How can I give thanks?
Luke 17: 11-19
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
October 12, 2025
 |
| Photo of a white plastic bag with a yellow smile face and the words "Have a nice day" and "Thank you!" |
When I was a member of the Monroe Congregational Church, UCC in Monroe, CT, a woman named Janice Whitely asked me if I would sing at her funeral. I said to her that yes, I would but I would also sing for her anytime she wanted me to. So, she asked me to sing her favorite hymn as a solo one Sunday. It’s number 14 in our hymnal. I’ll start singing it but I invite you to join me.
This hymn is not typical of our faith experience, especially if we are White and privileged. The composer, Andraé Crouch, is the son of a bishop in the Church of God in Christ. While our two denominations disagree on theology about our LGBTQ+ kindred, the faith experience of this song resonates with many in the United Church of Christ, ironically, especially those who know what it’s like to live in exile, to be an outcast, and to finally find a welcoming faith home. In fact, there’s a certain sweetness about leaving behind the tradition that treated you like a pariah but taking the music with you, because nothing can take that love away from you.
And it’s the effusive gratitude in this song that I hear on the lips of the Samaritan with a skin disease who returned to thank Jesus for being healed. Because he wasn’t just healed, he was rescued. And she wasn’t just rescued, she was seen and declared worthy. Their shame was erased. He was an outcast among outcasts. She wasn’t just unclean, she was a Samaritan, which is like saying, she wasn’t just transgender and Black, she was homeless. They weren’t just an immigrant, they spoke another language, they worshipped God in a different way.
But none of that mattered to Jesus. All that mattered was that these ten people who were far off from the kin-dom were now brought close. Not because of anything they had done to deserve it but because Jesus moved closer to them. Jesus showed up for them the way they needed him to.
The gospel of Luke notes that Jesus was on his way south to Jerusalem. From Galilee there is no way to Jerusalem other than through Samaria. The region between Galilee and Samaria would’ve been a marginal place, a home to people who were treated as outcasts. It would be like a refugee settlement or homeless encampment or the Christopher Street docks in NYC where homeless folks, many of whom were queer and trans, lived in the 1970s, a place where so-called foreigners had found a home amongst each other.
Jesus wasn’t supposed to travel through such areas, let alone interact with such people due to cultural norms. Aren’t there places and thus people we all try to avoid? What happens when we find ourselves in such a place and people approach us? The faith of these ten folks that Jesus praises is that they approached him despite the cultural norms, despite the mud that was usually slung their way, despite their shame and their fear, because they knew enough about Jesus to know what he would do. And it was that faith that made them well.
Being an outcast means that the parts of you that are singled out and demoralized are also the reasons you are deserving. These aspects of yourself give you a particular experience of God’s love, one that people with acceptance and privilege do not have and sometimes have a difficult time understanding. How can I say thanks for the things you have done for me? Things so undeserved, yet you gave to prove your love for me. To God be the glory for the things you have done.
And so, Jesus is surprised that none of the non-Samaritans returned to give thanks, perhaps because their existence as outcasts is now ended but the Samaritan is still a foreigner, an outsider. I don’t think Jesus is bent out of shape because he received one thank you instead of ten. Jesus knows he is no savior but servant and slave of all.
In our own culture we treat the marginalized as both undeserving and ungrateful, further stigmatizing and dehumanizing folks and thus letting our society off the hook for not only helping others but eliminating the causes that put people on the margins in the first place. It’s hard work and so understandably we want thanks for what we do. But when we don’t receive thanks, we are given the opportunity to examine our motivation for what we do.
So let me first express my gratitude to this church for all you do for marginalized people, for those who can’t afford to live in this world with what they have, for those who are unhoused, homeless, unloved, rejected, discriminated against, for those who have nowhere else to belong.
Thank you for hosting the Newark Empowerment Center, for welcoming their staff and their clients into this space, for without our support, I don’t know where this valuable ministry would be. Thank you for donating your time, supplies for go-bags, for adapting to this disruption in our lives for others.
Thank you for an extravagant welcome to everyone, for being Open and Affirming for 35 years, for all-gender bathrooms, and for trying to fly a Pride flag even though it was stolen four times, so now it’s part of our logo that no one can tear down.
Thank you for your generosity, for your giving spirits, for joining this Communion table with feeding others, for cleaning up around the building, even when it meant cleaning up after cigarette butts and human excrement, sorting the trash into proper bins, unclogging toilets and sewer lines, doing the thankless grunt work of ministry.
Having said that wholeheartedly, there are some other folks I want to thank as well. Thank you to people who had no public toilet, no place to relieve themselves other than the safety of our church property. Because of you, we were confronted with your humanity and your needs, and with community partners we were able to install a porta potty on our property.
Thank you to those who stored their belongings in the bushes and who slept on our porch and in the arbor. Because of you, we see the need and the human right for housing first and how broken our system is and how much we have been given and so have yet to share. Thank you for trusting us to serve you.
Thank you to those who show up with their flaws and weaknesses because you show us our flaws and weaknesses and how human we all are. Thank you, because you help us keep our hearts soft. Thank you, because you keep our mission pointed in the right direction. Thank you for your faith in us, even when we don’t deserve it. Thank you for reminding us that it’s not about us. Thank you for letting us move in with you in this marginal space. Thank you for bringing us closer to where Jesus lives. Amen.
And it’s the effusive gratitude in this song that I hear on the lips of the Samaritan with a skin disease who returned to thank Jesus for being healed. Because he wasn’t just healed, he was rescued. And she wasn’t just rescued, she was seen and declared worthy. Their shame was erased. He was an outcast among outcasts. She wasn’t just unclean, she was a Samaritan, which is like saying, she wasn’t just transgender and Black, she was homeless. They weren’t just an immigrant, they spoke another language, they worshipped God in a different way.
But none of that mattered to Jesus. All that mattered was that these ten people who were far off from the kin-dom were now brought close. Not because of anything they had done to deserve it but because Jesus moved closer to them. Jesus showed up for them the way they needed him to.
The gospel of Luke notes that Jesus was on his way south to Jerusalem. From Galilee there is no way to Jerusalem other than through Samaria. The region between Galilee and Samaria would’ve been a marginal place, a home to people who were treated as outcasts. It would be like a refugee settlement or homeless encampment or the Christopher Street docks in NYC where homeless folks, many of whom were queer and trans, lived in the 1970s, a place where so-called foreigners had found a home amongst each other.
Jesus wasn’t supposed to travel through such areas, let alone interact with such people due to cultural norms. Aren’t there places and thus people we all try to avoid? What happens when we find ourselves in such a place and people approach us? The faith of these ten folks that Jesus praises is that they approached him despite the cultural norms, despite the mud that was usually slung their way, despite their shame and their fear, because they knew enough about Jesus to know what he would do. And it was that faith that made them well.
Being an outcast means that the parts of you that are singled out and demoralized are also the reasons you are deserving. These aspects of yourself give you a particular experience of God’s love, one that people with acceptance and privilege do not have and sometimes have a difficult time understanding. How can I say thanks for the things you have done for me? Things so undeserved, yet you gave to prove your love for me. To God be the glory for the things you have done.
And so, Jesus is surprised that none of the non-Samaritans returned to give thanks, perhaps because their existence as outcasts is now ended but the Samaritan is still a foreigner, an outsider. I don’t think Jesus is bent out of shape because he received one thank you instead of ten. Jesus knows he is no savior but servant and slave of all.
In our own culture we treat the marginalized as both undeserving and ungrateful, further stigmatizing and dehumanizing folks and thus letting our society off the hook for not only helping others but eliminating the causes that put people on the margins in the first place. It’s hard work and so understandably we want thanks for what we do. But when we don’t receive thanks, we are given the opportunity to examine our motivation for what we do.
So let me first express my gratitude to this church for all you do for marginalized people, for those who can’t afford to live in this world with what they have, for those who are unhoused, homeless, unloved, rejected, discriminated against, for those who have nowhere else to belong.
Thank you for hosting the Newark Empowerment Center, for welcoming their staff and their clients into this space, for without our support, I don’t know where this valuable ministry would be. Thank you for donating your time, supplies for go-bags, for adapting to this disruption in our lives for others.
Thank you for an extravagant welcome to everyone, for being Open and Affirming for 35 years, for all-gender bathrooms, and for trying to fly a Pride flag even though it was stolen four times, so now it’s part of our logo that no one can tear down.
Thank you for your generosity, for your giving spirits, for joining this Communion table with feeding others, for cleaning up around the building, even when it meant cleaning up after cigarette butts and human excrement, sorting the trash into proper bins, unclogging toilets and sewer lines, doing the thankless grunt work of ministry.
Having said that wholeheartedly, there are some other folks I want to thank as well. Thank you to people who had no public toilet, no place to relieve themselves other than the safety of our church property. Because of you, we were confronted with your humanity and your needs, and with community partners we were able to install a porta potty on our property.
Thank you to those who stored their belongings in the bushes and who slept on our porch and in the arbor. Because of you, we see the need and the human right for housing first and how broken our system is and how much we have been given and so have yet to share. Thank you for trusting us to serve you.
Thank you to those who show up with their flaws and weaknesses because you show us our flaws and weaknesses and how human we all are. Thank you, because you help us keep our hearts soft. Thank you, because you keep our mission pointed in the right direction. Thank you for your faith in us, even when we don’t deserve it. Thank you for reminding us that it’s not about us. Thank you for letting us move in with you in this marginal space. Thank you for bringing us closer to where Jesus lives. Amen.
Benediction – enfleshed.com
Dear saints, dear prophets, dear beloveds
We go in the company of God
Who weeps with us
Who rages with us
Who worries and frets and then organizes with us
We are never alone in our struggles
May we each go and enflesh this truth
Alongside our neighbors, strangers, and kin
Amen
Comments
Post a Comment