sea
There’ll be room to spare as we enter there
There’ll be room for you and room for me
For the gates are wide on the other side
Where the fairest flowers bloom
On the right hand and on the left hand
Fifty miles of elbow room
Sometimes I’m cramped and I’m crowded here
And I long for elbow room
I long to reach for altitude
Where the fairest flowers bloom
It won’t be long before I pass into that city fair
With fifty miles of elbow room
On either side to spare
Oh, when the gates swing wide on the other side
Just beyond the sunset sea
There’ll be room to spare as we enter there
There’ll be room for you and room for me
Oh, for the gates are wide on the other side
Where the fairest flowers bloom
On the right hand and on the left hand
Fifty miles of elbow room
Jeremiah
The Word of the Lord was delivered by letter to the exiles living in Babylon. The mediator of this word was the prophet Jeremiah, who remained, at the time, in Jerusalem. Verse 2 tells us that this letter was written to the first wave of exiles, and this word is a reminder to the exiles that they would be living in their new locale for a very long time. So, as the slogan that dates back to the 1960s declares: Bloom where you are planted.
You can imagine how these exiled might have felt as they took up residence in a foreign land. They might have been wondering if their God had traveled with them. Did Yahweh dwell only in Judea and Israel? Were they in foreign territory, where different gods had control? Yes, this could be and probably was a rather depressing situation for the exiles. It’s good to remember that in the ancient world church and state were inextricably linked. So, had their god been overthrown? So, how might the exiles have heard Jeremiah’s word to them.
In counseling them to settle in by building homes, getting married, and having kids, Jeremiah is telling the exiles not to get depressed by their situation. Don’t despair. Make the best of things, but most of all remain faithful to their covenant relationship with God. While they may have once put their faith in a royal ideology centered on the monarchy, that was gone. So, a new vision is required for their engagement with the future. As Song Mi Suzie Park notes, in the face of this religious upheaval, Jeremiah encourages the community to continue to have faith in God’s larger plan—a plan that seems utterly impossible, but which Jeremiah hints is possible for God. They are to hope and know that God can and will bring God’s promises to pass.
The key to this passage is found in verse 7. Jeremiah counsels the exiles to Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.
Here is where blooming where you’re planted comes in. This is not a call for separatism? This is not a call for the people to go out into the desert and plant a colony that is faithful to God but not infected by engagement with the surrounding culture. No, this is a call to engage the community, without letting the ways of the world determining the nature of that work.
The promise here is that if we pursue the welfare of the city—the place where we have been planted—then we will be blessed as well. In fact, our welfare is tied in with the welfare of the larger community. The point is not engagement, but the form that this engagement takes. Is it defined by notions of worldly power or by the power of faith? Are we engaged in this work because we believe it is of God, or because we desire power or because people will thank and appreciate us.
Eric Routley’s hymn “All Who Love and Serve Your City” offers us a word of invitation: In your day of loss and sorrow, in your day of helpless strife, honor, peace and love retreating, seek the Lord, who is your life. The counsel of the hymn, and I think Jeremiah, is to seek the Lord, who is your life. Regarding the city in specifics, the hymn ends with this word of promise:
Risen Lord! Shall yet the city be the city of despair?
Come today, our Joy, our Glory: be its name, “the Lord is here.”
The Lord is here. Even in Babylon. Even in Marfa, Fort Davis and Alpine. Even in the Big Bend Region.That is good news. It doesn’t relieve us of responsibility for the town in which we live. Instead, it reminds us that we are not alone in this work, and the way we engage in this work out to reflect the relationship we have with the Living God who is present not only in Jerusalem but also in Babylon and beyond.
This word is sent to exiles, refugees (perhaps?). From a North American Christian perspective, I have tended to read this as a word to how I should engage the city/culture around me. That is, I identify with the exiles. But, what if I’m not part of the exile community? What if I’m a citizen of the land in which the exiles are sent? What if this word is sent to exiles/refugees/immigrants who have made a home in my backyard? What if my welfare is entangled with their welfare? It is good to remember as Miguel De La Torre notes, Jeremiah isn’t asking the exiles to forsake their identity or heritage or their God. This isn’t a counsel of assimilation.
Jeremiah does not call the exiles to stop being Jewish or worshipping their God. Rather, as foreigners, we are to work for the common good of all who also inhabit the land where we find ourselves. Foreigners should be willing to learn from the land’s inhabitants, in the same way that the natives of the land can learn from the stranger in their midst.
I have tended to read the passage from the perspective of the exiles, but what if I’m the host? Can we be both guest and host at the same time, and thus be equally blessed? How can we, with God’s help make where we are planted a beautiful home of the soul?
Land Where We’ll Never Grow Old
[Verse 1]
I have heard of a land, on the faraway strand
This is a beautiful home of the soul
Built for Jesus on high, there we never shall die
Tis a land where we’ll never grow old
[Chorus]
Never grow old, (where we’ll) never grow old
In the land where we’ll never grow old
Never grow old, (where we’ll) never grow old
In the land where we’ll never grow old
[Verse 2]
In that beautiful home, where we’ll nevermore roam
We shall be in the sweet by and by
Happy praise to the king, through eternity sing
Is a land where we never shall die
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
When our work here is done, and the life’s crown is won
And our troubles and trials are o’er
All our sorrow will end, and our voices will blend
With the loved ones who’ve gone on before
And the people say….AMEN
Opening Prayer
We stand in awe of you, Most Gracious God.
You love your people no matter the circumstance.
You want us to live meaningful lives
with you at the center.
So, we say to you, Loving God – Come!
Send you Holy Spirit to dwell with us in our worship.
Open our hearts to receive and our minds to be challenged
by the teachings of Jesus the Christ.
This we pray.
Amen.
Offering
Our Most Gracious God,
provides for us in ways that we do not always recognize.
In this moment, we pause
to express our gratitude for your provisions.
We accept this invitation to offer our gifts as an opportunity
to say thank you for your many blessings.
Benediction
Like the 10th Leper
Who returned to praise God
When he was healed….
Let us go forth with thankful hearts
For the power at work within each of us…
Endure hardship with patience,
and trust the mercy and grace of our Lord
As we go forth with the Blessing of God Almighty….