Sermons from the Pulpit

preached to the Congregational Church in Exeter, U. C. C., on the nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, October 14, 2001, by Michael L. C. Henderson, pastor.

Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7; II Timothy 2:8-15; Luke 17:11-19

But the word of God is not chained.
    -II Timothy 2:9

Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they?

     He knows perfectly well where they are, doesn't he? They went off to show themselves to the priests, just as he told them to, just as the Book of Leviticus says they should, so that the priests could certify that they were no longer leprous. They weren't doing anything wrong. It just didn't cross their minds that it might be appropriate to say Thank you! first.

     Like when you're a little kid and your Aunt Abigail gives you some treat and you grab it and run, and your mother says, "Haven't you forgotten something?" So is that what it's about? Good manners? Do what Mom says?

     Well, it is about the importance of showing gratitude, but it turns out that isn't just a matter of good manners. Or you could put that another way and say good manners are even more important than Mom thought. In fact, giving thanks to God is pretty much the essence of Biblical faith.

     Sometimes gratitude comes easily to us, as if of its own accord, and sometimes it comes so hard that it doesn't come at all and we can't imagine why it would.

     One morning a couple of weeks ago in the darkness before the dawn I was riding my bike along Drinkwater Road in Kensington, in that woody stretch between Unitil and North Road. I know some of you can't picture me or anybody else doing that, but others of you have caught me doing it so you know it's the truth. And some ways ahead I saw, in the road, towards the right side of the road, an upright figure, just a darker blob in the dark really, and when I see that sort of thing it usually turns out to be another crazy person like me, a biker or a runner or a walker, so I steered towards my left to pass him or her, and then it was within range of my headlight, and it was a bull moose. I could tell it was a bull because it had antlers among other things.

     I am not programmed for meeting a moose. A dog, yes. A skunk, yes. Moose, no. So I automatically did what I would have done if it was a dog or a skunk: I kept right on riding, as far to the other side of the road as possible. Mr. Moose took a long look at me, as if he wasn't sure of the correct procedure either, and then he joined me. Trotting right alongside, clippity clop. Boy, those things are tall! I was trying to keep my eyes on the road, but I had to look over at him. He was looking right back at me, clippity clop. But I was going faster than he was. When I began to pull ahead, he turned off into the woods and disappeared. Moose just don't have that competitive spirit.

     My immediate feeling was wild whooping exultation, which lingers even now, and my immediate thought, which also lingers, was, "What an amazing gift! I don't deserve it!" Which is only a short step away from singing "Amazing Grace." That's what I mean about gratitude that just grabs you of its own accord and takes possession of you.

     Well, to make a long story short that's what faith is like: Every moment of your life it's as if you just met a moose in the middle of the road.

     So this Samaritan, this heretic, this now ex-leper, turns back, roaring out praise to God, and prostrates himself in front of Jesus and thanks him. Prostrating yourself - isn't that what Muslims do? The Prophet Muhammad said, "During prostration a servant draws nearest to the Lord."

     But of course most of us Christians think of Islam as a heretic religion, don't we, and throwing yourself on the ground is such an extravagant gesture of praise and worship and thanksgiving and prayer, it's almost unseemly. We wouldn't be caught dead doing it even if we met a moose. We don't even like to kneel. It's all we can do to close our vigilant eyes and bend our stiff necks in what an ex-Catholic friend of mine calls "the Protestant cringe," unless God counts it as an extravagant gesture of devotion for us simply to sit for an hour in these hideously uncomfortable pews. With that kind of built-in resistance to getting carried away, it's no wonder if we are not often overcome with gratitude to God.

     Happily, God's grace still comes, even to those whose gratitude is fully under control. Those other nine lepers were cleansed just like our hero the Samaritan, regardless of their ingratitude. You and I are perfectly capable of accepting blessings and good fortune into our lives as if they were no more than we deserve, in fact they might be somewhat less, and that does not seem to dampen God's generosity to us. The word of God is not chained by anything we do or fail to do. If we are faithless, God remains faithful. It's the way God is and not even God can change that.

     But those Israelites exiled in Babylon to whom Jeremiah sent his letter - where was God's faithfulness for them? Carried off from home, robbed of everything they cared about, shocked that God wouldn't protect them from such a horrendous thing happening to them, what grounds did they have for gratitude? A question we might ask in our own situations of exile too, those catastrophic places like the hospital bed, the front pew at the funeral, the lawyer's office, the aftermath of nine-eleven.

     But Jeremiah will have none of their feeling sorry for themselves, moping around Babylon and pining for what they've lost. Build houses and live in them. Plant gardens and eat their produce. Get married, have families. Pray for the people who are holding you captive. In their welfare you will find your welfare.

     This is hard counsel to hear, especially now, but believe me, it's even harder for those who don't or won't hear it. God is there, somewhere, in the situation you are in right now, even if it stinks, even if you can't see any sign of God in it. Keep looking. Keep hoping. Keep making the best of the reality you're in. Keep living as if you have a future.

     This might mean your gratitude has to do with things that you won't live to see, but someone who matters to you will. It might mean that what you are most grateful for is the way your hope for the future determines your attitude in the real and gritty present.

     The best thing about God's grace isn't that it comes to us whether we earn it and deserve it or not. The best thing of all is that elusive, that fragile, that wonderful interior disposition which makes us not just receivers, but bearers of God's grace in all that we do with all that we are and all that we have, which as you have heard before is my favorite definition of stewardship. And for that reason it really is true, whoever said it first, that gratitude is the purest measure of one's character and spiritual condition, for which we ought to pray at all times and with all our might.

     Amen