One of my hardest ministry moments so far was when a very involved member (not here at Bethel) told me that I only appreciated her for what she did, not for who she was. I knew enough not to say, “That’s not true!” I knew enough to know that there was probably some truth in what she said. I know enough now to know that she was saying more than what she said.

We are made to do things, beloved: consider your eyes, your feet, your hands. We are called, in Christ, to do things, this is also true. It is also certainly true that, in Christ, we are called first of all to be something: to be changed, to belong to God. Maybe for many of you (you tell me) doing and being are closely tied. What I do and who I am are closely tied. Who I am and what I do are so woven one into the other, that it’s hard for me to separate them. When I talk about what I do, I’m not only talking about my calling, my profession. In casual conversation, there’s that inevitable moment when we ask, “So, what do you do,” by which we mean, where do you work, what is your occupation. Do we say, tell me what you do, and I’ll tell you who you are? No, I don’t think we do that.

Jesus seems to say something like this: tell me what you do, and I’ll tell you whose you are. Doing and being seem closely connected, but there remains that underlying desire, that need, to be seen and known and loved, apart from what we do, what we have done, what we can do, what we can do for someone. Part of what I might have been hearing from that hurt church member was that she believed I appreciated her only for what she did for the church. To stretch that reasoning out, she was suggesting that I would have no use for her, would not value her, apart from what she did. That would hurt. So many want so badly to be more than what they do.

Have you ever prayed along these lines: “O Jesus, if you’ll just help me / give me, / get me out of this, I promise I’ll . . . .” Jesus did help you. He kept up his end of the bargain—if that’s how we’re looking at this—and you, for your part? Did you keep your promise? Maybe. If so, good, I guess, though I think it skews the relationship we have in Jesus Christ to try to bargain this way. Faith isn’t a bargaining chip. If you’re anything like me, you probably didn’t keep that promise. You got out, safely; you made it. God gave you what you asked for, more or less, and you went about your merry way, feeling happy, relieved, but not especially obliged as days and weeks passed by, after.

Ten outcasts, ten messes of humanity, cry out to Jesus as he passes by—maybe a once-in-a-lifetime chance for them!: “Jesus! Master! Have pity on us!” (17:13). O yes. That sounds familiar. Master, they say. Remember that. The rules allowed them to cry out to Jesus, but the rules did not allow them to come nearer, since they were ruined messes of humanity, contagious lepers. Still at a distance, Jesus sees them and speaks to them. So many people are at a distance from Jesus, too many, too many wretched messes of humanity! O, they may look alright, on the outside, no different from you and me: they have a car, a home, a job, a family and hobbies, and they’re lost, inside: pursuing things that won’t get them life, won’t bring them God, won’t bring them to God, they’re pursuing things that will put even more distance between themselves and God. And Jesus sees them and speaks to them. Let anyone with ears to hear listen.

Jesus doesn’t tell these ruined people that they are well, or that their faith has healed them, or that their faith is great: things he says to others who call out to him for healing. He says, “Go and let the priests examine you” (17:14). The examination was to determine whether the contagion remained, or whether they had been healed. If they were found to be healed, the priest performed a cleansing ritual. Several days later, the cleansed person would make a sacrifice, all according to the Law God gave Moses (see Lv 14). Outward healing, outward signs. We have our rituals, too.

Luke records that, “[o]n the way, [the lepers] were made clean” (17:14). This word clean is a technical word, a ritual word; we come across it especially in Leviticus, which deals largely with matters of ritual. One who was ritually clean was allowed to enter the sanctuary, to worship and make sacrifice, to be in the presence of the Lord, to have holy fellowship with God. Those who were unclean were to be kept out, away. The holiness of God, you see, was too pure to permit any impurity into His presence. It’d be like tracking mud onto your host’s white carpet, even though you thought you had wiped the soles of your shoes on the welcome mat.

Jesus has done what the lepers asked. He had pity on them. He made them clean, so that they could once again be in the presence of the Lord; he cleansed them of whatever nasty disease was afflicting them. They looked normal, again. They could rejoin society and be like everyone else again. O happy day!

But when did Jesus ever call anyone to rejoin society? Jesus is always saying come, follow me, join me. He’s very honest and very clear about what that means: here on earth, trouble, in the kingdom of God, eternal blessedness, joy beyond imagination, reveling and rejoicing in the presence of God, beholding him face to face in wonder that never wanes. No one is going to be bored, there!

Jesus gave the ten what they asked for, what they wanted. They wanted to rejoin the world. He made that possible for them. He also made it possible for them to be something more. Nine were restored to the world. One, seeing he was healed, came back (17:15). He was not restored to the world. He was restored to God. That’s a ten percent success rate, and this is Jesus we’re talking about!

Jesus compels no one to have faith, forces no one to believe in God. Jesus comes, sees, speaks, and heals. Yes, he heals: you know it, and even those who have no use for him may grudgingly admit it. Then Jesus awaits what will happen. Will faith be restored, reanimated, resurrected? Will the Holy Spirit come to work the Spirit’s sacred work? When Jesus tells the crowds that many are called but few are chosen (Mt 22:14), what do you think he means?

Only one comes back, a ten percent success rate—if that’s how we are to look at it. The one comes back while the others continue their way. I’m sure the nine were glad for what Jesus had done for them, but they didn’t see how it placed them under any special obligation to him. They asked, he gave, and now, on with life, back to life!

The one who returns comes “praising God in a loud voice” (17:15). How can he keep from singing? He is making his praises known to others. He is not keeping it to himself. Look what Jesus has done for me! Let me tell you what Jesus did for me! When is the last time any of us told someone what Jesus has done for us? And what has Jesus done for us? What has he done for us, lately? We love Jesus. We treasure Jesus, and we’re so adept at keeping him to ourselves. This healed man helps us to see another way of following Jesus, a way of rejoicing and singing, and letting others know, of not being able not to let others know, because what Jesus has done is so wonderful, so joyful, so powerful, so good, so undeserved.

The man throws himself at the feet of Jesus. He doesn’t do this so that others can see, but others do see. We do not follow Jesus and love Jesus so that others can see. Then, our faith becomes a show we put on, and that’s not the way to life. But others do see. The man thanks Jesus for what Jesus has done for him, but his praises and his self-abasement in the dust before Jesus are about more than gratitude: this man is acknowledging who Jesus is. The man came back, not because his mama raised him right. The man came back because he wanted Jesus. The nine wanted what Jesus could do and did do for them. The one, this one, wanted that and more: he wanted Jesus.

Jesus asks about the others: where are they (17:17)? Nowhere to be found. They got what they wanted and they’re gone. You heard what Jesus said to the one who returned, but you might not remember it. “Get up and go; your faith has made you well” (17:19). All ten were made clean, but it’s only of this one that Jesus says, “your faith has made you well.” Those other nine want to celebrate: they’ve been restored! Dr. Oz, of television fame, shared a story about what got him into promoting healthy living. His perspective was changed completely when he saw a man on whom he had performed a very complicated and costly heart operation eating a big, juicy, greasy, cheeseburger—ooh, makes me salivate just saying it!

The man didn’t get it. Dr. Oz had applied all his training, education, skill, and experience to saving this man’s life. The man was enjoying his new lease on life by doing the very things that had brought him to Dr. Oz in the first place. No change. How could the lesson fail to have been learned?

The nine have been cleaned up, cleaned off, but they have not been changed. Their encounter with Jesus (with Jesus!) has not changed them (see also Mk 6:5-6). Well, that’s common enough, isn’t it? Too common. So common. It makes me want to weep, sometimes. Look, I’m not telling you to stop eating cheeseburgers—cut back, yes. What I am sharing with you is that we have reason to rejoice in Jesus. He didn’t just cleanse us: he changed us through the power of the Holy Spirit. We perceive who he is, and we want to be with him, in his company, singing praises and offering thanks, and not just among ourselves.

My prayer, beloved, is that God will so build up the pressure the intensity, the abundance of our joy in Him, that, like that man made well by faith, we, too, start sharing our story with others, others who aren’t here, others who may come here, and stay, because they know not only that Jesus is doing something here, but that Jesus is here.

And to Jesus Christ, who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests of his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever.