And
Then There Was One, a
Sermon preached at Covenant Presbyterian Church, Scranton, PA, on Sunday,
October 9, 2022, based on readings from Jeremiah 29. 1,4-7 & Luke 17. 11-19.
She
continued: “Now, I have never punched anyone. Ever. But that doesn’t mean I
haven’t wanted to. I am really bad at being angry. While some people are
energized by anger, it absolutely exhausts me. And when I am tired, I get
cranky. And when I’m cranky is when I am most likely to resort to violence. For
me, violence is more likely to manifest itself in shouted or hurtful words, but
we all know (contrary to what we learned as children) that words DO hurt and
cause wounds that can take years to heal.
Sometimes words inflict the kind of pain that never heals.
In
response, Anne writes “So, when I’m ready to punch someone (literally or metaphorrically),
I know it is time for me to take a step back. Sneak a 20-minute nap. Have a
snack. Drink some water. Maybe even pray about it.” And then she concludes: “We often don’t
think of self-care and soul care as tools of nonviolence, but peaceful
responses to stressful, upsetting and tension filled situations require energy
and imagination on our part.”[i]
Words matter.
Some know the pain of being called “dummy,” “fatso,” “four-eyes,” “freak,” or
“geek.” Others know the hurt that goes
with being labeled with an epithet that stands in for their race, creed, ethnic
origin, or sexual orientation. I won’t name them, but you can fill in the
blanks.
Still others
know the limitations imposed when they are identified by a physical condition,
a mental illness, or the disease that has turned their life upside-down. Though we’ve long since ceased to call
someone a “cripple,” we still have some names we use that have the potential to
stigmatize and impose limitations: “Paraplegic,” “Autistic,” “Cancer Patient.”
Words
matter. Words make a difference. Words
can be spoken with condescension or compassion. A comparison of two
translations of today’s story from the Gospel of Luke provides an
illustration. The same words from Greek are
translated differently, one sticking closer to the original than the other. It
may not seem like a big deal, but it is.
Each
of the English translations we have at our disposal is either the product of
the work of a gathering of scholars, or the work of a single individual. The oft quoted contemporary language
translation called The Message was
the work of the late, Eugene Peterson, a Presbyterian Pastor and Scholar, a
gifted wordsmith who put his faithful spin on things as he translated from
Greek and Hebrew.
The New Revised Standard Version of the
Bible, which we’ve heard read this morning, is the result of work by several
generations of scholars who have poured over the ancient manuscripts since the
1940’s and put their knowledge of the ancient languages and our modern tongue
to work to come up with the most accurate translation they could agree upon.
Back
in the 1980’s a friend and I went back to the campus of Princeton Theological
Seminary for a continuing education course. While we were in one seminar room
in the Continuing Education Center, there was an impressive gathering of
scholars around a large conference table in the room next door. Their task was
to update the Revised Standard Version which
had been published in two stages in 1946 and 1952.
Through
the glass of a pair of French doors we could see them at work. The table was covered with copies of ancient
manuscripts in Hebrew, Greek and the early Latin translation of each. Dr. Bruce Metzger was presiding. Reviewing
the evidence found in newly discovered manuscripts to confirm or question some
previous choice of words, they listened and argued for or against fine tuning a
phrase or leaving it the same.
For example, in the Bible I was given when I completed 2nd Grade, the 23rd Psalm includes the phrase: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil…” (Ps. 23.4, RSV). The wording of the New Revised Standard Version is slightly different: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil…” (Ps. 23. 4, NRSV)
The
decision by those scholars involved weighing one manuscript against the next.
Which was the oldest? Which was closest to the original language? In the end, they chose “the darkest valley,”
over “the valley of the shadow of death” because the older, more familiar
phrase seemed to tie the Psalm to one set of circumstances: near-death dangers.
The less familiar phrase opened the Psalm’s comfort to a wider range of
situations, perhaps not as dire, but every bit as harrowing to those going
through them. Words matter.
So,
when it comes to the story of Jesus and the ten who called out to him for mercy
out-side a village on the way to Jerusalem, translators have been faced with a
decision that impacts how one views those ten individuals united by a common
malady. When I read the story from The New Revised Standard Version a few
minutes ago, those who called out to Jesus seeking mercy were identified as
“ten lepers.” That’s like saying, “ten
cripples,” “ten autistics,” “ten drug addicts.”
The New International Version of the Bible is
the work of a different group of Biblical scholars who began their work in 1966
and began publishing in the early 1970’s.
It offers a slightly different translation. Instead of “ten lepers” the NIV speaks of “ten men who had
leprosy.” Do you hear the
difference? Words matter. That’s like
saying “ten people who were crippled by polio,” “ten children on the Autism
spectrum,” “ten individuals afflicted with substance abuse.
Writing
in The New Interpreter’s Bible, which
features side-by-side comparisons of the NRSV and the NIV, New Testament
scholar Alan Culpepper digs back into the original language and uncovers Luke’s
original take on who these folks calling out to Jesus were. Here’s what he says:
“As
the NIV makes clear, Luke identifies
the ten not as lepers but as “men who had leprosy” just as earlier he referred
to the man who was paralyzed not as a paralytic but as “a man who was
paralyzed” and called the Gerasene demoniac “a man who had demons.” The difference is subtle but reflects a
humanizing and dignifying recognition of personhood.”[ii]
Words
matter. For Luke then, and for us now,
words matter. This is not just a matter
of being politically correct. It is one
of the ways the words “love your neighbor” cease to be an empty phrase and put
belief into practice. Luke’s choice of
words is humanizing and dignifying. They suggest that we consider carefully the
words we use and how we use them when speaking about others, especially when
life has thrown us a curveball we didn’t expect.
It
is one thing to divide up the world according to the labels placed on others:
black and white, red and brown, liberal and conservative, straight or gay, sane
or crazy, whole or handicapped, republican or democrat. It is another thing to begin to talk about
the colleague who is a Latina; the employer who espouses conservative ideals;
the aunt who supports liberal causes; the nephew who is gay; the sister who is
mentally ill; or the spouse who votes red while you go blue.
It is all too easy to dismiss whole groups of people when we tag them with a common label. It is not so easy when the modifiers used connect that category to a human face we know and maybe even love! In this season of highly charged rhetoric, when we are likely to hear candidates and commentators tarring whole groups of people with broad, dismissive brush strokes of the tongue, we do well not to fall for such misleading and often dehumanizing distinctions. As today’s Gospel story reveals, those we hold in contempt don’t always live up or down to our expectations!
The
story of the ten individuals with leprosy, is often turned into a lesson on
thankful-ness. I’ve done this many
times, choosing not to focus on the text when presented by the lectionary and
saving it for the Sunday before that holiday filled with turkey and stuffing
and cranberry sauce. The movement of
such sermons is pretty standard: Ten seek mercy. Ten are told to go show themselves
to the priests in order to be declared clean, as specified in the law laid down
in Leviticus. Ten are healed on the way to do what they’ve been told to do.
Only one returns to Jesus to praise God for having been healed.
Debie Thomas, a writer from California shows the way that interpretation of the text goes, when she writes: “This week’s Gospel story is, of course, about thankfulness. Ten lepers experience healing; one experiences salvation. There is something about the practice of thankfulness that enlarges, blesses, and restores us. The leper’s act of gratitude points to the fact that we were created to recognize life as a gift and to find our salvation at the feet of the giver.”[iii]
To
sum it up in a couple of phrases, such Sermons usually urge us not to be like the nine, be like the one
who came back. Cue the hymn: “Now Thank
We All Our God!”
The
problem with that approach is that it fails to see the nine for who they
were. They were people who played by the
rules. Following the letter of the law from Leviticus they kept a respectable
distance between themselves and the rest of the community. They segregated themselves from society and
lived in misery-loves-company-camps outside the village.
On
top of that, when they sought help, and he gave them an order, they were
obedient and followed the prescription the great physician spelled out for
them. Along with number ten, the nine are all examples of people whose faith is
displayed in an act of radical trust.
The movement of the story is similar to the Old Testament story of Naaman,
the Syrian Army commander. He also suffered from leprosy. He too, was given a
command by a man of God to go do something before there was any evidence that
healing would occur.
To their credit, the ten men with leprosy reacted better than the Syrian General. When the prophet Elisha sent a messenger out to him with instructions to dip himself into the Jordan seven times, he balked. He ranted and raved that the holy man should at least come out to say a prayer over him. Only after one of his enlisted men said “what do you have to lose by giving it a try?” did he dip his toe and the rest of him into the waters that held his cure. Words matter.
As
Luke tells it, the ten men with leprosy are healed while following
instructions. They believe healing will
somehow occur even though their damaged skin has not shown any sign of clearing
up. It is in the act of obedience, in the wild belief that because Jesus has
spoken to them as if they already were healed, that the healing will happen.
And it did. Words matter.
One
lesson to draw from the story would, be much like the one that emerges from
both the Naaman story of 2nd Kings, and the words we heard this
morning from Jeremiah: When the holy man tells you to do something, do it. Even
if those words seem odd, like go wash in an insignificant river, or put down
roots while in exile, or show yourself to the priest even though you’ve not yet
been healed, do it. The teachings of Jesus are full of such simple commands:
“love your enemies;” forgive repeatedly; “do not worry about what you will eat,
or drink or wear; seek first the kingdom and all these things will be yours as
well.”
The
disruption of life caused by the leprosy experienced by Naaman and the ten in
today’s reading might be compared to the upheaval caused by the exile of the
Jews to whom Jeremiah was writing. His
instructions to them probably seemed to them just as ridiculous. Yet embedded in
those words is a prescription for coping when life presents us with an
unexpected detour on our journey. Suzie Park explains:
“By telling a community that had been dispersed and displaced that it ought to try to live a good life, God is not simply requesting a lifestyle shift but a radical adjustment of their theology. By telling the exiled Israelites to build houses, go to work, marry, and pray for their new communities, God is, in fact, telling the Israelites to resist their feelings of despair, dismay, depression, and numbness. To make the best of a bad situation. To try and move forward and survive.”[iv]
Words
matter. As I read the newspaper and watch the news, and as my fingers cramp
from hitting the mute button as the political ads come on, I find Suzie Park’s
insights to be helpful, especially when she goes on to admit, that “Like
Naaman, we too find it challenging to follow God’s simple directives. Moreover,
like the Israelites in Jeremiah 29, many of us also resonate with the feeling
that the world we live in is increasingly chaotic, insecure, unfamiliar, and foreign;
that our country or town is no longer recognizable; that we need complicated
maneuvers to survive in such a place.”
She concludes:
“God’s command to the Israelites simply to accept and make do, despite feelings
of bitterness, hopelessness, depression and disorientation, is also a call to
us and to the church as a whole to endure, try our best, and hope amid our
metaphoric exiles.”[v]
Words
matter. So do actions. The trick is to
put them together while trusting that God will take care of us. So, in the end, it comes down to words my
boyhood pastor saw on a sign on the outskirts of his ancestral village in
Ireland, words filled with “Blessed Assurance:”
Amen!
[ii] R. Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, Luke, John, (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1995), p. 326
[iii] Debie Thomas, “Living by the Word, October 9, 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time,” The Christian Century, September 28, 2016, p. 20
[iv] Song-Mi Suzie Park, Connections – A Lectionary Commentary for Preaching and Worship, Year C, Volume 3, Season of Pentecost, Green, Long, Powery & Rigby, editors, (Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox Press, 2019), p. 377
[v] ibid., p. 378
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