Homily—28^th Sunday, Year C

Fr. Timothy W. Castor

To be a victim of leprosy is to be isolated from the rest of society. Even today, when we know what causes Hansen’s disease and have developed effective treatments to cure it, those who contract leprosy are likely to be shunned by others and placed in institutions far from the general population. If this is true today, with our advanced medical knowledge, it was all the more so in ancient times when the disease was regarded as highly contagious and a sign of spiritual uncleanness as well as physical illness. Perhaps this was because of the horrible disfiguring effects of the disease: lepers lose the sense of touch in the affected areas of their bodies and so their limbs frequently become mutilated or even fall off due to injuries they can’t feel. In addition to this, their skin becomes discolored, tumors appear all over their bodies and their voices become hoarse.

At the time of Jesus, the Law of Moses forced lepers to live outside the city gates. They had to maintain a distance of at least 100 paces between themselves and those who were healthy. If someone accidentally came near, the lepers had to warn them by calling out "Unclean! Unclean!". But when the ten lepers in today’s Gospel caught sight of Jesus, a spark of faith surged in their hearts and their cry changed from one of despair to one of hope: "Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!"

Our Lord’s response is very interesting. He does not tell them to wash in the Jordan, as Elisha did with Naaman. He does not touch them with his healing hand (as he did elsewhere in the Gospel) or even proclaim that they are clean. Instead, he simply tells them to show themselves to the priests. Now, the only reason a leper would go to the priest is if his leprosy had been cured. These lepers were told to go while they were still unclean. It seems Jesus saw their faith, and wished to test this—to evoke even greater trust in his power. And because they respond to his command, he gives them a gift even greater than physical healing—he gives them the gift of faith, and it is their faith that heals them.

Last week, the disciples asked the Lord to increase their faith. Today we have a beautiful illustration of how he does just that in the lives of these ten lepers. But the sad part is that only one returns to give thanks. All ten begged for mercy; all ten received a precious gift; but only one acknowledges the giver of that gift.

Things have not changed too much over the last 2000 years. How quick we are to pray when we’re in trouble; how slow we are to praise when things are going well. Someone once wrote that the basic difference between a prison and a monastery is simply the difference between griping and gratitude. You see, criminals behind bars seem to spend every moment of their unhappy lives griping and complaining about their condition, about the injustice they have suffered, about their fellow inmates. On the other hand, religious monks and nuns who have imprisoned themselves behind the walls of a monastery spend every waking moment of their lives giving thanks and praise to Almighty God. Their life is a joy, while the prisoner’s life is misery. And yet, it is often the case that a prison can become a monastery when a criminal gives his life to Christ and spends his time thanking God for the gift of forgiveness. But when the religious gives up gratitude, then the monastery quickly becomes a prison.

We can easily make a prison of our own souls when we dwell upon the hurts and injustices of life, griping and complaining, rather than focusing our hearts and minds on the good gifts that God gives us, thanking him for the many blessings he has brought into our lives. There’s no prison more miserable in this world than a bitter and ungrateful heart.

God has given us so much to be thankful for—our life, our health, our family and friends—to say nothing of the eternal salvation he purchased for us—that we could spend our entire lives in thanksgiving and never be finished. How do we show our thanks for these blessings? The best way, I think, is the return we make to God of the gifts he has given to us. How do we use the time, talent and treasure he has given us to serve him and to serve his people? This is the real measure of our gratitude.

Now I know that we all go through tough times in life when everything seems to close in upon us and nothing seems to go right. But even if that is your experience right now, is your life so bad, so hopeless that there’s nothing to give thanks for?

There was once a preacher in Scotland named Alexander Whyte who was famous for the prayers he gave from the pulpit. He always seemed to find something to be thankful for. One miserable and stormy morning he approached the pulpit ready to make his prayer and one of the members of his congregation thought to himself, "The preacher will have nothing to thank God for on a wretched morning like this." But as the wind and rain lashed against the church, Whyte began his prayer, "We thank Thee, O God, that it is not always like this."

Well, things might be difficult right now, but thank the Lord that it’s not always like this—that things can get better, that they will get better as we place our hope and trust in him who promised that he would never leave us or forsake us.

I’d like to leave you with a question from today’s Gospel. That one Samaritan leper who returned to give thanks—what did he receive that the others didn’t? What reward did he get for his grateful spirit? He received the same healing, the same salvation as the other nine. What did the Lord give him in recognition of his thankfulness? All that Jesus gave him was a word—a word of peace and consolation: "Stand up and go; your faith has saved you." But at that moment, the Samaritan entered into a relationship with the Lord which the other nine rejected. And this is what gratitude will purchase for each one of us: a relationship, a friendship with Jesus that the world can never know.

St. Paul was a prisoner in chains when he wrote the words which we heard in today’s second reading. And yet, in the midst of that injustice and suffering, the apostle was able to say, "If we have died with him we shall also live with him; if we persevere we shall also reign with him. But if we deny him he will deny us. If we are unfaithful he remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself." Where did these words of hope and trust to come from? They came from a grateful heart. May they be the prayer of our hearts as well.

© 2004, The Rev. Timothy W. Castor

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