The Foreigner who got it

 Readings:  2 Kings 5.1-3, 7-15c, Psalm 111, 2 Timothy 2.8-15, Luke 17.11-19

It’s a pleasure — and a bit of a privilege — to be here at the "Cathedral of Leigh Park" for the first time in a long time.  I’ve heard of your reputation for hospitality and energy, so I feel a bit like Naaman arriving at the prophet’s house: not quite sure what to expect, but hopeful that God’s going to do something good here.  Naaman, as we heard, was a mighty general — brave, rich, and admired.  But he had a problem: he was a foreigner with leprosy, and he needed help from the people he’d once dismissed as backward.  When the prophet Elisha told him to wash in the Jordan, Naaman was insulted — “What, in their river?  A muddy ditch?”  But in the end he swallowed his pride, took the plunge, and came out cleansed.  It’s a wonderful story about humility and healing — and about God’s habit of working through the very people we’re most tempted to look down on.

The Bible keeps doing that.  It upends our assumptions about who’s in and who’s out.  Today’s psalm, Psalm 111, is a hymn of pure gratitude — “Great are the works of the Lord; full of majesty and honour is his work.”  It’s the song of someone who knows they’ve received grace they didn’t earn.  And if you listen closely, that’s what Naaman learns, and what the healed leper in the Gospel learns too: the proper response to mercy is gratitude.  You can’t pay God back, but you can say thank you — with your voice, your life, your generosity.

Paul’s letter to Timothy carries the same tune.  “Remember Jesus Christ,” he says, “risen from the dead.”  He’s reminding a young leader that faith isn’t about guarding borders or drawing lines.  It’s about endurance, integrity, and grace.  “Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved,” Paul says — not by heritage or nationality, but by truthfulness and good work.  Faith that is proud, tribal, or exclusionary isn’t faith at all; it’s fear in religious clothing.  Faith that is humble, curious, and grateful — that’s the faith that changes lives.

And then we come to the Gospel — the story of ten lepers crying out to Jesus.  They all receive healing, but only one comes back to give thanks.  And Luke adds the delicious twist: “And he was a Samaritan.”  In other words, a foreigner.  The locals go home cured but ungrateful; the outsider returns praising God.  It’s as though Jesus is saying, “You see?  It’s the stranger who understands what grace really is.”  Those who’ve been on the margins often see more clearly than those of us at the centre.  Maybe that’s because, when you’ve had to fight for a place at the table, you never take your seat for granted.

Which brings us rather close to home.  There’s a lot of talk these days about “foreigners,” about who belongs and who doesn’t.  Some politicians even say they want to send them all “home.”  But Naaman wasn’t sent home — he was welcomed and healed.  The Samaritan wasn’t turned away — he was praised as a model of faith.  Over and over, the Bible tells us that God’s love crosses borders long before we ever built them.  If we take Scripture seriously, we can’t use it to prop up our prejudices.  The God of Israel healed a Syrian soldier.  The Jewish Messiah blessed a Samaritan leper.  The first Christians included Greeks and Ethiopians and Romans and slaves.  It’s as if God’s saying: “Stop drawing lines on my map.”

And it’s not just about politics; it’s about the human heart.  When we divide the world into “us” and “them,” we make our souls smaller.  We become like Naaman before his dip — proud, anxious, and itching for control.  But when we open our hands in gratitude, like the Samaritan who turned back, healing begins.  Gratitude is the opposite of fear.  It’s what happens when we stop clutching our privileges and start noticing our blessings.  And when we do, something remarkable occurs: we start to see the divine image shining in the very people we once called outsiders.

I’ve only just arrived among you, but I can already tell that Leigh Park has its own strong sense of community.  People look out for one another here.  There’s a pride — a good, healthy pride — in the local spirit.  My prayer is that this church, this “cathedral,” will go on being a place where that spirit widens its arms.  A place where no-one is told to “go home,” because everyone is already home in the heart of God.  A place where gratitude is louder than grumbling, and generosity drowns out fear.  A place where Naaman, and the Samaritan, and every weary soul can find healing.

So let’s give thanks — with Psalm 111 — for the great works of the Lord.  Let’s remember, with Paul, that truth and grace can’t be chained.  Let’s learn from Naaman to humble ourselves, and from the Samaritan to say thank you.  And let’s pray that, when Jesus looks at the Cathedral of Leigh Park, he’ll smile and say, “There’s faith here — the kind that heals.”