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A Sermon Preached at St. Christopher's Episcopal Church, Oak Park, IL
on the Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, October 14, 2007 (Proper 23, Year C, RCL)
by the Rev. J. Paris Coffey

Readings:
2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c, Psalm 111, 2 Timothy 2:8-15, Luke 17:11-19

"Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, a descendant of David - that is my gospel, for which I suffer hardship, even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the word of God is not chained. " - 2 Timothy 2:8-9

I love talking to young people about religion, especially when they're challenging the faith with which they were raised. By faith what I really mean is a proper noun - spelled with a capital "F" and preceded by the word "the." In fact, "the" is often capitalized as well, as in "I belong to The Faith." Such a phrase is called a proper name in grammar, defined as "belonging to a class of words having few possibilities for modification." Sadly, this is the understanding of Christianity for many people, as it is of Judaism, Islam and any number of other religions. It's an understanding that tries to put God in a box - with few possibilities for modification - despite the assertion in today's epistle that "the word of God is not chained."

Now in truth, what the author of this letter means is that zeal for Christ is not silenced simply by being in prison. The words, though, are also applicable in another way, inviting us to see God's Word at work beyond the boundaries of our own narrow beliefs. Certainly this is what Jesus invites of the Pharisees over and over again, and to some degree of the lepers in today's Gospel. It's what he invites when he sends ten lepers off to the priests before , evidence of healing, much as Elisha sends Naaman in today's Old Testament lesson to wash away his disease in the muddy waters of the Jordan.

Neither directive is about Faith as a noun - about theological assent to a doctrine. Rather they're both about faith as a verb, about taking action that in truth runs slightly counter to The Faith. Naaman, for example, who's reluctant to go wash in the Jordan largely because he feels it's beneath him, also knows that the cleansing laws of Leviticus require that purification (washing in the river) come after recovery from leprosy, not before. Likewise, in Jesus' day, anyone who recovered from leprosy had to be certified by a priest that they were clean before reentering community. Nine lepers obediently follow this law, but one turns back, thanking Jesus instead in a way that acknowledges his awareness of God's movement outside of the box. Naaman, too, acknowledges the freedom and mercy of God when he returns to Elisha to give thanks for One who operates beyond the realm of orthodoxy.

Indeed, you might even say that both of these lepers (one a Samaritan - outcast of all outcasts) choose faith over orthodoxy. They choose to follow an unchained God revealed through unexpected people in unexpected ways. It makes me wonder about other such acts of choice, or acts of heresy Elaine Pagels would say. Writing about the Secrets of the Gospel of Thomas in her book Beyond Belief, Pagels explains that choice was originally synonymous with heresy. The "act of (spiritual) choice," she writes, "which the term heresy originally meant - leads us back to the problem that orthodoxy was invented to solve: How can we tell truth from lies? Orthodoxy tends to distrust our capacity to make such discriminations and insists on making them for us," Pagels asserts. Consequently "many of us, wishing to be spared hard work, gladly accept what tradition teaches." Others, though, challenge the sentimentality, delusion, prejudice and murderous rage that orthodoxy has been known to foster.

Pagels goes on to say that, "the fact that we have no simple answer does not mean we can evade the question." After all, she says, "We've seen the hazards, even terrible harm that sometimes results from unquestioning acceptance of religious authority." As a result, "most of us, sooner or later, find that, at critical points in our lives, we must strike out on our own to make a path where none exists."

In today's Gospel this is exactly what the tenth leper does. He becomes aware of a critical change in his life - the fact that he has been cleansed of his disease - and strikes out on his own to give thanks. Reaching Jesus, he falls on the ground before him, prompting Jesus to ask, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God ... ?" His rhetorical question highlights the unique awareness of this man, thereby linking gratitude to faith and faith to healing that turns out to be about far more than physical health.

In fact, the phrase translated "your faith has made you well" is actually better translated from the Greek as "made you whole." Healing, in its truest sense, is about being made whole, in contrast to just being cleansed, which is what the other nine lepers experience. Now don't get me wrong - being cleansed from leprosy is no small matter, since leprosy at the time was a dreaded disease that not only caused physical suffering but ostracized those who had it from community. Apparently, though, cleansing is just one step on the road to wholeness - a ritual step that drives the other nine to continue their journey to Jerusalem so that a priest can certify their recovery as required by Law.

Only one man ignores the Law, at least for the moment; only one, "sees," as Luke says, "that he is (not just cleansed) but healed." This moment, though, is a profound one of awareness and transformation, for in it God is revealed not just in the law and scriptures, but in the unchained word of One who will not be boxed in by human rules and rituals. This is a God of freedom, the God in fact that we seek to encounter in Inquirer's Classes at St. Christopher's when after listening, learning and discussing the beliefs and history of the Church, we try and do two things to bring such history closer to home.

The first thing - which can be a lot of fun - is to open up the Books of the Bible/the Canon of Scripture to include contemporary offerings. What books, for example, films, poetry, plays, people, music, historical events, or other things of our day would we add to describe our experience of God? You'd be surprised what makes the list. The second thing we try to do - which is usually harder - is to write a Creed that articulates what we believe today. Do we, for example, believe that Jesus "became incarnate from the Virgin Mary," or that the Holy Spirit "Proceeds from the Father and the Son," as we say each Sunday in the Nicene Creed? Or do we believe something/need something different that better speaks to today's heresies - or choices as Elaine Pagels would say?

It's hard to know, and harder still to write down without lapsing into one heresy or another in the first fifteen seconds of our endeavor. It's still harder, though - impossible it seems - to reach agreement. "Agreement?" you ask. "Who can agree on such things? Can't we just say `I believe in a God whose love is revealed to different people in different ways' and leave it at that?" Perhaps, although likely, we wouldn't agree there either. In fact, the difficulty of agreement may be one reason Jesus is less interested in doctrine and dogma and more interested in faith as a verb that we are - faith that invites questions, raises awareness, and moves beyond narrow human constructs to accept with thanks the power and presence of One who comes in unexpected ways. After all, this is the God revealed in Jesus Christ who calls us not to certitude in The Faith - which can sometimes be an enemy of wisdom - but to an active faith that welcomes all people in the Name of Jesus Christ.

This is the faith we hope you will experience at St. Christopher's when, as our bulletin announces week after week, we welcome you in the name of Christ. It is an active faith, welcoming you if you are married or single, for we will partner with you; if you are a parent or a child of one, for we are all family together; if you know what you believe or have no idea what you believe, for we are one in our longing for deeper knowledge of God; if you are from this place or a stranger from far away, for we were all once strangers ourselves; If you are straight or gay, black or white, rich or poor . . . No matter who you are, we welcome you, praying that you will find here what you seek. In fact, we pray that we will be for you and for one another the love that is Christ's law - love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things - knowing that God is bigger than anything we can ask or imagine.

Amen.