The Faith that Makes Well

The gospel reading for this past Sunday (Thanksgiving Sunday, here in Canada) was Luke 17:11-19. In it, Jesus heals ten lepers who cry out to him for mercy. Only one returns to give thanks (a Samaritan), and Jesus commends him for it. Connections between lectionary texts and the secular calendar don’t really come much more obvious than this, I suppose. Don’t be like the nine ungrateful lepers who pranced off into their more hopeful futures with scarcely a thought for their Healer. Be like the Samaritan. Make sure you give thanks because this makes Jesus happy.

I don’t tend to be drawn to the most obvious interpretation of any story. It’s not that I don’t think the above is a legitimate way to use this story on Thanksgiving Sunday. I’ve preached that sermon at least once before. Last Sunday, however, I was drawn to the last line of the story. After wondering about the nine that didn’t return, Jesus turns to the Samaritan—the “foreigner”—and says, “Your faith has made you well.” What a thing to have said about your faith, I thought! I wondered if my faith could ever be described by Jesus as the kind of thing that “makes well.”

This sent me off on a search. How often, where and when does Jesus use this phrase? Turns out, it shows up seven times in the four gospels. Three times, it’s the story of the woman who suffered from hemorrhaging for twelve years. Twice it’s the story of a blind beggar (in Mark, he’s named, in Luke he’s not). So, we’re left with four stories in which Jesus uses the phrase, ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέν σε (hē pistis sou sesōken se). Depending on the English translation, the phrase is translated “your faith has made you well” or “your faith has saved you.” Both are within the semantic range of the Greek word sesōken, which can encompass physical healing, forgiveness of sin, physical rescue, and spiritual salvation.

Four stories:

• A woman ground done from over a decade of suffering who touches the fringes of Jesus cloak and is healed.
• A blind beggar on the road to Jericho who stubbornly and insistently cries out for mercy, even when everyone around him is telling him to shut up and leave Jesus alone.
• A “sinful” woman who weeps at Jesus’ feet and anoints them with ointment (causing a scene at the home of a very important religious man).
• A Samaritan leper who returns to give praise and thanks to Jesus after being healed.

Two women. Two men. All profoundly vulnerable and socially isolated. All outsiders viewed with suspicion or contempt by virtue of their sins or their afflictions or their religious identities. All described as having a faith that has saved them/made them well.

So, what does the faith that Jesus says can save/make well look like?

• Devotion (the woman who anoints his feet)
• Desperation (all four stories)
• Gratitude (the story about the Samaritan leper)

In none of the four stories where Jesus says, “Your faith has save you/made you well,” is the faith that saves/makes well portrayed as a tidy doctrinal package or a socially approved ethic. In none of the four stories does the faith that saves/makes well seem to be an intellectual system or a political agenda. In none of the four stories could the faith that saves/makes well be plausibly interpreted as a spiritual achievement or a wellness strategy. In none of the four stories is the faith that saves/makes well the attainment of a certain level of holiness or spiritual vitality.

In these four stories—the only four stories in the gospels where Jesus uses this phrase—the faith that saves/makes well looks simply like crying out to Jesus for relief. And giving thanks for the kindness and goodness of God. That’s it. That’s the kind of faith Jesus commends. That’s the kind of faith that Jesus says can save us and make us well.

Yes, of course Jesus says more about faith than just this. There are other sayings and stories and teachings of Jesus that would emphasize other things and fill out the picture. And this is to say nothing of the rest of the New Testament or, indeed, the whole counsel of Scripture. One ought not, I suppose, construct an entire theology of salvation based on four stories or one Greek phrase. I get all of this. And yet…

Maybe it’s because I know more than a few people in some desperate situations right now who can’t muster up much more than a desperate cry for help. Maybe it’s because I’ve devoted a lot of effort over the years to crossing my t’s and dotting my i’s when it comes to abstract theology and still find “Christ, have mercy” to be the truest thing I will ever say or pray. Maybe it’s because my time as a pastor and a prison chaplain has shown me the depths of human pain and depravity up close and personal and I know that faith can’t be a theology or morality contest. Maybe it’s because I think I have gotten to know Jesus better over my half century on the planet and I feel like I may know something of his heart.

But I really do think that desperation, devotion, and gratitude are the bones of a faith that can save us and make us well. In this life and in the life to come.

Image source.