In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
I would like to draw your attention in today’s Gospel reading, which is so simple and so familiar to all of us, to two or three features that may go unnoticed because we are so accustomed to this passage.
First — ten men approached the Savior Christ, men who, being afflicted with leprosy, were considered unclean according to the Old Testament law. No one approached them, no one touched them. And they, knowing this, stopped at a distance, not daring to come close to Christ. But among them were nine Israelites, belonging to the chosen people, and one Samaritan, with whom the Israelites did not associate. And their misfortune united them; when they all became lepers, all became outcasts, suddenly they discovered that they were human beings, that nothing separated them, that sorrow, misfortune, and rejection had united them. And among them there was no longer talk of some being chosen and others rejected; they were all people in suffering.
This also happens to us: when everything is well, we begin to divide one another into different categories — class, social, national, religious. But when the ultimate misfortune reaches us, an unrelenting sorrow — a mortal illness, or an unavoidable danger, or rejection by everyone — we suddenly discover that nothing separates us, that our humanity binds us inseparably, and that the final value is the human, gentle, compassionate, thoughtful attitude toward one another. The final word is this: receive one another, accept one another, as Christ has accepted you, without distinction…
And they stopped before Christ, these outcasts who did not dare approach Him because they were unclean… How often we, in our uncleanness of sin, falsehood, and inhumanity, rush toward Christ as if demanding that He be close to us; we are full of falsehood, full of sin, we reject one another, we do not love one another, we are strangers to one another, we exalt ourselves above one another, we inflict wounds, sorrow, and suffering on one another — and at the same time, whether we come to church or pray at home, we demand His closeness: Why, Lord, does my heart remain stone, and You do not touch it, why do I have no tears of tenderness, why do You not fulfill my requests, why do You not give me the awareness of Your nearness, why has the paradise of salvation, the paradise of eternal joy, not yet come for me on earth?… We could learn from these lepers that trembling awe before holiness, that awareness that we do not dare approach; it is enough for us to stand at a distance and know that He hears, that He has mercy, that if He wills, if it is salvific for us, He will make Himself known, He will touch our life, He will enter it with light and joy…
And we pray, and despite our uncleanness, despite imagining that we have the right to break through to God and demand that He descend to us — He, in His mercy and tenderness, fulfills our prayers. And what happens to us? Like those nine chosen ones whom the Lord cleansed and returned to their chosen status, we go away satisfied: God’s promise has been fulfilled for us, we again belong to the chosen, we are members of the Church, we are Orthodox, everything is accessible to us… We have grown accustomed to being chosen, accustomed to being so terribly rich in everything; this richness, this closeness of God, this human kindness seem natural to us, and therefore we do not even think that a miracle has happened to us — a miracle to which we had no right… And we return to life with a sense of our own righteousness, our justification, our purity, renewed… But those who come from outside, like that Samaritan, when even from afar God’s mercy touches him — how he hastens to thank God, how he rushes back to fall at His feet and give Him glory!… The most frightening thing happens when he too is included among the chosen, and he forgets this miracle, this first joy, this first amazement of humility and gratitude; and again, when grace touches him, he no longer returns.
And this happens so often with us: when we, godless and estranged, come to church and encounter the word of God in the Gospel, or when grace somehow reaches us — how reverently we receive it — and then we grow accustomed. What a terrible word: to grow accustomed to a miracle, to grow accustomed to communion with God, to grow accustomed to that which millions long for and cannot even touch the hem of His garment…
Let us think about this: all this is said about us, though it happened to others; each of us can recognize ourselves — but recognizing is not enough, it is not enough to be shaken for a moment; we must look into ourselves, see our cleansing, and come with gratitude, and never grow accustomed either to human love or to God’s love — this miracle that is new every day and makes us new. Glory to God, glory to people for the fact that there are warm hearts, there is love, there is life, there is miracle! Amen!
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