No ungrateful lepers, we

He’s just done it again.  Jesus, Gentle Healer, heart beating full with love for those castoffs, speaks a word and heals the lepers.  His word alone, going forth, makes them clean, and they run, leaping and shouting, to spread the word.

Suddenly, one turns.  Running, he throws himself prostrate, face down, before Him.  And there, over the precious feet of God-in-skin, he gives thanks.

Surely He smiles, looking down at that man, flesh all pink and whole.  Surely grateful tears drip down, marking trails of joy ‘cross His dusty sandals.  This one who’d known rejection, known suffering and loneliness keen, has been branded forever, changed by the one who came for the last, the lost, and the least.

And then the question.  “Weren’t there 10?  Where are the nine?”

Do you hear it?  Did you catch it, that note in His voice?  Feel the longing of His heart to be loved, thanked, appreciated, not taken for granted?  

How is it that we forget this, that we were made in His image, His breath in our lungs, His heart beating within, His very life flowing in our veins?  How?

If we cry, it’s because He does.  If we laugh, it’s because He laughs.  If we feel sorrow or pain or joy or pleasure, it’s because He does, too. And if we long to be loved, well, then – how much more does He?

We’re the lepers, you and I, set square outside the city gates; rejected, barred, abandoned there in our rags, our feeble attempts at righteousness.  And then He came.

He loves to hear our thanks.  Fully God, fully man, He, too, longs to be loved, loves to be praised, and is happy (yes, He is) when we say “thank you.”  No ungrateful lepers, we.  No longer, for we are healed, and we give thanks.

That’s all.  That’s my Thanksgiving word for us both today.  It need not be some great effort; a striving, guilt-driven work.  Just a simple, “Thank you, Lord, for this blessing today.”  And for that one, and this one, and that one, too.  Just – thank you.

And now, you?  You may whisper it here, a simple thanks, if you’d like…