The Risk That Comes With Rights

Luke 17:11-19
Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed.

One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.

Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.”

As I read this passage the other day, I found myself reflecting on the question that Jesus himself felt needed to be asked: Why is it that only the despised Samaritan has returned to give him thanks? Why, indeed?!?

It's a question I want to return to, but let's first digress for a moment to consider another question: Why were nine (I presume?) Jews hanging out with a despised Samaritan in the first place? Why, indeed?!?

The answer to that second question is pretty clear: shared suffering forges solidarity among people who wouldn't otherwise be mingling. Suffering is the ice-breaker in the party of life.

We've all seen this happen in small ways. A snowed-in airport, a long line at that terminal counter. As the minutes stretch into hours, the ordinary barriers break down. Conversations begin. But when the weather breaks and the delayed planes finally arrive? The passengers resume their solitary journeys.

Our story here follows a similar trajectory that differs only in scale and significance. We have not indifferent travelers but rather bitter enemies. Not delayed planes but rather a shared life-threatening and socially alienating illness. The alliance is dissolved not by the arrival of planes but rather by the arrival of miraculous healing.

The final distinction between the plane analogy and our ten lepers reaches into the heart of the question that Jesus asked. The folks at the airport amicably part ways in order to reach different (but neutral) destinations. Our lepers, however, have parted ways on a plane tinged with moral significance. Our story ends with nine Jews heading to Jerusalem. And one Samaritan heading to Jesus. (I'm going to assume the other nine lepers were Jews, but I grant this is an assumption.)

When reading this passage in the past, I have focused simply on the lack of gratitude that the nine Jews displayed. Here I ask a disquieting question: Is it possible that the Samaritan was different from his peers not because he was, out of the gate, a more grateful person? Is it possible that his better choice was driven at least in part by (relative to his fellow travelers) a poorer set of next-move options?

Here's why I ask that question. The nine Jews (once free and clear of leprosy) had something that the Samaritan did not have. Status. Privilege. When they went to the temple, they were going to a place where they were welcome. They were, after all, Jews. The Samaritan, by way of contrast, was (needless to say) not a Jew. What does that tell us about his ordinary options? Perhaps it is good to return to another passage for a reminder.

John 4:19-20
“Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”

This passage is from a conversation Jesus had with a Samaritan woman at a well. It should be noted that she blurts out this locale-of-worship observation immediately after she perceives that Jesus is a Jewish spiritual leader. In other words, the question of where one worships was very much a hot-button topic between Jews and Samaritans.

Does that reality inform our thoughts when we revisit the options facing our ten lepers? I think so! Prior to the healing, none of them was welcome in Jerusalem, let alone the temple. After the healing? Nine of them were welcome. That, we must acknowledge, tips the balance more than a bit. It's probably not such a wonder that it is the Samaritan who suddenly decided to return to thank Jesus. He wasn't welcome at the temple anyway, but he knew he was welcome with Jesus.

In suggesting this I am not seeking to detract from what our Samaritan did! He made the right choice! No, my preoccupation here lies with the disquieting suspicion that I, like nine Jews so many years ago, have too often found myself in hot pursuit of things that in and of themselves are not bad—but which are nevertheless a poor trade for time at the feet of Jesus.

It must be said, before proceeding, that the nine who proceeded on to the temple were following Jesus' explicit instructions. And yet! Jesus is disappointed that nine lepers followed his instructions. Jesus saw the Samaritan's choice as the better one. And notice that Jesus didn't remind the Samaritan of his to-do list item. It's not even clear if the Samaritan ever returned to the temple at all!

In short, I am wondering how often my rights and privileges can be a hindrance to something that is even better still. Can anything beat falling down in a grateful heap at feet of Jesus? No. But if I'm not careful, my choices may suggest otherwise. In fact, they often do.