Take the Moment. Leave the Task

Sermon Preached Oct. 9, 2022
Text: Luke 17:11-19

And as they went, they were made clean. 

I just got back on Monday from a conference called Credo. At this conference, we explored different areas of wellness and made a rule of life. Those were the tasks of the conference, but they weren’t the essence of it. The essence was to help clergy stay the course. Every one of us came with questions. We came with uncertainties. On the first night our conference leader stood up and declared that Credo had saved his ministry. He was going through a difficult time with his parish and was wondering whether it was time to stay or go. Credo gave him the space to determine that he would stay and renewed his love of the ministry. I thought that was an awful lot to put on a conference, and the leader admitted that not everyone has that experience, but we were given space with each other and God to process and determine how we would approach life and our work. My small group was people under forty. While one of us had been a priest for twelve years, the majority had been priests for four years or less. We were all trying to figure out where the church was moving and how we fit into it. We were processing family life and needs alongside priestly duties.

There were hurts, confusion, and grief expressed. My own hurts and grief weren’t about St. John’s, this place is a joy, it was about relocation and homesickness. It was about things outside of my control or worse yet, things I messed up. I put a lot on my own shoulders trying to be the absolute best person ever, and all that trying actually isn’t healthy. 

Somewhere within all of what we were doing, in the midst of plenaries and consults, of small group time and personal reflection, of plenty of walking and eating so much food, shifts began to happen. A person would go to bed one night and be noticeably different the next morning. There was a sense of calm and peace that seemed to radiate throughout the camp. I would sit or walk the trails outside, soak in the not too hot weather and clear blue skies and just feel knots come undone. God was so close. Somewhere, as we went along, we were made clean. 

Clean, as though fresh from the shower. The stuff that clung to us, the hurts, the confusion, the griefs we bore, were washed. Some went away, some didn’t. It wasn’t like the leperous skin being made whole, it was as though someone washed our wounds and carefully bandaged them. God’s care helped cleanse deep hurts, helped create new scabs, and began the process towards new skin. We may always carry the marks of what happened, but there would no longer be risk of infection. The wounds wouldn’t consume us.

In the midst of all that transformation, we still had a task. We still had a goal, an item to present at the end of the week, a rule of life. We could make it however we wanted to make it, we didn’t have to share it with anyone though we were given the opportunity to talk about them. In the midst of trying to write a rule of life, one of my group mates, whom I’ll call Fred, almost missed out on how God was cleansing him.

It was the morning of our last full day together, and while I had written my rule quickly the night before, Fred’s wasn’t done. There was a group of us going to hike to a swinging bridge and the cross on the hill. I was pumped and when I saw Fred standing outside the dining hall with the others, I got very excited, put my hands in the air and just yelled, “Fred!” I was overcome with joy to see him there. I didn’t know that he really hadn’t planned on going with us, that his intentions were to grab a bagel and go back to his room to finish his rule of life. I just was excited to have my friend coming on this adventure, something I had been looking forward to for days. Later, as we were sharing our rules, he shared that his rule of life wasn’t quite done and why. He had gone hiking with us. Not because he planned it, but because he felt God telling him in the yelling of his name to just go with us. God was sharing with him that he needed to stop and smell the roses, to enjoy the rock formations around us, to hear the babbling brook, and just be in the moment. We had a great time and he carried a more important lesson than a rule of life home with him. He learned that he needed space and time to get out of his head and be present to what was around him.

The lepers in today’s Gospel were given a task. They had a goal. They were to go to the priests. These were the people who would declare them clean, who would grant them the ability to be called clean, to go back to their families and their friendships, people they hadn’t seen since the disease spreading across their bodies forced their separation. They were so focused on the task that most missed the biggest change. Did they even fully grasp on the way that their scales were falling off, that the snow white dead skin was starting to turn brown again? 

One person did see it. He felt the cleansing in the moment, while it was happening. And something deep within him called out, “Turn!” Turn around and say thanks. Turn around and recognize the most important thing. The priests would always be there, but Jesus was just passing through. He was brought completely into the present moment. He recognized where he was and who was nearby. He ran back, and he fell on his knees at Jesus’ feet. The task would still be there. But the moment with Jesus would never come again. God called to him and calls to us today, “Take the moment. Leave the task.”

We can be so focused on the next thing, the next duty, the next agenda item that we miss what is more important, those things that cleanse. Go on adventures. Look up at the clear blue sky. Pay attention to the flowers. Recognize and be present to your body when you are being made clean. Not perfect. No one’s perfect. Not having your wounds erased. But being washed. Being bandaged. Being cared for so that infection doesn’t set in and harm the body further. We need these moments. They are vital to our wellbeing. We have to slow down enough to recognize them for what they are. When we recognize them, may we too fall at Jesus’ feet in gratitude. Amen.