Extended Thanksgiving

Two of my favorite holy days come in November: All Saints' Day (11/1) and Thanksgiving. Remembering those who have gone before us; holding an oil candle, speaking their names and hearing the congregation respond, "Absent from us. Present with God"; and singing "For All the Saints" (a most beloved hymn of Beverly, my wife) are profound acts of thanksgiving. I experience Thanksgiving as the most restful of holy days because it represents a healthy sense of dependency on God and each other. I say thank you to those people on whom I rely for help and hope and health and love. To say thank you is to value the relationships I share with other people and not strive to be independent of them. To rest in God's care for me and the world is an ultimate act of trust.

As a new church we rely on the greater faith community for some important worship services throughout the year: Ash Wednesday (the beginning of Lent), Good Friday (just before Easter) and Thanksgiving Eve. I enjoy these services because I get to hear other preachers and singers; I get to worship in other sacred spaces; and I feel a part of the extended family of faith. I also thank God for who we are as the unique Body of Christ called White Pines United Methodist Church.

In 2007 I was one of the preachers for the Thanksgiving Eve service at Our Lady of Consolation Catholic Church. The "message" was a medley of characters in the story of Jesus healing ten people with leprosy, only one of whom returned to thank him (Luke 17:11-19). Four of us took the roles of a person who was healed but ungrateful, an onlooker who was excited that Jesus was coming to town but disgusted that ten of "those people" showed up, a person who was healed and did not return to give thanks but lived a grateful life, and the only foreigner of the ten who returned to give thanks. I was the third person. Here is my story...

I met Jesus on the border between Galilee and Samaria. You know how you associate a place with a memory? This place of my healing was more than a geographical boundary.

My condition defiled me. I had to stay away, on the other side of social and religious boundaries. In olden times I would be outside the camp where the LORD lives, in isolation. With torn clothing and loose hair I had to cover my mouth and announce my uncleanness to people wherever I went. I was outside of God’s presence, until Jesus came to the border. A group of us was there. You know how people who are rejected by the community have a way of finding each other. Something felt different that day on the border. We cried out to Jesus for mercy with our mouths uncovered, no longer declaring our uncleanness and he listened and he looked at us! That was redeeming enough, but then came the next surprise...

Jesus sent us away unhealed, moving through the village. We had not been able to do that before. Jesus regarded us differently than people we usually encountered who would try to get out of our way. I wasn’t about to stop walking, something compelled me to keep going. When I caught my breath enough to look at my hands and arms; to be aware of my body, I noticed they were clear, the disease was gone!

Continuing to look at my arms and hands, and trying to believe my eyes, I almost stumbled on the way to the priest. I did not notice the expressions and gasps of the people around me, or the turning around of the Samaritan leper who stood with us crying out to Jesus. I wanted to get to the priest to make my healing official; as official as my exclusion and isolation had been. I wanted to cross the boundary that I dared not cross with my former condition.

It’s funny, but I was almost embarrassed at my healed condition. Was it really OK to go anywhere? What would I talk about with my family? I was trading the clear rejection of others because of my disease for their skepticism of my healing, their hesitation at approaching me or having me approach them.

And I was grateful, with tears and sighs; grateful to Jesus who heard me and healed me. But I did not return to tell him. Surprised, embarrassed, bewildered at my new life, I did not know what to do. I felt the struggle within of trusting the new power of healing, and still feeling the power of rejection and isolation. Life changed so fast. With discouragement I had fashioned a life around my disease and now I was free.

I live out of that gratitude, truly living in community and reaching out, going near those who are currently rejected and isolated. I question boundaries now. The regret at not returning to Jesus is gradually fading each time I tell others of how he healed us. You know, the way telling a story helps you remember and be thankful.

Peace, Pastor Jeff