How do you say “Thank You” to a King?

I would ask that you clear your mind and picture today’s gospel reading.  I would like to present what I think one of the leper’s life might have been before and after the day of healing - in a first person narrative. I would like you to clear your mind and picture today’s gospel reading. I want to present what I think might have been the feelings of one of those lepers. It's been three weeks since my wife touched me again. It had been three long years. I didn't know if I would ever feel her touch again. I didn't know if I would ever feel the touch of another human being - ever again during those three years. But then three weeks ago. I'm really ahead of the story and I think you need to hear it all.

Three years ago I was working in the field, plowing the ground. My wife and I had recently had a child. A baby girl and it wasn't just work in the field anymore it was building something for my family. As I was working, I could feel my fingers getting numb and at first I thought I must be gripping the scythe too tightly, but over the next few days the numbness never went away.

One evening as I plunged my hands into the washbasin the water reddened. My finger was bleeding and bleeding freely. I hadn't realized I had cut myself. I didn't remember using a knife or anything sharp.

"It's on your clothing as well," My wife told me softly. I looked at my robe. There were crimson spots in different places. I stood there for the longest time not wanting to look at my wife. I knew as I stood there my life would never be the same again. "Shall I go with you?" my wife asked. Where, I asked her. "To see the priest." "No, I'll go alone."

The priest wouldn't touch me. He looked at my hands and face that was covered with worry and sorrow. I couldn't fault him. He was only doing his job. He covered his mouth and extended his hand, palm outward. "You are unclean." With those words I lost my family, my farm, my future, my friends, and my life.

My wife met me at the city gates with a bundle of clothing and bread and coins. She didn't speak. Some of our friends gathered. In their eyes I would see what I would see for the next three years — fear and pity and maybe thanksgiving that it wasn't them.

Over the last three years my hands gnarled from the disease. The tips of my fingers literally fell off as well as parts of my ears and the tip of my nose. I carried a bell and if others approached I was required to yell out. "Unclean! Unclean!"
I shared a cave in the pits with a Samaritan. Never in my life would I have ever even considered breaking bread or sharing space with those that were beneath me. It is amazing what the disease did. At the bottom of the pit we were all equal in a strange sort of way. Each of us missed our families, what our life had been and each of us prayed - at the same time cursed God.

Then three weeks ago, several of us, were near the pits in a village between Samaria and Galilee. We were ringing our bells, begging for coins and food when one of us, I don't know who started yelling, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!"
I didn't know who he was yelling to until I saw him. I had heard of this man Jesus but this was the first time I had seen him. I stared and he looked so ordinary except for his eyes. There was something about the way he looked at us. I saw no pity. No fear.

In a voice so low it was hard to hear he told us to go show ourselves to the priest. I hadn't been made clean but I felt something. I felt that I had to go and do as he told us and on the way something happened. Not only did my hands clear but they changed. My finger tips were restored. I touch my nose, it was whole and I was whole. I wore the rags of a leper but I knew that I was clean.

We went to the priest and he examined us. He told us what I already knew. The priest orders two living clean birds and cedar wood and crimson yarn and hyssop be brought for each of us. He slaughtered one of the birds, took the living bird, the cedar wood, the crimson yarn, hyssop and dipped them in the blood of the slaughtered bird and sprinkled each of us seven times. Then — he pronounced us clean. Each of us was ordered to shave our hair, burn our old clothes and to bath. You’ve never seen such splashing, joy and urgency. We each wanted to go home.

Home. Were would home be? Where was my wife and my child? I know that the farm was gone but it didn't matter. I had been given my life back. I went to the house of my In-laws and asked where my wife was and had she remarried? They couldn't believe what they saw. They told me that my wife had not only - not remarried, she lived there. She was at the market but would return home soon. Then I saw her and my little girl. You can never know what that embrace was like. You can never know how the touch of another - after so long a time felt.

In the days to follow, my wife and I made plans. We had a life to live and a reason to rejoice. Just the other night my wife reminded me that Passover was near and we needed to go to Jerusalem. How many times had I been to the Temple to give thanks? But this year would be so special. I could remember the words to say. "A wandering Aramean was my ancestor . . ." I remembered. What a day of Thanksgiving it would be.

As we entered the city on the day before Passover I heard someone calling my name. I turned and there was my friend, the Samaritan. I didn’t hesitate a moment in introducing my wife and my child. We embraced and look at one another. We looked so different. We looked so . . . normal.

"Have you found your family," I asked him. "Oh, yes," he told me as his eyes filled with tears. "So you are coming to Temple . . ." I stumbled. I knew he wasn't Jewish. What was I asking? "What brings you to town?" How foolish I felt.
"I understand. Before I returned home, I had to find that man Jesus and tell him ‘thank you.' I found him that day and some of the men he was with told me he was coming to Jerusalem for Passover."

I could not have felt any smaller. I had forgotten. I had never told this Jesus, thank you. How could I have failed to . . . This man gave me a new life and I hadn't said thank you. But my friend knew to do what was right and I, in my own joy had forgotten. "Did he come to Jerusalem" I asked?

"Oh, yes. Earlier this week, as he came into town, people lined the road spreading palms and singing. And since this last Tuesday, he has been teaching at the temple. The priest and the Pharisees have been challenging him with what seem to be impossible questions, but he also seems to frustrate them." I turned to my wife and told her that I must go to the Temple now. I must find this man and thank him. How could I have forgotten?

I had such difficulty in trying to reach the Temple. The streets were crowded and there was yelling coming from the Palace. Finally, hot and sweaty, I managed to make my way into the Temple halls.

"Where I asked was the Teacher, this man Jesus?" I asked the first one I saw. Hadn't I heard, the man asked? He was arrested and is being tried by Pilate. For what could that man have done to be tried by Pilate? "Oh he kept claiming that the temple would be destroyed he could rebuild it in three days and on and on and on."

I hurried as fast I could toward the Palace. The crowds were even worse. When I finally got to the Palace it was all but empty. I asked one of the Centurions. "Where is Jesus?" He looked at me like I was a criminal. "Why do you ask? Are you one of his followers?" "Well, no. But you see I have to tell him thank you." "Well you’re too late. They have taken him and some of the others outside the gate to The Skull." "What’s the Skull?" "The rock outside where we crucify criminals." "Crucify!"

It seemed to take forever to get out of the Palace and on to the streets again. People were going about their business as if nothing was going on. How could this be? They were going to crucify Jesus.

As I left the gates the sky was turning black. It was as dark as night but I could still see in the distance the hill and the crosses. Three of them. Side by side. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. The sky flashed with a clap of thunder just as I was neared the crosses.

There were some women around on of the crosses crying and one Centurion standing at the base of one of the crosses. I looked up and there was a man on the cross with the words, "King of the Jews" written above his head. It was the same man. He was dead.

I stood there for the longest time. I didn't see any of the men who were with him that day just three weeks ago. I turned to walk back to find my wife.

Tonight I lie in this bed and keep asking myself how could I have failed to thank him? Even more important, how do I thank him now? How do you thank a King? How do you thank a dead King? If only . . . If only - I had one more chance.

We as Christians have so much to be thankful for. Let’s be like the Samaritan leper and show the world what an attitude of gratitude is really like. If we do this, then maybe, just maybe God really will bless us. My challenge to you today is this: be content with what you have and thank God that he has given you so many blessings. Use the same mouth to praise and thank Him that you used to beg Him for His mercy and grace.