The Sixth Sunday after The Epiphany
The Very Rev. Steve Lipscomb, Dean
Grace Cathedral
02/15/09

A powerful, powerful gospel. I don’t know where to begin—or if there is even any reason to begin at all. In such a short gospel reading, 5 little verses, so much is said.

A leper came to Jesus begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, saying to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.

Maybe I’ll just start at the beginning. And the beginning is—what we see—is a man with faith.
This man didn’t have a lot in his life to be thankful for. He was a leper. He was one of the untouchables, the outcasts of his day, even among their own families.

Once a person contracted leprosy, he immediately left his home and even his town to live in a colony of other lepers. They were not to be among “clean people”—for leprosy was believed to be contagious—and so they lived away from people, on the outskirts of town, often near cemetery tombs and trash dumps, where they could find shelter and food and where they knew they wouldn’t be in contact with others—hassled, shewed away, humiliated by hateful jeers and horrified stares.

This man, who must have at one time led a normal life, maybe with a wife and kids; a home, a job, friends, maybe in a bowling league. He no doubt sat in the dark and loneliness, night after night, and thought of all those things—of laughter, of love, of backyard barbeques, all the good times of life that were gone—forever, because Leprosy was incurable. It never went away.  He had every reason to question God, to question his faith.

And yet, here was a man that would not let his faith go. He held on to a hope of healing and new life. And all of that faith, all of that hope, he placed in Jesus.

“I know,” he said. “I believe that if you choose, you can make me clean.”

That was the kind of faith that Jesus was always looking for in people. It was the kind of faith that Jesus could not refuse. Even if he hadn’t wanted to heal this man, he probably couldn’t have helped himself. He probably couldn’t have resisted—couldn’t have stopped God’s power from going forth.

But why would he want to refuse.  He probably felt like dancing, or like laughing out loud, or picking the man up and hugging him and saying, “Yes! Finally, someone gets it!  Finally, one with a faith in God that knows no limits! That refuses hopelessness in the name and power of the Lord.”

“By God!  By God! I do choose!  Be well!  Be clean!  Be overjoyed! For the Lord has heard your cry and set you free!
We should be singing “Happy Days Are Here Again!” for our anthem today because that is what Jesus has said and God has done for this man!  “Go home. Kiss your wife, hug
your kids, pet your dog, crank up the barbeque and call your friends. For you were blind and now see; you were lost but are found; you were dead but now are alive!!!”

Jesus also told him—“gave him a stern warning,” the gospel says—to tell no one what had happened—how it had happened that Jesus healed him.  “Go to church,” Jesus said. “Get your ‘all well’ certificate from the priest, make an offering of thanksgiving and then go home.”  But Jesus must have known that wasn’t going to happen. There was no way this man whose dream had just come true was going to subdue his joy. There probably wasn’t a single soul he passed along the way who didn’t hear the story, and those he didn’t pass likely heard all about it from a distance.

Faith in Jesus is a hard thing to hide. Trust in the Lord has a tendency to show through in our lives, even when we don’t know it. People see it, and they feel it—if we truly have faith, and trust in and love for the Lord. 

So, where do you think you measure up on this “show forth, let-your-light-shine” level of Christian witness? Do your friends know? Can your neighbors tell? Do the people you meet on a daily basis sense that you have a relationship with God that brings you joy and confidence and a love that makes Jesus present and known in the world?

If so, then good! You’re on your way to making disciples and bringing others to Christ, just by being who you are. Just because you can’t help yourself. You can’t hide it. You couldn’t prevent that light or stop that voice from coming out of you, even if you wanted to.

But if not, if your friends don’t know and your neighbors can’t tell, and the people you meet on a daily basis would never sense that you are a Christian: if it doesn’t show through so that people don’t know unless they ask, then there’s probably some work to do in your relationship with God, in your trust and your confidence and your joy in the Lord. In your faith.

And God is understanding of that. He knows that most of us need a little work and a little help from time to time. He knew that about his first disciples, and he knows that about us too.  And he’s more than willing to work with us—if we will. If we believe. If we choose.

May the God of glory and grace fill your hearts with the love and joy that proclaims the living Lord.  And may the peace and goodness that he extends to us be the same goodness and peace that we extend to a world waiting to hear the good news.

In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.