A Grateful Word
Christian Life
Women And The Word
Ten Narratives On God's Word
Object:
Listen to the words of a woman who was forced to live her life in exile because of the dreaded disease of leprosy. As you listen, try to imagine how you would feel if you were to contract a disease that would take you away from life as you know it. Enter Jesus! One brief encounter with him should have changed this woman's life dramatically. Why didn't it change her spirit as well as her body?
A Woman Leper
A Grateful Word
Luke 17:11-19
You cannot imagine what life was like for us lepers. It was desperately depressing. We had no hope, absolutely no hope. Leprosy was a horrendous disease that took a physical, emotional, and spiritual toll.
We had terrible sores all over our bodies, uncomfortable, ugly, ugly sores. As my disease progressed, my lips, nose, and ear lobes grew thicker and thicker until my face looked like that of a wild beast. Then my limbs became horribly mutilated and in time I began loosing my fingers and toes. It was a slow death with no hope for a cure.
But the physical pain was not the worst part of being a leper. The emotional pain was devastating. My life as I knew it ended when I got leprosy. My hopes and dreams for the future were dashed. Jewish law required me to leave my family. What kind of law would make a mother leave her children? How could that be what God wanted for me and my family?
Death would have been far easier than exile. You should have seen my children's faces when I told them I had to go away. They didn't understand. How could they? They were so young. They wanted their mother. They needed me. They did not care if I was sick. They did not care what I looked like. They just wanted me to be with them.
I thought my heart would break the day that I left my family. I knew my husband would take good care of the children, but I wanted to be there for them. I wanted to watch them grow up. I wanted to hold them when they were hurt and comfort them when they were afraid. I wanted to laugh with them and cry with them. Leprosy took that away from me. It took my role as a mother away. The emotional pain of my many losses: my health, my family, my home, was beyond words.
Leprosy also robbed me of my faith. I wondered what kind of God would allow this to happen to me. No one could do anything bad enough to deserve such a terrible, terrible disease. But I knew that is what people thought of me. After all, that is what they were taught in the synagogue. The religious leaders convinced people that those with leprosy deserved the awful disease. It was a punishment for a sin. Lepers were viewed as unclean. My faith community abandoned me in my time of need. There was no love there, only rejection and judgment. It was hard to believe in a loving God when you did not feel the love of God's people. So, I wondered what the point was of worshiping with those who despised me? What was the point of praising God when leprosy stripped me of everything I held dear: my health, my family, my community, and my faith?
I had become a despairing outcast. Like wild animals, lepers lived in open pits, caves, or anywhere else we could find shelter outside the city limits. No healthy person was allowed to come within fifty yards of us. That was the Jewish law. Whenever someone began to approach, we were to cry out, "Unclean, unclean." How do you think that would make you feel? Let me tell you, I felt like dirt. That was all that I had to cover my shame -- dirt and filth. I spent my days begging for food and my nights praying for death. There was little to console me, but one thing helped. A small consolation was that I was not the only one. Misery loves company. There were ten of us that lived together. Misery is a great equalizer. It did not matter if you were rich or poor, wife or widower, Gentile or Jew. We were all unclean lepers.
We even had a Samaritan living with us. I never would have associated with a Samaritan when I was healthy. The priests had always told us that they were like dogs, half-breeds who were dirty scum. That no longer mattered among us lepers. The presence of a Samaritan couldn't make us anymore unclean than we already were.
Ten pathetic lepers created our community. Despite our care for one another, life was miserable. We were consumed by hopelessness. Day after day we waited for our only hope of release: death. Have you ever been that desperate? Have things ever become that bleak? Have clouds of darkness consumed you?
We were without hope until one day we heard that Jesus was coming. We were filled with a glimmer of hope as we wondered if he would heal us. We had heard that he had the power to heal lepers. So, as we saw a crowd approaching on the road, we cried at the top of our lungs, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us."
Then an amazing thing happened. Jesus stopped. Most people moved as far away as possible and pretended that we did not exist but, Jesus stopped. He stopped, looked each of us in the eye and said, "Go and show yourselves to the priests."
We wasted no time. We knew what those words meant. Jesus was telling us we would be healed. You see there were elaborate rules for the cleansing of lepers. One of those rules was the priest had to declare a leper clean before he or she returned to a normal life.
When Jesus said, "Go and show yourselves to the priests," we trusted he would heal us. We ran as fast as our marred limbs would carry us hoping we would be given the okay to return to a full life again.
As I made my way to the synagogue I began to notice a dramatic change. There was a cool sensation on my parched skin. Then I suddenly noticed that my hands were free of sores and my legs were no longer disfigured and discolored.
Feeling a newfound health, the others and I began to run faster and faster. We wanted to have our healing confirmed by the priest. We hurried to do just what Jesus had told us, so we did not think to turn around and thank him. We were merely doing as we were told. Jesus had said we should go to the priest and, as law-abiding citizens, that is what we did.
There was one of the ten that stopped -- the Samaritan. We yelled for him to hurry up but he said he needed to find Jesus to thank him. We figured there would always be time to give thanks. There was no stopping us! We wanted to get to the priest as soon as possible. The sooner we saw the priest, the sooner we could get back to life as we knew it.
Once I had been to the priest, I was too anxious to see my children, so I had no time to turn around and thank Jesus. I wanted to catch up on all that I had missed. I wanted to hold them in my arms and smother them with kisses. Thinking about giving Jesus thanks was the last thing on my mind. My thoughts were on seeing my family.
The reunion was wonderful. Oh, you cannot imagine our joy. Being together was fabulous. Very quickly, we got back into a normal routine, and I got so busy with family life that I forgot to thank Jesus.
That was the difference between the Samaritan and the rest of us who were healed that day. He remembered to give thanks and because of that his healing was complete. He was healed physically and spiritually. The miserable disease of leprosy had been lifted from all of us, but the misery of ingratitude continued to weigh heavy on those of us who did not give thanks. Our bodies were healed, but our spirits were not. Only the Samaritan experienced full healing. He lived beyond obedience into joyful gratitude. His spirit was full of life, life that comes through praise, worship, and gratitude to God.
My body was healthy, but I was not healed. Although I was back with my family, I regret the day that I ran off to the priest to have my healing verified. I regret not stopping to give thanks to Jesus. My heart remained marred. I was not full of life and joy like the Samaritan. I hope and pray that you do not make the same mistake that I did. I beg you to stop this day and every day to give thanks to God.
I had good excuses. I wanted to follow Jesus' instructions. I wanted to see my children. After all, I was their mother and they needed me. I got too busy doing all the things that I was supposed to do. All of my excuses were good ones, so I thought I was justified in not giving thanks to Jesus.
The other lepers had equally good excuses, too. One of them was a priest before he got leprosy. He was in a hurry to get back to doing God's work. Another leper had gotten leprosy by caring for his sick wife. She had died of leprosy and he was too consumed with grief to give thanks. One of the lepers was a little girl. She had lived with lepers most of her life, so the other lepers never taught her to be thankful. There was one among us who had lived with leprosy so long that he was not sure he wanted to start over. He was too confused to give thanks. Oh, yes, all but the Samaritan had their excuses for not turning back to give thanks to Jesus.
I am sure that you have a few excuses of your own for not giving thanks to God. Maybe you are too busy climbing the corporate ladder or playing taxi for the children. Possibly you feel you don't have much to be thankful for.
Maybe you have doubts about God's steadfast love because your prayers have not been answered the way that you want.
The excuses are always there, but I beg you to stop and give thanks. I don't want your heart to be heavy like mine. An ungrateful heart eats away at the joy of life. An ungrateful heart blinds us to all the blessings God has given us. It turns us inward.
The religious outcast had it right. The Samaritan showed us just how holy his heart was as he was filled with exuberant praise and extravagant gratitude. Be one in ten. Stop and give thanks this day!
A Woman Leper
A Grateful Word
Luke 17:11-19
You cannot imagine what life was like for us lepers. It was desperately depressing. We had no hope, absolutely no hope. Leprosy was a horrendous disease that took a physical, emotional, and spiritual toll.
We had terrible sores all over our bodies, uncomfortable, ugly, ugly sores. As my disease progressed, my lips, nose, and ear lobes grew thicker and thicker until my face looked like that of a wild beast. Then my limbs became horribly mutilated and in time I began loosing my fingers and toes. It was a slow death with no hope for a cure.
But the physical pain was not the worst part of being a leper. The emotional pain was devastating. My life as I knew it ended when I got leprosy. My hopes and dreams for the future were dashed. Jewish law required me to leave my family. What kind of law would make a mother leave her children? How could that be what God wanted for me and my family?
Death would have been far easier than exile. You should have seen my children's faces when I told them I had to go away. They didn't understand. How could they? They were so young. They wanted their mother. They needed me. They did not care if I was sick. They did not care what I looked like. They just wanted me to be with them.
I thought my heart would break the day that I left my family. I knew my husband would take good care of the children, but I wanted to be there for them. I wanted to watch them grow up. I wanted to hold them when they were hurt and comfort them when they were afraid. I wanted to laugh with them and cry with them. Leprosy took that away from me. It took my role as a mother away. The emotional pain of my many losses: my health, my family, my home, was beyond words.
Leprosy also robbed me of my faith. I wondered what kind of God would allow this to happen to me. No one could do anything bad enough to deserve such a terrible, terrible disease. But I knew that is what people thought of me. After all, that is what they were taught in the synagogue. The religious leaders convinced people that those with leprosy deserved the awful disease. It was a punishment for a sin. Lepers were viewed as unclean. My faith community abandoned me in my time of need. There was no love there, only rejection and judgment. It was hard to believe in a loving God when you did not feel the love of God's people. So, I wondered what the point was of worshiping with those who despised me? What was the point of praising God when leprosy stripped me of everything I held dear: my health, my family, my community, and my faith?
I had become a despairing outcast. Like wild animals, lepers lived in open pits, caves, or anywhere else we could find shelter outside the city limits. No healthy person was allowed to come within fifty yards of us. That was the Jewish law. Whenever someone began to approach, we were to cry out, "Unclean, unclean." How do you think that would make you feel? Let me tell you, I felt like dirt. That was all that I had to cover my shame -- dirt and filth. I spent my days begging for food and my nights praying for death. There was little to console me, but one thing helped. A small consolation was that I was not the only one. Misery loves company. There were ten of us that lived together. Misery is a great equalizer. It did not matter if you were rich or poor, wife or widower, Gentile or Jew. We were all unclean lepers.
We even had a Samaritan living with us. I never would have associated with a Samaritan when I was healthy. The priests had always told us that they were like dogs, half-breeds who were dirty scum. That no longer mattered among us lepers. The presence of a Samaritan couldn't make us anymore unclean than we already were.
Ten pathetic lepers created our community. Despite our care for one another, life was miserable. We were consumed by hopelessness. Day after day we waited for our only hope of release: death. Have you ever been that desperate? Have things ever become that bleak? Have clouds of darkness consumed you?
We were without hope until one day we heard that Jesus was coming. We were filled with a glimmer of hope as we wondered if he would heal us. We had heard that he had the power to heal lepers. So, as we saw a crowd approaching on the road, we cried at the top of our lungs, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us."
Then an amazing thing happened. Jesus stopped. Most people moved as far away as possible and pretended that we did not exist but, Jesus stopped. He stopped, looked each of us in the eye and said, "Go and show yourselves to the priests."
We wasted no time. We knew what those words meant. Jesus was telling us we would be healed. You see there were elaborate rules for the cleansing of lepers. One of those rules was the priest had to declare a leper clean before he or she returned to a normal life.
When Jesus said, "Go and show yourselves to the priests," we trusted he would heal us. We ran as fast as our marred limbs would carry us hoping we would be given the okay to return to a full life again.
As I made my way to the synagogue I began to notice a dramatic change. There was a cool sensation on my parched skin. Then I suddenly noticed that my hands were free of sores and my legs were no longer disfigured and discolored.
Feeling a newfound health, the others and I began to run faster and faster. We wanted to have our healing confirmed by the priest. We hurried to do just what Jesus had told us, so we did not think to turn around and thank him. We were merely doing as we were told. Jesus had said we should go to the priest and, as law-abiding citizens, that is what we did.
There was one of the ten that stopped -- the Samaritan. We yelled for him to hurry up but he said he needed to find Jesus to thank him. We figured there would always be time to give thanks. There was no stopping us! We wanted to get to the priest as soon as possible. The sooner we saw the priest, the sooner we could get back to life as we knew it.
Once I had been to the priest, I was too anxious to see my children, so I had no time to turn around and thank Jesus. I wanted to catch up on all that I had missed. I wanted to hold them in my arms and smother them with kisses. Thinking about giving Jesus thanks was the last thing on my mind. My thoughts were on seeing my family.
The reunion was wonderful. Oh, you cannot imagine our joy. Being together was fabulous. Very quickly, we got back into a normal routine, and I got so busy with family life that I forgot to thank Jesus.
That was the difference between the Samaritan and the rest of us who were healed that day. He remembered to give thanks and because of that his healing was complete. He was healed physically and spiritually. The miserable disease of leprosy had been lifted from all of us, but the misery of ingratitude continued to weigh heavy on those of us who did not give thanks. Our bodies were healed, but our spirits were not. Only the Samaritan experienced full healing. He lived beyond obedience into joyful gratitude. His spirit was full of life, life that comes through praise, worship, and gratitude to God.
My body was healthy, but I was not healed. Although I was back with my family, I regret the day that I ran off to the priest to have my healing verified. I regret not stopping to give thanks to Jesus. My heart remained marred. I was not full of life and joy like the Samaritan. I hope and pray that you do not make the same mistake that I did. I beg you to stop this day and every day to give thanks to God.
I had good excuses. I wanted to follow Jesus' instructions. I wanted to see my children. After all, I was their mother and they needed me. I got too busy doing all the things that I was supposed to do. All of my excuses were good ones, so I thought I was justified in not giving thanks to Jesus.
The other lepers had equally good excuses, too. One of them was a priest before he got leprosy. He was in a hurry to get back to doing God's work. Another leper had gotten leprosy by caring for his sick wife. She had died of leprosy and he was too consumed with grief to give thanks. One of the lepers was a little girl. She had lived with lepers most of her life, so the other lepers never taught her to be thankful. There was one among us who had lived with leprosy so long that he was not sure he wanted to start over. He was too confused to give thanks. Oh, yes, all but the Samaritan had their excuses for not turning back to give thanks to Jesus.
I am sure that you have a few excuses of your own for not giving thanks to God. Maybe you are too busy climbing the corporate ladder or playing taxi for the children. Possibly you feel you don't have much to be thankful for.
Maybe you have doubts about God's steadfast love because your prayers have not been answered the way that you want.
The excuses are always there, but I beg you to stop and give thanks. I don't want your heart to be heavy like mine. An ungrateful heart eats away at the joy of life. An ungrateful heart blinds us to all the blessings God has given us. It turns us inward.
The religious outcast had it right. The Samaritan showed us just how holy his heart was as he was filled with exuberant praise and extravagant gratitude. Be one in ten. Stop and give thanks this day!
