Dent Davidson is the Diocesan Associate for Arts and Liturgy for the Diocese of Chicago. 

How many of you remember the 1960s series called BATMAN? My little brother and I watched it all the time, growing up in Honolulu. We were always well behaved in front of the TV, but most other times we picked at each other without mercy. My parents, being enlightened twenty-somethings in that strange decade, came up with unique ways to “break up our fights.” Sometimes my dad would toss a golf ball up on the roof when we weren’t looking. BAM BAM BAM. “Uh-oh, it’s probably the Joker or the Riddler or the Penguin: they’re here to take you away to their hide out.” The mere thought being disappeared by one of those supervillains usually corrected any behavioral problems in short order. It also might explain why I have a strange affinity for Batman and Robin. Surely they would have rescued us!

Sometimes a more ominous threat was issued: “If you boys don’t cut it out, we’re going to send you to Moloka’i.” Now any child growing up in the islands at that time knew exactly what that meant. Moloka’i was not just a small island with a very small population of Native Hawaiians, donkeys and chickens. It was also home to a Leper Colony – located on a small, remote peninsula called Kalaupapa. A place utterly cut off from the rest of society, with the ocean on 3 sides, backing into sheer 2,000 foot cliffs. There was no hope of escape. Over the course of a century over 8,000 people afflicted with the disease were sent there to live out their days: cut off, and invisible to the rest of society. And, the threat of being sent there always ended our bad behavior.

As I studied today’s lessons, all of these childhood memories came flooding back. And I thought about how lepers might have dealt with their disease day to day; and worse yet, how they handled being outcasts: knowing that the pain of rejection and isolation would haunt them every day.

Common knowledge used to tell us that leprosy was highly contagious and incurable. Fear of contracting it led societies to establish quarantines: whether on the border of Samaria and Galilee, or in Hawai’i. But even though we know better now, we still sort of rear back when we hear talk of lepers. It’s classic. We reject the unknown. It’s easy to fear somebody who is different, somebody who challenges us to change our viewpoint, or our way of living. We can stand at a safe distance, point at them, and say “UNCLEAN, UNCLEAN!” and then do our best to make them disappear. It’s a nifty little trick, as old as time itself.

Even Jesus’ own townspeople wanted to run him off a cliff at one point, because he was doing things differently. Giving in to fear is pretty easy.

What’s difficult is taking the time and energy and compassion to make relationship with those who differ from us; to reach out in love, and make ourselves vulnerable. Quelling the fear inside that boils over when we are faced with something new and strange. THAT … is hard work. THAT… is the work of the Gospel. THAT … is so much easier for me to preach than to practice.

In my teens I struggled with my own identity as a passionate follower of Jesus, and as a person who is gay. The predominant cultural message of the time was that these 2 things were not compatible. Rather than living the truth and exposing myself as “the other,” it seemed easier to become invisible. Living in a Kalaupapa of my own making. Eventually, I came to my senses, and claimed my goodness and wholeness as a child of God, just as God had made me. I felt stronger and more centered as a result. Yet at the same time there were religious and political forces at work; actively seeking to vilify, marginalize and dehumanize me, and others like me. They wanted to attack us and make us invisible. Soon I found myself imagining ways to marginalize them, to push them into the closet, so that they could experience isolation and invisibility and shame. At the time it didn’t occur to me to reach out. I wanted to LASH out! My anger and fear led my heart to a dark place.

Today’s Gospel reading finds Jesus traveling the border of Samaria and Galilee. A risky thing to do, since the two regions despised each other. SO this would be a natural place for lepers and other outcasts to live. 10 lepers approach, but keep their distance, and say “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” (And here Luke makes a point of saying Jesus SAW them. This is a recurring theme in Luke.) So Jesus calls back to them, “Go show yourselves to the priests.” This would be the first step in restoring them to their community. So they turn and do exactly as Jesus commands. Except for one, who begins to see and feel healing taking place in his body. So he runs back, praising God; throws himself at Jesus’ feet and thanks him. Jesus wonders aloud: “Ten were healed, and only ONE, a SAMARITAN, returns to give thanks? Get up and be on your way. Your faith has made you well.”

Let’s take stock of what’s going on here. We heard that these men were physically healed. But there’s something more – something bigger going on here. All throughout Luke’s gospel, Jesus encounters those who are unseen, and recognizes them. He sees them, and restores them to their place in community. And today’s story is no different.

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I think there might be another, unspoken healing taking place. How did those lepers wind up on the margins? Well, the community banished them, cut them off, because they feared the disease. They took the initiative in casting them out. So, might Jesus be giving the community an opportunity to rethink and repent? To SEE the ones they rejected with new eyes? And as we read this story, can we hear his invitation to do the same? To recognize OUR OWN need of healing from the careless ways in which we treat one another?

We don’t often deal with lepers these days. So who are our modern day lepers? Who do we think should become invisible? Is it that Homeless man begging on corners?
Or the Transgendered person, simply looking for a bathroom and a little acceptance?
Candidates and surrogates and media from all parts of the political spectrum, talking and talking but never listening?

Is it Undocumented workers and refugees from war-torn countries?
Or maybe Cops and Black Lives Matter protesters?
Is it somebody in your own home, or at work, or in your life? Somebody in this very room? Or is the Leper maybe something way down deep inside of you?
Each of us will have a different answer.

I don’t know about you, but I confess:
I have this power to make invisible, those who make me uncomfortable. And I use that power when I find my own heart in darkness…cut off and isolated. It’s at these times I should be crying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on me!”

And, here’s the Good News. The same healing Jesus offers to those Lepers, he offers to us. JESUS sees me. He sees you, and he sees all of the people we put on the margins. And then he does something amazing: Jesus calls us to get up and be on our way. To become and BE a Church that sees and restores ALL of God’s Children as worthy and whole, and entirely VISIBLE. To live in gratitude and sing God’s praises with joy in our hearts.

Church: this is our call. It’s simple, but not easy. Costly, but yields all the riches of God’s grace. It takes hearts willing to be bruised; and lives open to transformation.

Speaking of transformation, since 1969, Kalaupapa has been a National Park. This is from their Website: Kalaupapa is now a place where past suffering has been transformed into a place for education and contemplation. It is a place where we can reconsider our responses to people with disfiguring disabilities or illnesses. It is a place where the land has the power to heal – because of its human history, natural history and stunning physical beauty.

Let us pray. God of the borderlands, you travel between the foreign and the familiar: open our eyes to see those we exclude and despise; heal and liberate us when we are outcast, AND when we are tempted to do the outcasting; that we might learn to praise your name with hearts that are whole; through Jesus Christ, the One who calls us to get up and be on our way. Amen.