WHAT IS THE CHURCH

8 22 10

John 17:1-11

ANTHONY ACHESON, M.DIV

Today’s reading from John 17 invites us to reflect on a core question: ‘What is the church, and what does it most need to keep itself healthy and strong?’

There are a variety of ways we customarily think about the church, aren’t there? We often refer to the church as a building, as when we may say, ‘I’m going over to the church,’ by which we mean we are going to physically enter a building like the one we’re in now. We also often conceptualize the church is as an organization , as when we may say, ‘I’m active in this church;’ or, ‘I’m a member of that church’s governing board.’ A third way we frequently refer to the church is as a sustained, historic tradition that is a carrier of specific teachings and doctrines across the centuries. So, if we ask, ‘What is the church?’ all of those concepts might provide elements of an answer. But none of them is sufficient or satisfying as an answer that is complete or definitive.

What is the church? Each of us, of course, brings our own thoughts and associations to that question. For me, I would point to three elements as the qualities closest to mf core of sense of what ‘church’ is. First, in its heart of hearts the church is a community. Second, and more specifically, the church is a community of people who are seeking spiritual reality and spiritual consciousness. And thirdly, the church is a community that is seeking to translate this spiritual reality and consciousness into forms of behavior, into patterns of right action that help to serve and heal the world. In traditional Christian language we might say that the defining marks of the church are Holy Spirit, fellowship and mission.  If we were to use Buddhist language we might say that spiritual community manifests when people commit themselves to the Buddha, sangha [community] and dharma [law or teaching.] What is the church? In its heart of hearts the church is a community of people doing the sacred work of seeking out the spirit, and activating and exercising the powers of that spiritual reality in the lives they lead in the world.

In John chapter 17 we heard the prayer for his movement that Jesus offers near the end of his life. Jesus prays for two main things on behalf of his followers–which also means potentially for you and for me.

The first and by far the most important is that we who are involved in the church be people who are growing in our consciousness and knowledge of spiritual reality and spiritual truth. In verses 1 through 3 Jesus says, “Father, the hour has now come. Glorify thy son as thy son has glorified thee….thou hast given him power to give eternal life over all flesh. (And what is eternal life?) This is eternal life–that they know Thee, the only true god.” What is eternal life? This is eternal life, that you be a person who is growing , and that I be a person who is growing in the knowledge and consciousness of God and of the spiritual dimension which stands behind life and permeates life and is our life. First and foremost, then, the church is the community of people seeking and finding spiritual consciousness and spiritual awareness.

Let’s talk for a moment about spiritual reality. The world of the spirit has a paradoxical element to it in that at one and the same time it is something that is completely invisible while at the same time also being radically real. One of the greatest gifts to humankind in recent centuries has been the astonishing growth in our awareness of unseen realities. Think, for example, of the lessons of Copernicus and Galileo at the dawn of the scientific age. These great scientists were able to “see” that the earth goes around the sun even though the opposite was what seemed obvious. Think of the pioneers of medicine who learned to “see” germs and microbes for the first time, even though they were seemingly nowhere to be seen. In their time many such scientists were ridiculed, reviled and even persecuted.  But they were right. Think also, more recently, of Einstein. Can anyone “see” relativity? Can anyone ’see,’ the interchangeability of energy and matter? No one can see any  of those things; certainly not with the immediate perceptions of our five senses. But all of those non-visible things are nonetheless acutely real.

Consider the fact that at this very moment, to use just one more example, this beautiful room that we are worshiping in is filled with many things that we can’t see. At this very moment this beautiful room that we are worshiping in is filled with oxygen and carbon dioxide and other gases that we depend on for life. But can’t see them. This room is also filled with completely invisible television waves, radio waves, and microwaves. This very room, yes, even this room at this moment filled with electromagnetic waves of energy that constitute a whole host of Tweets and texts, emails and family photos. Yesterday afternoon Emma and Nancy and I went on a hike up the mountain on the west side of Lake Willoughby, and when we got to the top, one of our friends pulled out his Blackberry, saw that he was in range for reception and proceeded to check his messages. Whether you would actually want to do that at the top of a magnificent mountain with such a breathtaking view is another question. But even there, out in the wilds of nature, some of those very same electronic pulses I mentioned earlier, though quite invisible to our senses, are nonetheless quite real and quite present. But although none of us can see or hear that level of reality with our five senses, if we do happen to have our Blackberry handy, or a radio or tv or computer, those tools to plug us right in so that we can tune in and translate the reality of those unseen telecommunications, which are all literally right here, down into a form that you and I could see and hear. In our contemporary world, science is often seen as being an enemy or opponent of spirituality. I hold a very different view. I see science and spirituality as being complementary partners. The technological examples I just gave you reflect one arena where that partnership is potentially evident, because one very important thing that both science and spirituality have in common is that they both point us in the direction of recognizing the reality of unseen and invisible things. Both science and spirituality, each in their own way, are signposts and reminders to us of one crucially important fact about life: namely, that many things that are real are invisible; and that there are many invisible things that are highly real. Science and spirituality both remind us of what I like to call the reality of invisibility.

Just as those omnipresent electro-magnetic waves that carry our emails and tweets and text messages as  I mentioned a moment ago are all very real and are all right here, so is the spiritual world also right here and very real. And this brings us back to our original question: what is the church? The purpose of the church as I understand it is also to give us the spiritual tools–analogous to those electronic tools of our Blackberry’s and iPhones sand computers we spoke of a moment ago–to translate the patterns–or, if you will, the signals–of spiritual reality and power and truth down into human consciousness. The purpose of the church is to help us develop the spiritual tools to translate those invisible spiritual realities into forms and feelings, insights and experiences, and patterns of behavior, that you and I can know and make use of in our day to day personal lives.

And how does that happen? Well-there are  many sides to that, of course, and   clearly more than we can cover comprehensively here today. But one thing that is clear….and this is one thing I can and do want to focus on today…..and that one thing that is emphasized in our scripture reading from John 17 this morning. And this is that the spiritual search we are all engaged upon is a journey we take together and not alone. All of which is another way of saying that our spiritual search is a journey we take in community. In John 17 Jesus starts by praying that we all might know our Source, which is the Divine power behind life. But then Jesus goes on to pray  that we might all be one. And he doesn’t simply pray that we might be one. More specifically, he prays, as we hear it in verse 21, “May they all be one in order that the world may believe.” We need to be one because it is precisely through our oneness; it is precisely through our community, and indeed it is precisely through our loving of one another, that we are enabled to find that knowledge of God and of spirit that Jesus so fervently prays for and for which we so fervently thirst.

I want to close this morning with a story that has a lot to say about searching for spiritual life together. It’s called the Rabbi’s Gift. It has been told, among others, by Dr. M. Scott Peck in his book, “A Different Drum.”  This story tells us that once upon a time there was a monastery that had fallen on hard times such that there were only five old monks left.

One day the monastery’s abbot went to visit a rabbi on a retreat nearby. The abbot was agonizing over the imminent death of his order, and he asked the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer some advice that might save his order. The rabbi shook his head, and said, “No, my friend, I cannot. But I know how it is. The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same with us.”

Just before leaving, the abbot pressed him again, “Is there nothing you can tell me, dear rabbi, no piece of advice that can save my order?”

” No,” said the rabbi, “I have no advice. The only small thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.  But otherwise I have no help.”

When the abbot came home, he told his fellow monks that the rabbi could not help. “The only thing he mentioned,” he said, “Was something very cryptic just as I was leaving. he said that the Messiah was one of us. But I have no idea what he meant.”

In the days and months that followed, the old monks pondered whether there was any possible significance to the rabbi’s words. The Messiah is one of us? Did he mean the abbot? Yes. If he meant anyone here, he must have meant Father abbot. He’s led us, and very well, for many years. But then again, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of great light.

Certainly he could mot have meant Eldred. Eldred gets crotchety at times. But–come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people’s sides, when you look back on it, Eldred is virtually always right. Often very right!  Maybe the rabbi did mean Eldred.

But surely, not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive. A real nobody. But then again–even with Phillip–almost mysteriously, he somehow has a gift for always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the  Messiah.

Of course, the rabbi did not mean me. I’m just an average person. But–supposing he did? Suppose I was the Messiah. It couldn’t be me, Lord, could it?

As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat each other with great respect on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each monk himself might be the messiah, they began to treat their own selves with extraordinary respect.

The forest in which they lived was exquisite. And it happened that people often came to visit the monastery to picnic on its lawn, to wander through its paths and even now and then enter the old chapel to pray. As they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks, and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery more and more frequently to picnic, play, and pray. They began to bring their friends, and their friends brought their friends.

And then it happened that some of the younger men started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another.  And another. And so it was that within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and, thanks to the rabbi’s gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.

And my prayer and desire is that as it was for them, and as it was for the forebears of our faith so might it be for all of us for many rich years to come. Amen.

KEEPING FAITH

8 8 10

2 TIMOTHY 4: 1-2,6-8,16-18

ANTHONY ACHESON, M.DIV

This past Tuesday I was having lunch with our local clergy group and we welcomed for the first time a new colleague in this area, The Rev Laura Cadmus who is the new UCC pastor in Cabot. During that conversation there was some talk about where Laura had come from and how she had gotten here, conversation which included talk about her interview process with the folks from Cabot. That conversation reminded me of the story of the clergyperson who was reported to have written a letter to a prospective search committee. The letter read:  “Dear Friends, I understand your church is looking for a pastor and I want to apply. I am generally considered to be a good preacher. I have pretty good leadership skills. I have also found time to do some writing on the side. I am now in my mid-fifties. And even though my health has had one or two ups and downs, I still do have quite a bit of energy, and have managed to get enough work done to please my congregations, or at least, most of the time anyway. As for references– Well, it’s true that recently I haven’t served in any one place more than three years, and the churches where I have preached have generally been small. There HAVE been a couple of places where there’s been some controversy, I will acknowledge. But despite all this, I feel confident I can bring vitality to your church. And I respectfully ask that you consider my application.”

When the search committee received this letter they had mixed feelings about whether or not they should interview someone with this kind of background. He obviously had some ability but was now, as he himself admitted, well into his fifties and had a history of stirring things up and taking some clearly controversial positions. “So, what was that man’s name, again?” one member of the committee was heard to ask?  “I’m not completely sure,” said the chairman of the committee, looking at the application. “He only used one name when he signed it. At the bottom of the letter it simply says, ‘Paul’.”

A few moments ago we heard some words traditionally attributed to the Apostle Paul. When you think about the ministry, it is interesting to wonder how well some of the early church’s leaders would make it through the ministerial interview process people go through today. Theirs was a rough and dangerous world, which tended to produce people who themselves were rough and somewhat hard-edged. It was a dangerous terrain that the Apostle Paul faced as he traveled for 20 years and thousands of miles all over the Roman world.

In this New Testament reading from Timothy for today, we hear about this same traveling Paul, and we hear specifically about how his end appeared to be drawing near. He was under house arrest in Rome. He was under no illusion about his fate. So it was that he took pen in hand and wrote a parting letter to his friend and close associate, Timothy of Ephesus. He writes in words that have become timeless and immortal: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” He is telling us that, in his own eyes at least, he looks back on a life that has been basically well lived. And this morning I want to invite us to reflect on what these words may have to tell us about at least some aspects of a well lived life.

The first thing Paul says about his own well-lived life is that he has fought the good fight. That phrase has become a common part of our language. As we hear Paul say that he has fought the good fight we might also think about the things that he did not say. He didn’t say, for example, I’ve achieved the American dream–or in those days it might have been the Roman dream. He didn’t say, I’ve always lived the good life, and let the good times roll. He didn’t say, I’ve achieved great wealth, respect and reputation in my community. He didn’t say, I did it my way. By contrast, Paul points to the fact that his life has been constant hard work. Who of us in this room doesn’t understand that life involves a whole lot of hard work? A child has to work to learn. The teenager has to work to deal with peer pressure. College aged students have to be very proactive in finding their identity. Young adults have to work harder than ever these days to even find a job, let alone to create and manage a career, keep their marriages together, and raise children. No one has to struggle more than older adults who fight with frequent health problems; and in these times unexpected financial issues. Even newborns have to work to come into this world and take birth. From the beginning of life to the end, we are all involved in necessary labors. Paul was right on target when he saw life through the prism of fighting a good fight. And of all the battles that we must inescapably face and deal with, the most difficult one is always the inner battle. It is the work that needs to be done within us. It is the inner work for self-mastery and against self-seeking.

The first secret, then, of the life well lived is to fight that good fight and to do the inner work that life requires of us. And then secondly, Paul says that even if people around us let us down, we can’t let that bring us down. When Paul was brought before the Roman Emperor to defend the charges brought against him, as we hear in book of Second Timothy, the clear implication is that when it came to Paul’s closest associates most of them deserted him. Barnabas, Paul’s constant traveling companion for more than 10 years is nowhere mentioned in this letter. Mark, another of Paul’s close friends and by tradition the writer of the second Gospel, had fled in fear. Luke, the great physician, writer of the third Gospel, and traveling companion had apparently deserted his friend. Titus and Silas were all gone. We are left to assume they all hid in the shadows during Paul’s darkest hour. As Paul writes here in verse 16 of Chapter 4, “At my trial, no one came to my support, everyone deserted me.” What Paul went through before the Emperor was not so different, was it, from the desertions Jesus went through in Gethsemane. The author Thomas Wolfe once wrote, “The whole conviction of my life now rests upon the belief that loneliness, far from being a rare and curious phenomenon, peculiar to myself and a few other solitary men, is the central and inevitable fact of human existence.” Those are words that Paul could have well understood.

So, if the first secret of a life well lived is fighting the good fight, and the second secret is that being deserted does not mean being defeated; then finally there is a third secret of a life well-lived, which lies in the fact that we need to focus over and over again on relying on and maintaining and rebuilding our faith. Paul says, “I have kept the faith.” That is really a remarkable declaration when you look back on all the occasions Paul could easily have let his faith slip away and given it all up.  Consider all the things Paul tells us he endured during his ministry: Hunger, thirst, nakedness, cold, sleeplessness, homelessness and persecution; being cast down, afflicted, beaten, imprisoned and slandered; poverty, floggings, five times given 39 lashes, being beaten with rods, stoned, shipwrecked, drifted in the open sea for 24 hours, in danger from rivers, bandits, and his own country-men. Paul says he has been in danger in the city, in the country, at sea, and around all people both Jew and Gentile. But despite all this, he still viewed his life as a success. Why? Surely one of the keys, one of the secrets, is that he had kept faith alive within him.

In the Broadway play “The Miracle Worker,” we see the story of Ann Sullivan, the woman who taught Helen Keller how to communicate. It was during the 1890’s, in the hills of northern Alabama, that she struggled with Helen and her seemingly insurmountable handicaps-being deaf, blind, and mute. Helen Keller may have been the miracle that history seems to present to us, but Ann Sullivan was clearly every bit as much a worker of miracles in that story as was Helen Keller. What were the qualities that marked the lives of those two women? Was it that they fought a good fight? Clearly they did that. It is hard for us to even imagine not only the primitive care and the prejudices of that day, but also the fact that Helen’s own parents saw her as a hopeless case. Was it the fact that they finished the race? Clearly they both did that as well. Ann Sullivan and Helen Keller went on when most everyone else would have given in and given up. Both the teacher and the student in their remarkable drama saw Helen Keller go on to receive a PhD from Temple University in Philadelphia and become a world renowned author and speaker and an inspiration to millions. The thing that most distinguished the lives of both those women, however, is that they kept the faith. Throughout it all both of these women kept believing, and refused to stop believing, that Helen could surmount her monstrously large handicaps, that she could surmount her blindness and her deafness and profound isolation, not to mention desperation; and go on to become a woman who could not only communicate with other human beings, but far beyond that become a major force in her community, and indeed even become a major force in history. The story of Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan is a story of two women who not only fought a good fight and ran a good race; it as also a story of two human beings who refused to lose their faith.

And so it can be for each of us. In 2 Timothy 4 Paul writes, “The time of my departure is at hand.” “But that is alright,” he seems to be saying, ” because I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith.” May we also echo these words in the midst of all the seasons of our lives, when things are high and good, when things are low and bad, whether we are coming to the end of our life’s journey or when we feel as if we are at wit’s end; may we also do the essentially spiritual work of keeping our faith strong through our own spiritual work and commitment, as well as through the gift of the unearned grace and power of the living God.

And this we ask in the name of the living Christ. Amen.

THE POWER OF THIN PLACES

8 1 10

PSALM 27

ANTHONY ACHESON, M.DIV

I have a musician friend who comes here to northern Vermont to play in a concert series each year. He told me this week how much he treasures spending time amid the splendor and beauty of this unspoiled land. Despite the modest pay for performing, he keeps returning because of the profound restoration and renewal he draws from the lush aliveness we are privileged to have draped around us. The colors of the plants and sky, the peace of the lake, the friendliness of the morning mists all work in concert to usher in a calm and healing that is unavailable in the urban bustle where he has also pursued his career. City and country, of course, each have their roles. But there is something about huddling close to the original God-made version of things that provides a form of food for our souls that is necessary and required for spiritual health.

Throughout history there have been specific places - such as the one we enjoy here - to which people have repaired as unique access points to the spiritual world. The ancient Celtic peoples used to refer to such sites as ‘thin places.’ These Celtic thin places were special spots scattered throughout the British Isles - though they exist anywhere in the world —  where people sensed that there was only a narrow dividing line between this physical world and the spiritual realms that lay close at hand. These were places where people were empowered to experience deeper spiritual dimensions than may be found in the immediacy of their daily locations and preoccupations.

When Christianity became predominant, at least some of the Celtic Christians had the wisdom to keep alive these pre-Christian insights about thin places. They expanded the understanding to include not only ‘thin’ physical locations, but also what we might call ‘thin instants:’ instances when the spiritual dimension of things could be accessed and felt within the stream of human stories and events. Thankfully, the concept of thin places eventually became included in at least some segments of the vocabulary of the Christian religion.

Alongside these special physical locations, there are also certain passages of the world’s great wisdom traditions, including our own Christian writings, that can play a unique role in leading us into encounters with numinous powers.  In her book, ‘Acedia and Me,’ Kathleen Norris has described the importance to her spiritual practice of reading, and re-reading, the psalms. Those ancient Hebrew poems and songs are resources through which she can consistently reconnect with Spirit, and rediscover the movings of God.

A few moments ago we heard one of those psalms. The words and images of Psalm 27 can be to us a kind of verbal thin place where human and divine meet in a beautiful closeness, as they say:

“The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life,
of whom shall I be afraid?
Come, my heart says, ’seek God’s face.’
Your face O Lord do I seek.
Do not hide your face from me.
I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord right here
in the land of the living.”

This psalm is a statement of spiritual serenity based on an ongoing and regular approach to God, and to the things of the Spirit. Psalm 27 happens to be only place in the Hebrew Scriptures [what Christians often call the Old Testament] where God is referred to as ‘the light.’ This is interesting and significant because the image of God as light is one that Jesus, and the New Testament generally, put a major focus on. We are told in the gospels that, ‘God IS Light.’  Jesus says of himself, ‘I am the light of the world.’ He also speaks to those around him and tells them, ‘You are the light of the world.’ When he taught he cautioned people to safeguard, ‘the light that is in you,’ and urged people to become, ’sons [and daughters] of light.’ The fact that this 27^th Psalm is the only place where the metaphor of God as light is used in the Hebrew scriptures; and the fact that Jesus made considerable use of this metaphor himself, would suggest that Psalm 27 was likely one that Jesus knew well, and one that may well have had a formative influence on his spiritual education, and on the development of his thinking and teaching. Psalm 27 may well have been one of Jesus’ scriptural ‘thin places.’

The theologian Dorothy Bass has drawn attention to one set of question we sometimes ask each other, such as: ‘How was your day?’  To ask, ‘How was your day?’ is a different question than, ‘How are you?’, which is highly routine and usually calls for a formulaic  response, such as, ‘I’m fine;’ or, ‘I’m OK.’ But the question, ‘How was your day?’ is one that invites a more considered response. It invites an actual description of something that happened during the day, as well as how that affected us, or how we responded.
Dorothy Bass goes on to tell the story of a mother she knows who has quite a different way of approaching that question. As she puts her kids to bed each night, their teeth brushed and their hair still damp from the bathtub or shower, she asks them this question: “Where did you meet God today?” And they tell her, one by one: ‘a teacher helped me;’ ‘there was a homeless person I saw in the park;’ ‘I saw a big bush with lots of flowers in it.’ And then mother shares with them an example of where she may have met God that day. As those youngsters drift off to dreamland, the mundane events of their lives become woven into the weave of their evening prayers. When they are given the encouragement to interpret their daily doings through the lens of looking for God in its events, they enter a potential thin place.

There is an underlying implication in this mother’s evening routine with her kids: our access to the Divine in day to day life is greatly enhanced if we cultivate proactive practices and disciplines. It requires repetitive, life-affirming behaviors. Being able to see and sense God’s presence flows out of  creative, sustained choices by which we actively seek out the spiritual presence that is always around us, but often goes  unnoticed. An awareness of thin places reminds us that God and the spiritual world are inherently close. This is an important truth to remind ourselves of often, given the widespread belief that many of us have been trained into, that God is a being who is removed and far off.

Today’s words from Psalm 27 invites us to seek out an increasing closeness with the Divine spirit, and to re-discover in our own personal experience what it means to sense and feel and rely on the Divine Light. These familiar words of scripture describe one writer’s description from nearly 3 thousand years ago of a thin place, a place where God’s spirit is especially close, and specially to be found.

May the gifts of this table and today’s receiving of this sacrament of communion be the same to us today:  a thin place, a transparent opportunity through which the presence of God and the love of the living Christ is known to us in richness and in reality. This we pray in the name of the spirit of God. Amen.

GRATITUDE

7 25 10

LUKE 17:11-19

ANTHONY ACHESON, M.DIV

There is a preacher I heard about who was known for long-ish sermons. One Sunday he was preaching one of his longer sermons. 15, 20 minutes went by and then 30, and then 40 minutes, with no sign of winding down. When he reached the 45 minute mark, he noticed one of his top deacons get up and leave. This bothered the minister, but not enough to bring on the magic words, “And so, in conclusion.” So on and on he went, and after a while the minister saw that the member of the deacons actually came back into the church and returned to his seat.  After the service was FINALLY over, the now curious minister asked the man why he left. And the guy said, “I went to get a hair cut.” “A hair cut?” said the minister. Couldn’t you have gotten your hair cut before you came to church?” To which the man replied, “Reverend, before I came to church, I didn’t need a hair cut.”

I share that with you this morning because today’s reading from Luke is one of those passages that is so full of rich imagery and multiple themes, that a preacher could easily get carried away. But hopefully that won’t be the case today.

This parable of the ten lepers is one that wants to have a conversation with us about gratitude and the role of gratitude in the spiritual life. For any of us who have had children, we all know that one of our early tasks as parents is to teach kids to learn to express thanks. When someone gives gifts to our children we are all well primed to remind them: “What do you say?” And from an early age they are prompted to reply, “Thank you.” And as adults, not only do we teach our kids to give thanks, we also appreciate BEING thanked for things we give or do.

The central characters in today’s story were ordinary human beings who breathed and ate, had hopes and dreams, feelings and fears just like us. But they had all been struck with the tragedy of leprosy which was one of the most dreaded of ancient diseases, leaving its victim maimed and disfigured. There was no known cure. And since leprosy was then falsely thought to be contagious, people who were lepers were, as we might say today, dead men walking when it came to maintain their hopes for normal family life, a useful occupation, or plans for the future.

But despite their seeming hopelessness, these lepers nonetheless approached Jesus, if at a far distance. Jewish law categorized lepers as “ritually unclean.” They were not allowed to come within fifty yards of a person who was “clean.” These people had to live in a hell of social loneliness. That in itself can do more to drain a person’s energy for living than the most horrible of diseases.

But even in the midst of this dire status these lepers had at least something to be thankful for. In their common misery they had found each other and joined together. It is highly significant that one of these ten lepers was a Samaritan. That’s one of the most important sub-themes of this story. A good Jew in that day and time would have no dealings at all with a Samaritan. They looked upon Samaritans as low-lifes or half-breeds. Yet, in the common misery that they shared together, in the common misery of their leprosy these ten seem to have been empowered to forget their social separation as Jew and Samaritan. Beyond those differences, they appear ho have bonded into a new community of their own creation in which the Jews and Samaritans were no longer in opposing groups but were now members of the same group. Under the harsh conditions of their suffering and misfortune had come into contact with their common humanness.  They had come to see that the vulnerability that they had in common was much more important than the religious or group distinctions under which they had once seemed very different. There is great power in that kind of consciousness of common vulnerability. Even for lepers. Especially for lepers.

But then something happened. At some point, some instant–quite by surprise—those ten outcast lepers were changed. Every diseased cell in their bodies was changed. Every cell suddenly sprang into full health signaled by an unseen force. It was a force of events which began in the twinkle of an eye, in a flash of excitement as one of the ten noticed his body becoming healthy, and then another, and then a third.

Can you picture them bounding down the road to the priest, now running, now leaping, now dancing, wondering how the priest would react, anticipating the glee, the excitement of their families as they would return home–healthy, alive, with a legal, official health certificate proclaiming to all what had happened. All ten men caught up in the joy, the excitement of the moment.

But then just one of them does something that the other 9 do not. He stops, he smiles, he turns, now walking, now running, back to the Master, back to this healer, back to this one who touched him with the mysterious force. He comes back, “shouting, laughing, proclaiming glory to God with a joyful and thankful heart.” He runs back and offers up the thanks of that bountiful heart to the great man for his great act. All ten of these men no doubt were appreciative. I have no doubt that all ten of them were thankful in the attitude of their hearts. But only one of them came and engaged in the proactive and intentional act of love that comes through saying, “Thank you; thank you so very much,” to a person who has given so very much in this act of love, of bestowing healing.

“Were not ten cleansed?” Jesus says. “Where are the nine?” We should take note of the fact that he does not take the healings back for those nine. Neither does he imply that the other nine did not FEEL grateful. The other nine may indeed have had that feeling. But the real winner in this story is the man who not only was healed in the flesh, and who not only FELT  happy in his heart, but who was also expanded in his heart and spirit enough to offer his own gift back in return, namely the gift of letting the giver know how much his gift truly meant.

Jesus loved all ten of the lepers. He loved all ten of them before he healed them, and he loved all ten after he healed them. But in that moment, at least, although ten of them may have had their bodies healed, only one of the ten had been able to take the next step and not only receive the love of Christ, but return the gift of love back to Christ, in the form of expressing his own love and gratitude.

There is an ancient story that has several different versions to it, but one of the most famous is called The Lion and the Mouse. This story tells us that once upon a time, as a lion lay sleeping in his den, a naughty little mouse ran up his tail, and onto his back and up his mane and danced and jumped on his head. But that woke the lion up. The lion grabbed the mouse and, holding him in his large claws, roared in anger. ‘How dare you wake me up!  Don’t you know that I am King of the Beasts? Anyone who disturbs my rest deserves to die! I shall kill you and eat you!’

The terrified mouse, shaking and trembling, begged the lion to let him go. ‘Please don’t eat me Your Majesty! I did not mean to wake you, it was a mistake. I was only playing. Please let me go. And if you do, I promise I will be your friend forever. Who knows, maybe one day I could save your life?’

The lion looked at the tiny mouse and laughed. ‘You save my life? What an absurd idea!’ he said scornfully. ‘But you have made me laugh, and put me into a good mood again, so I shall let you go.’ And the lion opened his claws and let the mouse go free. ‘Oh thank you, your majesty,’ squeaked the mouse, and scurried away as fast as he could.

Within a few short days, however, the lion’s fortunes had changed, and he himself had become ensnared in the nets of a hunter, just as the mouse had been ensnared in the lion’s clutch just recently. Struggle as he might, he couldn’t break free, and as he struggled, he became even more entangled in the net of ropes. He let out a roar of anger that shook the forest. Every animal heard it, including the tiny mouse.

‘My friend the lion is in trouble,’ cried the mouse. He ran as fast as he could in the direction of the lion’s roar, and soon found the lion trapped in the hunter’s snare. ‘Hold still, Your Majesty,’ squeaked the mouse. ‘I’ll have you out of there in a jiffy!’ And without further delay, the mouse began nibbling through the ropes with his sharp little teeth. Very soon the lion was free. The lion was profusely grateful. He said to the mouse over and over, ‘Little mouse, my thanks are with you. My thanks are with you forever. I did not believe that you could be of use to me, little mouse, but today you saved my life,’ said the lion humbly.

‘It was my turn to help you, Sire,’ answered the mouse. For even the weak and small may be of help to those much mightier than themselves. For little friends may prove great friends. And no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

In Luke’s story of the ten lepers, all ten, no doubt were happy to receive the kindness of Christ. But only one appears to have known the importance of expressing that gratitude. That call to gratitude is not something that comes naturally to us. As children we have to be taught to do it. And thankfulness is often not easy in times such as ours amid our fears that things might spiral out of control in an unsettled world around us. But this call to gratefulness is a call that is based on an ultimately spiritual affirmation that behind and within all the events of our lives, and all the doings of history, in the end, there is a Divine presence and purpose and process that lie at the center, even though, and even when, it is far from apparent.

The first book in English ever written by a woman was penned by the Christian nun and scholastic, Julian of Norwich. In this book she wrote, “Let us pray all together with God’s working; let us be people who are thanking, trusting, rejoicing, for thus will our good lord be prayed to, by the understanding that I took of God’s meaning. In my praying I was answered in spiritual understanding, “Do you want to know your lord’s meaning in this thing?  Know it well, love was his meaning. Who reveals it to you? Love does. What did he reveal to you?  He revealed Love.  Why does he reveal it to you?  Because of love.  Remain in this, and you shall know more of the same.  And you shall never know different in this, without end.’  Thus was I taught, says Julian, that love is our lord’s meaning.”

And thus are we taught today in this story of these ten lepers of one of the many faces of love, the giving of thanks, the expression of gratitude as the recognition of un underlying Divine goodness in all that we have and in all that happens. May God give us the grace and wisdom during the days of this week to see the God’s heavenly hand in all we have and in all our blessings, and indeed in all the events of our lives. This we affirm and offer, with thanks, to the living, ever-present God. Amen.