The Thanksgiving menu
Commentary
Most of us have a collection of traditional items that we make part of our Thanksgiving spread each year. Perhaps this year, even if only as a conversation piece, we ought to add two more items, side by side. Adorn your Thanksgiving table this year with a chicken and an egg.
The chicken-or-the-egg, you know, is the classic cause-and-effect question. Which came first? Chickens lay eggs on the one hand, but chickens come from eggs on the other. So where did it all start? Which came first in that cycle of cause and effect?
Our selected readings for this good holiday invite us to think along those lines. The issue isn’t chickens, but perhaps those can get us thinking about what comes first, thinking about cause and effect. If so, they will help us to understand what is spread before us on our three-course meal of scripture readings.
We have before us first Moses’ words to a people about to enter the promised land, with all of its bounty and blessings. Then we have Paul’s word to a congregation being encouraged to give. And finally we have an account of Jesus healing ten lepers, including one exemplary Samaritan. Sift through each passage with an eye toward identifying cause and effect. In every case, I believe that we will arrive at the same conclusion. God’s grace comes first. God’s generous initiative is always the first cause.
So that’s the cause. The question, then, is about the effect. What is the result of God’s gracious and generous initiative?
Deuteronomy 8:7-18
The book of Deuteronomy comes to us as Moses’ farewell address to the children of Israel prior to that watershed moment when they will part company. After being their deliverer, leader, prophet, commander, and judge for more than a generation, now it is time for Moses to say goodbye. The people will cross over into their promised land, and Moses will cross over into his.
Before they go their separate ways, however, Moses is eager to give some final instructions. Like a parent saying goodbye to a child on their way out the door, Moses’ farewell is full of reminders. He wants them to remember where they’ve been and what they’ve seen. He wants them to remember the lessons learned by them and by their ancestors. He wants them to remember both the works of God and the words of God.
Moses knows, you see, how soon we forget. We forget details and experiences. We forget commitments and obligations. And we forget lessons we have learned, living below the level of our acquired wisdom and experience.
And then there is this: Moses knew that a prosperous people would soon forget the Lord.
When people are in need, you see, when they recognize that they can’t make it on their own, they turn to the Lord. It is the “no atheists in foxholes” principle. But when folks become prosperous, they are taken in by an illusion of self-sufficiency.
It’s when our health feels precarious, you know, that we become especially attentive to it. When we’ve had a close call, then we religiously pay attention to our diet, our exercise, our rest, and such. But how often have we seen people, once a crisis is past, revert to their old, unhealthy ways? How soon we forget.
Moses knew that a multitude living in the wilderness were consciously dependent upon God. He was the source of their daily bread and of miraculous water along the way. But once they were in the abundance of the good land to which God was bringing them, the sense of crisis would pass. They would relax their sense of dependence. And in the process, they would lose sight of -- and gratitude to -- their real, continuing Source.
Sometimes a person will introduce their remarks by saying, “I’ve got good news and bad news.” Moses doesn’t say exactly that, but the effect is the same. The good news was all that God had in store. Moses paints a verbal picture for his people of the blessings and abundance of the land that they are about to enter. But it is that very abundance that can give birth to the bad news. And the bad news is that prosperous, secure, comfortable people -- the sort of people Israel were about to become -- so often forget the Lord.
Generations later, the prophet Amos cried out to the descendants of Moses’ audience, “Woe to those who are at ease in Zion, and to those who feel secure in the mountain of Samaria” (Amos 6:1 NASB). Amos was declaring that judgment was on the way for those who were “at ease” and “secure.” Not because those feelings are themselves vice, but because they tend to lead a people -- and had led those people -- to lose sight of important things.
You and I are likely preaching each week to a people who are at ease, a people who feel pretty secure. It’s important that they know the risks. Moses can help us teach them. And on this occasion, we can also teach the profound and simple antidote to those risks: thanksgiving.
2 Corinthians 9:6-15
Here is the script for so many churches’ financial campaigns through the years. The apostle Paul is appealing to the Christians in Corinth to step up and participate in a charitable effort to support their brothers and sisters in Jerusalem, and the principles he shares about giving have instructed the larger church ever since. Truly there is a wealth of material here.
First, Paul employs an analogy from nature that required no explanation. Giving is linked to the planting of seeds, and thus the abundance of the return will naturally be in proportion to the generosity of the planting. This principle has been exploited by so many unworthy preachers along the way as to make it almost noxious to us and perhaps also to some of our hearers. Yet we mustn’t let the common misuse of a passage or truth remove that passage or truth from our Bibles or from our pulpits. Paul is making an important and somewhat counterintuitive claim: that to give is to invest. The giver does not say a permanent farewell to his gift any more than a farmer does to his seeds. Rather, there is a predictable return.
Next, Paul goes to the heart of the matter, addressing the issue of motivation. Individually and institutionally, we tend to evaluate giving by the amount given. God sees and looks at something else, however. The human recipient looks at the dollar figure on the check. The divine recipient looks at the heart of the person who is writing the check. He is not flattered by our begrudging generosity, for “God loves a cheerful giver.”
Third, the apostle suggests a picture that is reminiscent of what we learned in grade school about the water cycle. We remember the textbook illustrations of evaporation, condensation, and precipitation. The earth and our bodies alike are comprised mostly of water, yet it is insufficient for that water to be static -- for it to stay right where it is. The water must come and come, come and go, for life to be nurtured and to grow. And so there is the water cycle.
Likewise, there is a generosity cycle -- or call it a blessing cycle. It begins with God, it cycles through us, it blesses others, and so on. We need not fear being generous, as though it were a risky investment, for we can trust our Source. On the contrary, what we ought to fear is becoming stagnant, lifeless repositories for what is meant not to sit but to flow.
Our generosity, then, gives rise to something else, and this is a beautiful picture indeed. He assures the Corinthians that what they give will not only meet the needs of the saints -- which is a worthy end in itself -- but it issues forth in many thanksgivings to God.
Do you see the magnificent exchange that takes place?
In preparing for a trip to England some years ago, I went to a bank and turned my U.S. dollars into British pounds. Paul tells me, though, that I may turn my dollars into something far lovelier, more valuable, and more lasting. My dollars, through my giving, are turned into thanksgiving. My money becomes worship. And this happens in abundance, for he uses the word “overflows.” What a profitable exchange!
Finally, the passage concludes with a reference to the surpassing grace that God has given, and then comes Paul’s exclamation: “Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!” It’s a fascinating punctuation on the teaching, for it provides for the reader a proper reorientation. We so often lower our focus, and we tell ourselves and one another that the central issue is either our generosity or others’ needs. But Paul reminds us of the real focus. The central issue is God’s generosity and God’s gift. Let us fix our attention on that, and then let everything else flow in response to it.
Luke 17:11-19
A few chapters earlier in Luke’s gospel we read the story of the good Samaritan. It may come to mind again here because of the favorable prominence enjoyed by a Samaritan in this episode. For the moment just now, though, I’d rather call to mind the priest and the Levite from that parable.
Jesus does not give us any details about those two characters who pass by the wounded man on the road. We don’t know their names, their personalities, or their families. In short, we don’t know anything about who they were; we just know what they were. One was a priest, and the other was a Levite. And that, for the purposes of Jesus’ pointed parable, is sufficient, for it tells us two things. First, it tells us that, as men dedicated to God’s service, we might expect better of them in that moment of truth along the road. And, second, as men dedicated to God’s service, we might reasonably suspect that they were each on their way somewhere to do God’s work.
Here, then, is the poignant truth about the priest and the Levite. While they may have served God when they arrived at their destination, they failed to serve him on the way there. And that is where our selected gospel lection comes into play.
Luke tells us that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, and you and I know what that means. The synoptic gospels portray Jesus’ early ministry as a Galilean ministry. Peter’s declaration of Christ, meanwhile, serves as a watershed moment, and from that point on all signs point toward Jerusalem. Jerusalem is the site of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection. Jerusalem (and the events it represents), arguably, is why Jesus came.
Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, and along the way he was approached by ten lepers. Someone else might have run from them. Another person might have thrown stones to keep them away. And anyone else in Jesus’ situation would have been too busy, too preoccupied. But Jesus dealt with them. More than that, he healed them.
Within the context of this Thanksgiving Day, we will be right to focus our attention on the one leper who returned to give thanks. Beyond that, we are struck too by the fearlessness and the authority of Jesus in his healing of these lepers. But there is still more. Observe the exemplary compassion of Christ that, though he was on his way elsewhere to serve God, he was not so preoccupied with his destination that he failed to meet the needs along the way.
The priest and the Levite hurried past a need on their way to serve God somewhere else. I expect you and I fit that profile from time to time too. But not Jesus. Even with the weight of the cross awaiting him, he engaged with these needy men along the way.
This is a different sort of sacrifice -- the sort that we encounter routinely. My dad used to say that we are not likely to be asked to lay down our lives all at once, but rather ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Jesus did both. And his followers should be prepared to do both as well.
Application
Students of the Bible don’t wrestle for long with the question of the chicken or the egg. It seems clear from the biblical account of creation that God created creatures, and they in turn were instructed to “be fruitful and multiply.” Reproduction was built into the design of creation. Which is to say that when God made life, it was not really a finished product in the way that, say, a painting or a sculpture is. Rather, God was creating the start of something -- he was setting something in motion. He made life, and more life was to follow from that. A lot more life!
I believe that what we see in God’s design of creation is emblematic of how he works in general. He is always starting things, and he expects a response, a result. There is a kind of cascading quality to his perfect will.
So it is that his generous initiative with us is meant to result in more generosity. His forgiveness prompts us to forgive. His love gives rise to our love. His giving inspires and enables our giving, with the result that so many, many are recipients, and so many are blessed. In all of this, God is pleased, is worshiped, and is glorified.
But there is one key ingredient that may or may not be present. It is an element that is found -- or not -- in those who receive from God: gratitude. If the beneficiary of God’s generous initiative is grateful, then that becomes the catalyst for the beautiful cascade of blessings that God desires. If the recipient is not grateful, however, then no other dominos fall. The link is broken. The blessing stops after one generation, if you will, for the life did not reproduce life, the generosity did not reproduce generosity.
As we celebrate this Thanksgiving holiday, therefore, we are engaged in a profound business. This exceeds family menu traditions or sharing one thing we’re thankful for. This is central to God’s design and will.
When we stop to give thanks, we follow in the exemplary steps of that lone leper. The majority receive and go on their way. It is a blessed minority that return to give thanks.
When we stop to give thanks, we recalibrate our perspective. We steer clear of the pitfalls about which Moses warned his people. Instead of being so at ease in Zion that we lose sight of our Source, we remember him.
And when we stop to give thanks, we turn our attention with Paul to God’s indescribable gift. This is the cause, for which our own generosity is the effect. And our generosity, in turn, yields a bountiful harvest of blessings, thanksgivings, and praise.
Alternative Application
Luke 17:11-19. “And He Was a Samaritan” The word “Samaritan” has an entirely positive connotation in our day. Indeed, if you played a word association game with most folks and you said “Samaritan,” most if not all would probably reply “Good.” Our contemporary association with Samaritans is entirely the product of the famous parable Jesus told in which a Samaritan was the exemplary hero.
In the context of 1st-century Palestinian Judaism, on the other hand, “Samaritan” had a quite different connotation. The Jews and Samaritans were rival neighbors, with a history of bad blood between them. The Jews hated the Samaritans, and they regarded them as both ethnically and theologically inferior.
It is against that backdrop, then, that Luke offers this personal detail about one of the characters in this healing narrative. Ten lepers were healed by Jesus. One came back to thank him. “And he was a Samaritan.”
We don’t know the ethnicity of the other nine lepers. One would think that they were a mix of Jews and Samaritans, otherwise Luke wouldn’t have bothered to include the detail about the one that he did. And if they were, in fact, a mixed group, that is its own little sermon. Men who, when healthy, were kept apart by prejudice, now were bonded together by their common ailment. See how tragedy brings perspective and how trouble brings people together.
Meanwhile, the one leper who stands out in the story for his gratitude was a Samaritan. That would have been virtue from an unexpected source. But when we pull back the lens, we discover how common a pattern this is in Jesus’ ministry.
Two times in the gospels, Jesus commends a person for having great faith (in contrast, say, to the numerous times when he chides his disciples for their little faith). The one is a Roman centurion and the other is a Canaanite woman -- both Gentiles. Virtue, again, from an unexpected source.
In John’s gospel, Nicodemus, a “teacher of Israel,” is juxtaposed with the Samaritan woman (chapters 3 and 4). The former proves to be confused and disappointing, while the latter engages with Jesus in a profound conversation. Nicodemus disappears into the night, while the Samaritan woman leads her town to Christ.
The list goes on and on. Neither the king of Syria nor the king of Israel can offer much help to leprous Naaman, but two anonymous servants prove to be catalysts for his healing (2 Kings 5:1-14). God chooses the foolish things of the world to shame the wise (1 Corinthians 1:27). And can anything good come out of Nazareth (John 1:46)?
Sometimes our prejudices give rise to hate and cruelty. More often, however, they simply produce lowered expectations or negative ones. And that, we see, is a recipe for missing out on blessings when we are dealing with God or with those created in his image.
The chicken-or-the-egg, you know, is the classic cause-and-effect question. Which came first? Chickens lay eggs on the one hand, but chickens come from eggs on the other. So where did it all start? Which came first in that cycle of cause and effect?
Our selected readings for this good holiday invite us to think along those lines. The issue isn’t chickens, but perhaps those can get us thinking about what comes first, thinking about cause and effect. If so, they will help us to understand what is spread before us on our three-course meal of scripture readings.
We have before us first Moses’ words to a people about to enter the promised land, with all of its bounty and blessings. Then we have Paul’s word to a congregation being encouraged to give. And finally we have an account of Jesus healing ten lepers, including one exemplary Samaritan. Sift through each passage with an eye toward identifying cause and effect. In every case, I believe that we will arrive at the same conclusion. God’s grace comes first. God’s generous initiative is always the first cause.
So that’s the cause. The question, then, is about the effect. What is the result of God’s gracious and generous initiative?
Deuteronomy 8:7-18
The book of Deuteronomy comes to us as Moses’ farewell address to the children of Israel prior to that watershed moment when they will part company. After being their deliverer, leader, prophet, commander, and judge for more than a generation, now it is time for Moses to say goodbye. The people will cross over into their promised land, and Moses will cross over into his.
Before they go their separate ways, however, Moses is eager to give some final instructions. Like a parent saying goodbye to a child on their way out the door, Moses’ farewell is full of reminders. He wants them to remember where they’ve been and what they’ve seen. He wants them to remember the lessons learned by them and by their ancestors. He wants them to remember both the works of God and the words of God.
Moses knows, you see, how soon we forget. We forget details and experiences. We forget commitments and obligations. And we forget lessons we have learned, living below the level of our acquired wisdom and experience.
And then there is this: Moses knew that a prosperous people would soon forget the Lord.
When people are in need, you see, when they recognize that they can’t make it on their own, they turn to the Lord. It is the “no atheists in foxholes” principle. But when folks become prosperous, they are taken in by an illusion of self-sufficiency.
It’s when our health feels precarious, you know, that we become especially attentive to it. When we’ve had a close call, then we religiously pay attention to our diet, our exercise, our rest, and such. But how often have we seen people, once a crisis is past, revert to their old, unhealthy ways? How soon we forget.
Moses knew that a multitude living in the wilderness were consciously dependent upon God. He was the source of their daily bread and of miraculous water along the way. But once they were in the abundance of the good land to which God was bringing them, the sense of crisis would pass. They would relax their sense of dependence. And in the process, they would lose sight of -- and gratitude to -- their real, continuing Source.
Sometimes a person will introduce their remarks by saying, “I’ve got good news and bad news.” Moses doesn’t say exactly that, but the effect is the same. The good news was all that God had in store. Moses paints a verbal picture for his people of the blessings and abundance of the land that they are about to enter. But it is that very abundance that can give birth to the bad news. And the bad news is that prosperous, secure, comfortable people -- the sort of people Israel were about to become -- so often forget the Lord.
Generations later, the prophet Amos cried out to the descendants of Moses’ audience, “Woe to those who are at ease in Zion, and to those who feel secure in the mountain of Samaria” (Amos 6:1 NASB). Amos was declaring that judgment was on the way for those who were “at ease” and “secure.” Not because those feelings are themselves vice, but because they tend to lead a people -- and had led those people -- to lose sight of important things.
You and I are likely preaching each week to a people who are at ease, a people who feel pretty secure. It’s important that they know the risks. Moses can help us teach them. And on this occasion, we can also teach the profound and simple antidote to those risks: thanksgiving.
2 Corinthians 9:6-15
Here is the script for so many churches’ financial campaigns through the years. The apostle Paul is appealing to the Christians in Corinth to step up and participate in a charitable effort to support their brothers and sisters in Jerusalem, and the principles he shares about giving have instructed the larger church ever since. Truly there is a wealth of material here.
First, Paul employs an analogy from nature that required no explanation. Giving is linked to the planting of seeds, and thus the abundance of the return will naturally be in proportion to the generosity of the planting. This principle has been exploited by so many unworthy preachers along the way as to make it almost noxious to us and perhaps also to some of our hearers. Yet we mustn’t let the common misuse of a passage or truth remove that passage or truth from our Bibles or from our pulpits. Paul is making an important and somewhat counterintuitive claim: that to give is to invest. The giver does not say a permanent farewell to his gift any more than a farmer does to his seeds. Rather, there is a predictable return.
Next, Paul goes to the heart of the matter, addressing the issue of motivation. Individually and institutionally, we tend to evaluate giving by the amount given. God sees and looks at something else, however. The human recipient looks at the dollar figure on the check. The divine recipient looks at the heart of the person who is writing the check. He is not flattered by our begrudging generosity, for “God loves a cheerful giver.”
Third, the apostle suggests a picture that is reminiscent of what we learned in grade school about the water cycle. We remember the textbook illustrations of evaporation, condensation, and precipitation. The earth and our bodies alike are comprised mostly of water, yet it is insufficient for that water to be static -- for it to stay right where it is. The water must come and come, come and go, for life to be nurtured and to grow. And so there is the water cycle.
Likewise, there is a generosity cycle -- or call it a blessing cycle. It begins with God, it cycles through us, it blesses others, and so on. We need not fear being generous, as though it were a risky investment, for we can trust our Source. On the contrary, what we ought to fear is becoming stagnant, lifeless repositories for what is meant not to sit but to flow.
Our generosity, then, gives rise to something else, and this is a beautiful picture indeed. He assures the Corinthians that what they give will not only meet the needs of the saints -- which is a worthy end in itself -- but it issues forth in many thanksgivings to God.
Do you see the magnificent exchange that takes place?
In preparing for a trip to England some years ago, I went to a bank and turned my U.S. dollars into British pounds. Paul tells me, though, that I may turn my dollars into something far lovelier, more valuable, and more lasting. My dollars, through my giving, are turned into thanksgiving. My money becomes worship. And this happens in abundance, for he uses the word “overflows.” What a profitable exchange!
Finally, the passage concludes with a reference to the surpassing grace that God has given, and then comes Paul’s exclamation: “Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!” It’s a fascinating punctuation on the teaching, for it provides for the reader a proper reorientation. We so often lower our focus, and we tell ourselves and one another that the central issue is either our generosity or others’ needs. But Paul reminds us of the real focus. The central issue is God’s generosity and God’s gift. Let us fix our attention on that, and then let everything else flow in response to it.
Luke 17:11-19
A few chapters earlier in Luke’s gospel we read the story of the good Samaritan. It may come to mind again here because of the favorable prominence enjoyed by a Samaritan in this episode. For the moment just now, though, I’d rather call to mind the priest and the Levite from that parable.
Jesus does not give us any details about those two characters who pass by the wounded man on the road. We don’t know their names, their personalities, or their families. In short, we don’t know anything about who they were; we just know what they were. One was a priest, and the other was a Levite. And that, for the purposes of Jesus’ pointed parable, is sufficient, for it tells us two things. First, it tells us that, as men dedicated to God’s service, we might expect better of them in that moment of truth along the road. And, second, as men dedicated to God’s service, we might reasonably suspect that they were each on their way somewhere to do God’s work.
Here, then, is the poignant truth about the priest and the Levite. While they may have served God when they arrived at their destination, they failed to serve him on the way there. And that is where our selected gospel lection comes into play.
Luke tells us that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, and you and I know what that means. The synoptic gospels portray Jesus’ early ministry as a Galilean ministry. Peter’s declaration of Christ, meanwhile, serves as a watershed moment, and from that point on all signs point toward Jerusalem. Jerusalem is the site of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection. Jerusalem (and the events it represents), arguably, is why Jesus came.
Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, and along the way he was approached by ten lepers. Someone else might have run from them. Another person might have thrown stones to keep them away. And anyone else in Jesus’ situation would have been too busy, too preoccupied. But Jesus dealt with them. More than that, he healed them.
Within the context of this Thanksgiving Day, we will be right to focus our attention on the one leper who returned to give thanks. Beyond that, we are struck too by the fearlessness and the authority of Jesus in his healing of these lepers. But there is still more. Observe the exemplary compassion of Christ that, though he was on his way elsewhere to serve God, he was not so preoccupied with his destination that he failed to meet the needs along the way.
The priest and the Levite hurried past a need on their way to serve God somewhere else. I expect you and I fit that profile from time to time too. But not Jesus. Even with the weight of the cross awaiting him, he engaged with these needy men along the way.
This is a different sort of sacrifice -- the sort that we encounter routinely. My dad used to say that we are not likely to be asked to lay down our lives all at once, but rather ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Jesus did both. And his followers should be prepared to do both as well.
Application
Students of the Bible don’t wrestle for long with the question of the chicken or the egg. It seems clear from the biblical account of creation that God created creatures, and they in turn were instructed to “be fruitful and multiply.” Reproduction was built into the design of creation. Which is to say that when God made life, it was not really a finished product in the way that, say, a painting or a sculpture is. Rather, God was creating the start of something -- he was setting something in motion. He made life, and more life was to follow from that. A lot more life!
I believe that what we see in God’s design of creation is emblematic of how he works in general. He is always starting things, and he expects a response, a result. There is a kind of cascading quality to his perfect will.
So it is that his generous initiative with us is meant to result in more generosity. His forgiveness prompts us to forgive. His love gives rise to our love. His giving inspires and enables our giving, with the result that so many, many are recipients, and so many are blessed. In all of this, God is pleased, is worshiped, and is glorified.
But there is one key ingredient that may or may not be present. It is an element that is found -- or not -- in those who receive from God: gratitude. If the beneficiary of God’s generous initiative is grateful, then that becomes the catalyst for the beautiful cascade of blessings that God desires. If the recipient is not grateful, however, then no other dominos fall. The link is broken. The blessing stops after one generation, if you will, for the life did not reproduce life, the generosity did not reproduce generosity.
As we celebrate this Thanksgiving holiday, therefore, we are engaged in a profound business. This exceeds family menu traditions or sharing one thing we’re thankful for. This is central to God’s design and will.
When we stop to give thanks, we follow in the exemplary steps of that lone leper. The majority receive and go on their way. It is a blessed minority that return to give thanks.
When we stop to give thanks, we recalibrate our perspective. We steer clear of the pitfalls about which Moses warned his people. Instead of being so at ease in Zion that we lose sight of our Source, we remember him.
And when we stop to give thanks, we turn our attention with Paul to God’s indescribable gift. This is the cause, for which our own generosity is the effect. And our generosity, in turn, yields a bountiful harvest of blessings, thanksgivings, and praise.
Alternative Application
Luke 17:11-19. “And He Was a Samaritan” The word “Samaritan” has an entirely positive connotation in our day. Indeed, if you played a word association game with most folks and you said “Samaritan,” most if not all would probably reply “Good.” Our contemporary association with Samaritans is entirely the product of the famous parable Jesus told in which a Samaritan was the exemplary hero.
In the context of 1st-century Palestinian Judaism, on the other hand, “Samaritan” had a quite different connotation. The Jews and Samaritans were rival neighbors, with a history of bad blood between them. The Jews hated the Samaritans, and they regarded them as both ethnically and theologically inferior.
It is against that backdrop, then, that Luke offers this personal detail about one of the characters in this healing narrative. Ten lepers were healed by Jesus. One came back to thank him. “And he was a Samaritan.”
We don’t know the ethnicity of the other nine lepers. One would think that they were a mix of Jews and Samaritans, otherwise Luke wouldn’t have bothered to include the detail about the one that he did. And if they were, in fact, a mixed group, that is its own little sermon. Men who, when healthy, were kept apart by prejudice, now were bonded together by their common ailment. See how tragedy brings perspective and how trouble brings people together.
Meanwhile, the one leper who stands out in the story for his gratitude was a Samaritan. That would have been virtue from an unexpected source. But when we pull back the lens, we discover how common a pattern this is in Jesus’ ministry.
Two times in the gospels, Jesus commends a person for having great faith (in contrast, say, to the numerous times when he chides his disciples for their little faith). The one is a Roman centurion and the other is a Canaanite woman -- both Gentiles. Virtue, again, from an unexpected source.
In John’s gospel, Nicodemus, a “teacher of Israel,” is juxtaposed with the Samaritan woman (chapters 3 and 4). The former proves to be confused and disappointing, while the latter engages with Jesus in a profound conversation. Nicodemus disappears into the night, while the Samaritan woman leads her town to Christ.
The list goes on and on. Neither the king of Syria nor the king of Israel can offer much help to leprous Naaman, but two anonymous servants prove to be catalysts for his healing (2 Kings 5:1-14). God chooses the foolish things of the world to shame the wise (1 Corinthians 1:27). And can anything good come out of Nazareth (John 1:46)?
Sometimes our prejudices give rise to hate and cruelty. More often, however, they simply produce lowered expectations or negative ones. And that, we see, is a recipe for missing out on blessings when we are dealing with God or with those created in his image.
