Thankfulness
It was a warm day in the small Galilean village. Life went on as normal for its inhabitants.
And it was, of course, completely normal for the persons in this village not to think twice of the ten lepers who lived outside their village, unable to enter, or come near to any of them, because of their unfortunate and painful disease. Not only were they to stay away from the people, but they had to cry out, "Unclean! Unclean!" to keep those same people from getting too close on their own.
They didn't blame the village inhabitants and their visitors for not wanting their disease... They didn't even like to touch each other, and they already had it. It was just so revolting. All that nasty, rotting flesh. Even when you knew you looked just as bad, to touch the arm of someone else who was in such a state... Well, it was unthinkable.
Which was why, on that day, when one of the ten lepers wanted to get the attention of his closest fellow sufferer, he touched, not his leprous peer himself, but the air next to him, swatting at nothing to get his attention.
The motion caught the corner of his eye. He lowered the rag he held in front of his mouth and nose partway and whisper-hissed, "Yes, what is it? What do you want?"
"Did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"That the Christ is coming this way!"
The whisper, meant only for one ear, was heard somehow by at least half of the ten and sent a barge of grumbles and comments and protests running down the line until all ten knew what had just been conveyed.
"Christ?"
"You mean Jesus the Nazarene?"
"He is the Messiah."
"Yes, I heard it said!"
"Hush, you! You are only a Samaritan; what could you possibly know of the Messiah?"
"Can he heal us?"
"Of course, if he takes pity."
"We should ask!"
"I told you to hush, did I not? Foolish Samaritan, how are we meant to get close enough to ask such a thing?"
One leper piped in, "We could call out, yes?"
"Yes," said the one who'd told the Samaritan to hush twice now. "There is that."
"Then lets do that, John."
"Who will be healed first?"
"Does it matter?"
"Suppose he will only heal one of us..."
It was the Samaritan who braved speaking again to answer that. "I don't believe the Christ would have a limit on how many he could heal; and, if there were no limit, why should he only heal one or two?" He stopped, pausing for a moment, perhaps a little surprised that the other lepers had not immediately interrupted him. "Besides, you are all Jews. If anyone has cause -and I do not believe it so, regardless- to worry, it would be me. And I tell you truly, friends, I am not worried. For Jesus is kind and compassionate. Why, I heard once how he healed a woman subject to an unending flow of blood, and then did not even scold her for being out in the crowd with such an unclean affliction."
"Hush! Here he comes!"
They could see Jesus himself, though a long ways off, coming. He would be going into the village, doubtless, and if they did not act out, they'd miss their chance. Still, they mustn't swarm him. The Samaritan's recounting of the story of the woman with the flow of blood had made them braver, bolder even, but not brazen. They wouldn't disregard the law. The woman might not have had a choice, the pressing crowd that had been around Jesus at the time could likely have been a din over which her pleas would not have been heard. They, though, were not in the same situation. They could call out, and be heard. There were no crowds around Jesus just now.
"Jesus!"
"Instructor!"
"Have mercy on us!"
Jesus' figure in the distant stopped. Oh, he had heard them! "Where are you?"
"You must know that we are here, in the distance, unable to come closer because of our leprosy."
"Please," another repeated, "have mercy!"
Jesus might have nodded, or blinked, or perhaps his face softened. The Samaritan liked to think it did, though they were too far away to see any expression at this time.
"Have mercy on us, oh son of the most high, Jehovah God!"
"Go and show yourselves to the priests," Jesus told them in a commanding, carrying yet gentle voice.
Only the priests could pronounce a man clean of leprosy under the law. They were not yet cured, but perhaps, they reasoned, Jesus has made some provision for us to be healed before reaching the priests, or any other persons along the way.
Trusting him, they started off.
The Samaritan hesitated. It was not that he did not believe he would be somehow miraculously pronounced clean by the priests upon arrival, it was more that he felt he really ought to say something to Jesus before taking off.
But what? And truly his voice was getting hoarse from all this shouting. No, he must go with the others, must obey. Whatever else was needed to be done, perhaps an appropriate chance would follow later.
As the leprous men traveled along their way to see the priests, they found they could feel themselves healing, reviving beautifully. They felt... Oh, better than they had in ages...
The leper who had held the rag in front of his face now cast it way, smiling brilliantly, beaming, grinning ear to ear. Such happiness, so intense and total, seemed almost to make them forget to whom they owed this great miracle.
They knew it was Jesus who had healed them, and were glad of it, but it did not occur to them that they ought to do anything about this knowledge. No, they just continued joyfully along the road.
After all, the sooner they got to the priest and were pronounced as clean, the sooner they could go back into the village and get on with their lives again.
But the Samaritan man once again felt himself hesitate.
This time, he turned back and began to run. If he was healed, no longer sick, what was preventing him from racing back to Jesus and thanking him for all he -through God- had done for him?
As he got closer to the Christ, he felt his already broad smile widen. Jesus did look happy, and his expression was soft. He even looked pleased to see him now, running to him like this.
It was such a rare thing, this, to see a Jew so happy at the sight of a Samaritan running toward him...
Upon reaching Jesus, the Samaritan man who had formerly been a leper fell to his knees and spread his arms wide. Out of his grateful mouth flew praise after praise for God's glory. "Praise be to the one who sent you, to God almighty, who looked upon our sickly state and stretched out his hand until there was no more want, curing us from our grievous aliment!" No sooner had he taken a sharp, inhaling breath than he began thanking Jesus brokenly. Tears of joy were streaming down his cheeks.
For a short moment, Jesus said nothing. Then, finally, in a voice so sad with disappointment it shocked the Samaritan, he replied, "All ten of you were cleansed, were you not? Where, then, are the other nine? Were none found that could turn around and give due glory to God but this man of another nation, who has not yet come to know Jehovah?"
The Samaritan gawked at him, suddenly equally sad. For every word Jesus spoke in this matter was quite true. He, a Samaritan, was the only one who'd turned back to praise this God who had made himself known to the Jews.
Still, Jesus looked kindly at this one grateful man. Smiling down at him again, he added, quickly, "You, though, rise up and be on your way; your faith has made you well."
And the Samaritan man did just so.
There is a lesson for us in this account. It shows us how easy it is to be ungrateful for the many blessings we receive from God.
How many of us even go through our days not so much as once thinking of the fact that God let his only begotten son, Jesus Christ, die for us? How many people will not notice the passing of the memorial of Christ's death (which falls on April 14th this year)?
Will you be one of them?
Or will you be as the grateful Samaritan was, and turn back from your daily activities for a short while so that you might remember, and give due praise to God?