Luke 17:11-19
October 13, 2019
First Presbyterian Church, Sterling, IL
Christina Berry
Back in 1981, the pop and Reggae group UB40
released a hit single in England called “One in Ten.”
It starts out like this:
“I am the one in ten, a number on a list
I am the one in ten even though I don't exist
Nobody knows me even though I'm always there
A statistic, a reminder, of a world that doesn't care
My arms enfold the dole queue, malnutrition dulls my hair
My eyes are black and lifeless with an underprivileged stare
I'm the beggar on the corner will no-one spare a dime?
I'm the child that never learns to read cause no-one spared the time..”
One in ten.
That’s how many of the ten lepers came back to Jesus to say thank you.
One in ten is an easy statistic to understand.
It’s one penny out of a dime, ten people out of one hundred.
You remember moving decimals in math class?
One tenth of 100 is 10; one tenth of a thousand is 100, and so on.
If Jesus healed a thousand lepers,
there’s no way to know if 100 would have come back to thank him.
But it’s a pretty good bet, statistically, that more often than not
people fail to express gratitude for the goodness in their lives.
A lot of us, myself included, try to make gratitude a practice.
We make an effort each day to be thankful for something –
good coffee, a sunset, a smile, a task accomplished, a call from a friend.
We make an effort to express gratitude to other people,
saying a sincere thank you to someone who holds the door for us,
or gives us something we’ve asked for,
or does something at work that makes our jobs easier.
We thank a friend or spouse for their thoughtfulness.
October 13, 2019
First Presbyterian Church, Sterling, IL
Christina Berry
Back in 1981, the pop and Reggae group UB40
released a hit single in England called “One in Ten.”
It starts out like this:
“I am the one in ten, a number on a list
I am the one in ten even though I don't exist
Nobody knows me even though I'm always there
A statistic, a reminder, of a world that doesn't care
My arms enfold the dole queue, malnutrition dulls my hair
My eyes are black and lifeless with an underprivileged stare
I'm the beggar on the corner will no-one spare a dime?
I'm the child that never learns to read cause no-one spared the time..”
One in ten.
That’s how many of the ten lepers came back to Jesus to say thank you.
One in ten is an easy statistic to understand.
It’s one penny out of a dime, ten people out of one hundred.
You remember moving decimals in math class?
One tenth of 100 is 10; one tenth of a thousand is 100, and so on.
If Jesus healed a thousand lepers,
there’s no way to know if 100 would have come back to thank him.
But it’s a pretty good bet, statistically, that more often than not
people fail to express gratitude for the goodness in their lives.
A lot of us, myself included, try to make gratitude a practice.
We make an effort each day to be thankful for something –
good coffee, a sunset, a smile, a task accomplished, a call from a friend.
We make an effort to express gratitude to other people,
saying a sincere thank you to someone who holds the door for us,
or gives us something we’ve asked for,
or does something at work that makes our jobs easier.
We thank a friend or spouse for their thoughtfulness.
Hopefully we give thanks to God for our food, shelter,
and warm clothes when it is cold outside.
and warm clothes when it is cold outside.
But let’s tell the truth.
We’re more like the nine than that one who came back.
And while there is plenty to be thankful for,
there are times when life hands us more trouble than we can manage.
There are times when making a gratitude list doesn’t cut it.
I read a touching and very funny article this week
by a woman who’d been making gratitude lists
that just made her feel worse.
She went to a therapist who said, “Man, your life just [STINKS] right now."
"It's not that bad," she told him. "I have a lot to be grateful for."
We’re more like the nine than that one who came back.
And while there is plenty to be thankful for,
there are times when life hands us more trouble than we can manage.
There are times when making a gratitude list doesn’t cut it.
I read a touching and very funny article this week
by a woman who’d been making gratitude lists
that just made her feel worse.
She went to a therapist who said, “Man, your life just [STINKS] right now."
"It's not that bad," she told him. "I have a lot to be grateful for."
Then, she writes, the therapist listed what he saw in her journals:
“ that I'd worked the overnight shift at jobs for years,
…that the apartment I lived in was only so cheap
“ that I'd worked the overnight shift at jobs for years,
…that the apartment I lived in was only so cheap
because it was dark, cramped, ant-infested and falling apart;
that [we] were raising a baby in one of the most expensive cities in the country,
that [we] were raising a baby in one of the most expensive cities in the country,
where decaying two-bedroom bungalows …started at $800,000;
that I had no family support system, …
that I was under extreme financial stress due to massive student loan debt;
…that I woke up in excruciating back pain every day;
that I'd grown up in an emotionally abusive household …
that I had to literally carry my baby over the passed out bodies
that I had no family support system, …
that I was under extreme financial stress due to massive student loan debt;
…that I woke up in excruciating back pain every day;
that I'd grown up in an emotionally abusive household …
that I had to literally carry my baby over the passed out bodies
of the homeless drug addicts who slept in front of our house;
that my transmission had gone up in smoke 4 months after I'd paid my car;
that all three of my cats had died over the past three years,
and that my dog now had cancer — ….”[1]
There was more, but I edited it down for time’s sake.
The therapist told her to make an “Ingratitude List.”
It helped, she said, to admit that things were not going well,
and she was not exactly grateful for where her life was in that moment.
It helped, she said, to stop feeling ashamed that she wasn’t more grateful,
and to admit that she was tired and angry and sad
and that she HAD REASON TO BE!
The leper in our story today had plenty of reasons to be miserable.
The Levitical code for lepers reads like something out of Monty Python:
“The person who has the leprous disease shall wear torn clothes
and let the hair of his head be disheveled;
and he shall cover his upper lip and cry out, “Unclean, unclean.”
He shall remain unclean as long as he has the disease; he is unclean.
He shall live alone; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.”
that my transmission had gone up in smoke 4 months after I'd paid my car;
that all three of my cats had died over the past three years,
and that my dog now had cancer — ….”[1]
There was more, but I edited it down for time’s sake.
The therapist told her to make an “Ingratitude List.”
It helped, she said, to admit that things were not going well,
and she was not exactly grateful for where her life was in that moment.
It helped, she said, to stop feeling ashamed that she wasn’t more grateful,
and to admit that she was tired and angry and sad
and that she HAD REASON TO BE!
The leper in our story today had plenty of reasons to be miserable.
The Levitical code for lepers reads like something out of Monty Python:
“The person who has the leprous disease shall wear torn clothes
and let the hair of his head be disheveled;
and he shall cover his upper lip and cry out, “Unclean, unclean.”
He shall remain unclean as long as he has the disease; he is unclean.
He shall live alone; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.”
At Bible Study I was imagining the wife of Leper Number Ten
as he got ready to go off to beg:
“Have you torn your clothes then?
I bought you a new torn robe yesterday… does it fit?
And you’ve disheveled your hair? Ah, yes, that’s very disheveled.
Don’t forget to cover your upper lip! Have a good day begging then!”
It was bad enough that lepers were outcasts, forced to live on the margins.
But this fellow had to deal with a lot.
Not only was he a leper, he was also a Samaritan!
To be a Samaritan was possibly even worse than being a leper–
Samaritans were not just outcasts –
they were the despised enemies of the Jews.
Jews who were traveling would often walk miles out of their way
in order to avoid going through Samaria.
You have to wonder if the other lepers were saying,
“Well, it could be worse. At least I’m not a Samaritan”
Maybe that was on their gratitude list!
But just think – they were healed!
They were on their way to show themselves to the priest,
and then they would be restored to life:
They could go home. They could hug their wives or husbands.
They could tuck their children into bed at night,
and get up and go to their work in the morning.
They could go to worship and weddings and funerals,
spend time with friends.
They would no longer have to shout out the warning “UNCLEAN”
as they approached someone on the road.
They were part of the lucky few who had been healed.
Why were not all of them running back to say “thank you’?
I wonder if the Samaritan with leprosy was so much more thankful
because he was so much more marginalized.
People are always so much more thankful to the fire department
when they’ve been the ones whose house was on fire.
Families who have been poor for a time tend to be more conscious
of counting their blessings when things get better.
Those who have been left out are much more aware
of how good it feels to be welcomed.
So this Samaritan, this leper, recognizes what a great gift he’s been given.
And he comes running back to Jesus,
throws himself on his face at Jesus’ feet,
and he says thank you.
And Jesus answers,
“Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”
Isn’t that just like Jesus?
He singles out the people on the margins,
the ones who call out from the intersections of racism and poverty,
of rejection and sickness.
They cry out for mercy, and he hears them.
He disregards all the social constraints against it, and he heals them.
Jesus calls us to do the same, to listen with mercy to the cries of the poor,
to reach out with healing hands to them.
Even if the response of faith and gratitude is only from one in ten.
as he got ready to go off to beg:
“Have you torn your clothes then?
I bought you a new torn robe yesterday… does it fit?
And you’ve disheveled your hair? Ah, yes, that’s very disheveled.
Don’t forget to cover your upper lip! Have a good day begging then!”
It was bad enough that lepers were outcasts, forced to live on the margins.
But this fellow had to deal with a lot.
Not only was he a leper, he was also a Samaritan!
To be a Samaritan was possibly even worse than being a leper–
Samaritans were not just outcasts –
they were the despised enemies of the Jews.
Jews who were traveling would often walk miles out of their way
in order to avoid going through Samaria.
You have to wonder if the other lepers were saying,
“Well, it could be worse. At least I’m not a Samaritan”
Maybe that was on their gratitude list!
But just think – they were healed!
They were on their way to show themselves to the priest,
and then they would be restored to life:
They could go home. They could hug their wives or husbands.
They could tuck their children into bed at night,
and get up and go to their work in the morning.
They could go to worship and weddings and funerals,
spend time with friends.
They would no longer have to shout out the warning “UNCLEAN”
as they approached someone on the road.
They were part of the lucky few who had been healed.
Why were not all of them running back to say “thank you’?
I wonder if the Samaritan with leprosy was so much more thankful
because he was so much more marginalized.
People are always so much more thankful to the fire department
when they’ve been the ones whose house was on fire.
Families who have been poor for a time tend to be more conscious
of counting their blessings when things get better.
Those who have been left out are much more aware
of how good it feels to be welcomed.
So this Samaritan, this leper, recognizes what a great gift he’s been given.
And he comes running back to Jesus,
throws himself on his face at Jesus’ feet,
and he says thank you.
And Jesus answers,
“Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”
Isn’t that just like Jesus?
He singles out the people on the margins,
the ones who call out from the intersections of racism and poverty,
of rejection and sickness.
They cry out for mercy, and he hears them.
He disregards all the social constraints against it, and he heals them.
Jesus calls us to do the same, to listen with mercy to the cries of the poor,
to reach out with healing hands to them.
Even if the response of faith and gratitude is only from one in ten.
Perhaps even more importantly, Jesus hears our cries for mercy too.
The healing he offers may not be physical, but it will be freely given.
We may not receive a cure, but our spirits and souls will receive healing
When we receive it, it is only natural to be thankful,
only natural to respond in faith.
When that happens, if we are as fortunate as that one in ten,
we may hear Jesus speak to us saying,
“Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”
The healing he offers may not be physical, but it will be freely given.
We may not receive a cure, but our spirits and souls will receive healing
When we receive it, it is only natural to be thankful,
only natural to respond in faith.
When that happens, if we are as fortunate as that one in ten,
we may hear Jesus speak to us saying,
“Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”
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