Text: Luke 17:11-19 and 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c
In most Lutheran churches the readings for the day are listed in a lectionary. The first reading and the Gospel reading are supposed to be related in some way. Sometimes the connection is obvious. But sometimes it seems they are hardly related at all. And sometimes it seems like they are related by only trivially, by some common word. And sometimes, like today, they are related in a deep way.
The first story is about Naaman, commander of the army of King Aram, who defeated the Israelites in battle. But Naaman is sick. He is sent to Elijah the Israelite prophet. He has what is described as leprosy, which is probably some skin disease, but not what we’d call leprosy today. The second story is similar. Some men who come to Jesus because they are sick; they have leprosy, too, another skin disease that is also not what we’d call leprosy. In both stories, the sick are cured. In both stories the healing is done at a distance.
But that is not what connects these two passages. There are lots of stories in the Bible about sick people getting cures. What strikes us in both these two particular stories is that they both reveal moral defects. We are shocked at the behavior of Naaman in the first story and the nine men who walked away in the second. They seem to be arrogant and entitled. They are oblivious to what is going on. And, at least for a time or at least for some, they are ungrateful.
There is a persuasive power to ideas. That’s sort of by definition. Any idea worth its salt changes things in people. But some thoughts, some of the time, in some people, cause a kind of blindness. We do things based on what we think things should be instead of what they are. Prejudice is a common example. Our thoughts about people blind us to the real people in front of us. Disappointment is another, where our thoughts about how things should go turn out blind us to the gifts that we are receiving. This idea-blindness influences everything from what we do and say in relationships, to how we vote, to how we do our jobs, to how we walk down a city street, to what we wear, to how we view God.
Naaman comes to Elijah the prophet with expectations—which is an idea in which “what should be” replaces “what is.” Naaman expects that because of his stature, his rank, his value to the king who is in power over Israel, and probably even his character and goodness—Naaman expects something appropriate will happen when he visits this Hebrew prophet. He expects deference. But Elijah does not even greet the great commander. Instead, he sends Naaman some stupid instructions by messenger, the email of his day. Naaman gets angry. “I thought,” he says, “I thought at least Elijah would come out and stand and call on the name of God and wave his hand over the spot and cure me.” Very particular and detailed expectations. Though Naaman is offered the gift of health, he nearly refuses it.
Naaman is not alone. In the portion of the passage that the lectionary skips, Aram sends the king of Israel a gift of 750 pounds of silver, 150 pounds of gold, and some fine clothing. Rather than pleasing the king, it makes him frantic. He has an idea that Aram is making demands on him and he is afraid he will fail. “Look” he says, “Aram is trying to pick a quarrel with me.” Though the king is offered the gift of a fortune, he nearly refuses it.
Our expectations of the way things should be blind us to the gifts that God has given us. Rather than feel blessed we feel deprived. Rather than feel surrounded by much good, we feel shortchanged. Rather than feeling joy, we feel fear. And because we do not see the gifts, we do not see the giver. All we see are situations and transactions and conditions—all lacking somehow. God becomes invisible.
Ten people come to Jesus for a cure. Jesus sends them all away. And as they go, they are in fact cured. What a scene that must have been on the road. We do not know what nine of them did. But we do know what one of them did. He comes back. He throws himself at the feet of Jesus and thanks him. This is not mostly a story about a miracle cure. The cure itself takes place off-stage. We do not see it. But we do see the man returning. As we see Naaman returning. Both men are transformed. Not only transformed in health but also transformed in sight. They both see God where they did not before. God has become visible to them. They return in thanksgiving. And being thankful, they see God.
Thanksgiving is the foundation of faith. Hallelujah—hooray!—says the psalm. I give thanks with my whole heart and mind. Thanksgiving is the fruit of the creation story in Genesis, whose story line is essentially: what a great world God has made! Thank you, God. God’s work, says the psalm, is full of splendor and majesty and marvels. This sense of awe and wonder and mystery is a form of thanksgiving. Thanksgiving to God creator and provider of all things. God who gives us life—amazing in itself—and that we are able to take pleasure in it. Even more amazing.
To be thankful is not a chore, but a joy. Not law, but grace, Lutherans might say. Naaman and the man come back to Elijah and Jesus not because of social obligation or guilty consciences, but because they are overwhelmed with gratitude. Praise God! they say.
Writing about the story in Luke, one scholar asks “Who actually would enjoy the thought of owing everything good and worthy in his or her life, indeed life itself, to someone else, to confess that we are definitely not self-made but—quite the opposite—created beings? Who would claim that leading a life of thanksgiving is the reason for and foundation of personal and communal joy?”
Wow. I read this and thought: I would. And I think that many of you here would, too.
Thanksgiving is the center of Christian worship. What we do here is by and large gratitude expressed in ritual. Let us give thanks to the Lord our God, begins the Great Thanksgiving of the Lord’s Supper. The word for the Lord’s Supper, for Holy Communion, is Eucharist. That word, letter for letter direct from the Greek, means thank you. It is the word the leper uses to thank Jesus. The church and worship is like a workshop for thanksgiving, a bench, tools, instructions for living a grateful life. What would worship be like without thanksgiving? A dismal expression of sacrifice and fear.
I am a little concerned for the world these days. What I see is a stinginess of character. Rather than generosity of spirit. A sense among many people that they are not getting what they expected. That they are deprived. It makes people sour. Gratitude is a basic human need. We need to be grateful much as we need to eat. Naaman and the man get a double gift: they get health and they get to be grateful. But we are starving for gratitude.
C. S. Lewis wrote that gratitude and praise—its verbal expression—seems almost to be inner health made audible. But more often it works the other way around. Expressing thanks promotes inner health. When we are feeling hungry, we need to eat. Likewise, when we are feeling deprived, we need to give thanks.
The psalm says: God calls God’s wonders to be remembered. Therefore we pray: Remember when we get up in the morning and when we go to bed at night. It is good to give God thanks and praise.
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