18th Sunday after Pentecost

After college, I moved to New York. Having just received a degree in Theater, it seemed like the thing to do. Not that I had any idea as to what I would do once I got there. No idea whatsoever. But hey, the apartment was free for the first three months, so that was an enticement. Plus, my sister and her wife lived there at the time, as did some friends from college.

I’d love to be able to report that embarked upon a promising acting career before casting it all aside for the sake of a higher calling. But the fact of the matter is that, when I left New York to begin attending Gettysburg Seminary, I was working for a glove company. I was the assistant traffic and inventory manager.

New York was still pretty rough around the edges when I lived there. This was before the Disney-fication of Time’s Square. I loved just walking around the city. On more than one occasion I left work, at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 34th Street, and walked down to Greenwich Village or South Street Seaport to meet friends.

Like any major city, New York is famous for its many distinct neighborhoods. Little Italy, Chinatown, Soho, The Garment District, Greenwich Village, The East Village, The Upper West Side, The Upper East Side… And, like every other major city, there were some places where you didn’t go at certain times of the day, like at night.  At least not if you were just walking around by yourself. The East Village was one of those places. It was pretty gritty by day, and by night it became a bit more menacing.

One day, it was a gorgeous early spring day, one of the first days that it was really warm. So, I clocked out of work early. I took the elevator down to the lobby, said goodbye to the doorman, and I hit the sidewalk, my workbag slung over my shoulder. I walked down Fifth avenue and then turned west onto 34th Street. Now ordinarily, if I was simply on my way home from work, I would cross 6th Ave. (By the way, If you’re in New York, never call 6th Avenue “Avenue of the Americas”. Only tourists do that.) I would walk to the other end of Macy’s and down into the subway station at 7th and 34th, where I would pick up either a 2 or 3 train and trundle back to Brooklyn.

But on this particular day, I kept walking west. And then north. I was fascinated by the things I saw in the shop windows. I’d never seen a butcher shop, for example, that had things like tripe or cow’s lungs in the window. And suddenly I found myself in Hell’s Kitchen. This was not where I wanted to be. This was a dangerous place. I hadn’t been paying attention. I was the one being like a tourist. Taken as I was with the sights; I didn’t notice the changing character of the neighborhood. I didn’t feel safe. So, I headed back downtown.

Luke tells us, “On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee.” This is not necessarily a safe place for Jesus and his disciples. The relationship between Samaritans and Jews at the time of Jesus was conflicted and sometimes violent. Centuries before this they had been one people, but changes and tensions wrought by exile and return put them at odds regarding beliefs about scripture, worship, what it means to be holy. This history of hostility explains why James and John suggest firebombing a Samaritan village after the people refuse to serve as the first rest stop on Jesus’ journey. Jesus firmly rebukes their violent request (Luke 9:51-56).

The story for today is actually a fairly short one, but it reminds about life in the pre-scientific world.  "As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him.  Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, 'Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!'" We forget that for centuries there were all sorts of diseases and conditions that, thankfully, today, we no longer worry about. We forget the fear which this story illustrates so well. Here are ten people, walking at a distance away from the main road as required by law, because of their condition. These were people who were once fully integrated into society, but now due to the accident of having contracted this disease, their lives were as good as over. Leprosy was fearsome because it tore you from your community, while it tore at the body. These were real people who were suddenly forced to beg at the fringes of society. There was no cure and fear of spreading the illness preceded them wherever they went. They were the true Walking Dead. Jewish law was very precise: lepers could not come within a proscribed distance of someone who was "clean." 

And here we are today, with ten people with leprosy calling out to Jesus. Ten people, isolated from the families they once knew. Ten who lived with the pain of both their physical condition and the pain of ostracism from the world. 

And one of them is a Samaritan. Not only is this man a leper, but he’s outside of the circle of acceptability because of who he was born to be: someone considered ineligible to be at the same table with the rest of society. His religious practice is different. His race sets him apart. He is a foreigner--an immigrant in this country. This is someone who was born with different characteristics that make him impure even if he didn’t have leprosy. These ten people with leprosy came before Jesus from their respectable distance. When he saw them, he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And as they walked, they couldn’t help but see that they were made clean. Healed! No longer forced to the fringes! There is nothing keeping them from taking back their lives again. They set out for Jerusalem to be made ritually clean, to be accepted back into their communities. All they had to do was to go back and present themselves to the priests.

Except for one: One leper who was healed on the road, who could not turn to the accepted religious institution to present himself. Because whoever he was, and wherever he was on his journey, he was not welcome there. The priests to whom the nine other lepers went, represented, after all, the religious institution that condemned the Samaritan, preached against him, reviled him, allowed him no grace, no love, and no acceptance for him whatsoever. He was on his own, healed from leprosy but not from the effects of prejudice. Where would he go and without the other nine, to whom could he turn?  And, of course, the story tells us: "Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan."

Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean?  But the other nine, where are they?  Was there no-one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Imagine the joy of being suddenly made whole again, of being able to go to a place called, "home" again.  They were rejoining communities, families, with friends and the center of society-their faith tradition.  It was this one outsider who, perhaps because circumstances forced him to question more, to be more discerning...turned back and found himself in the only authentic presence he could know. It was there that Jesus said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you whole."

Theologian Karl Barth said that the basic human response to God is gratitude, not fear and trembling, not guilt and dread, but thanksgiving, gratefulness. To have faith is to live faith, and to live faith is to give thanks.  Living into a real life of gratitude is to live a life of faith. This was the leper made whole who returned in gratitude, even when in so many settings he is made, "other."

Who is this Samaritan today, this person outside the lines?  Think of the undocumented person, whom we’re told to fear. He might be the one outside of an "acceptable faith", being told to go back where he came from. She could be a woman whose access to women's healthcare needs have been abridged. She might be the Samaritan who is forced to carry a birth-certificate in order to use a rest room that matches her gender. He could be one of the over 600,000 LGBTQIA+ youth who live on the streets because they have fled or have been kicked out of their homes. 

Like the people with leprosy in this encounter with Jesus, no-one should have to dwell in fear on the fringes of society. How do we turn our feelings of anger and sadness into concrete practices for faith and justice? What does our authentic expression of the love of Christ look like? One Samaritan turned back. Something told that Samaritan to go back to the source: the one who heals, the one who loves. All that man had was Jesus. And in the end, that's all we have. In the end, everything else falls away.

Many people feel that they're on the other side looking in through stained-glass windows. If you show yourself to the priest and he tells you that women can't be equal leaders with men, you have to turn away, go back down the road to find the source of what is authentic and real. All you have is Jesus-the teaching, healing presence who spoke with women, and who loved inclusively. This is the voice of justice and peace, it is the presence of love and acceptance, it is the spirit of hospitality and welcome given to the Samaritan, or whoever the undocumented visitor might be, and where this is not found, that's when we know that Jesus has left the building.

All the Samaritan had was Jesus, and Jesus tells the Samaritan that his own faith has made him whole.

Gratitude. Whoever we are...wherever we are...imperfect, often broken and hurting, caught up in our own dishonesties and resentments. And yet, by the love of Jesus, we are made capable of showing ourselves to be loving and strong, exactly as we were created to be, in order to live our lives. By grace, God grants us the faith that makes us whole in spite of who we are. Like the Samaritan, let's remember to return and give thanks.

AMEN