He’s Got the Goods

At some point, the phrase “first world problem” became a thing. It’s shorthand for things that bring us down that we know are rather trivial, especially compared to what we perceive people in other parts of the world to be dealing with. Like: “The Wi-Fi at the luxury Greek villa my wife and I are staying at only supports 4 devices at a time.” First world problem. Or “Someone didn’t refill the Brita pitcher and now I have to wait 30 seconds for clean water.” First world problem. The strength of the phrase is that it allows us to laugh ironically at the ways we complain about the smallest things amidst all our incredible blessings. 

The phrase also has some weaknesses. First, it implies these old labels like “first world” and “third world,” rankings that means little given how much destructive dysfunction often exists in “first world” nations. But even if you were to more correctly say “Developed world problem,” it still paints this very simplistic picture of people in other parts of the world. The fact is everyone complains about small things and forgets about all they currently have. If I am a Ugandan who goes to a local restaurant in my village and my stew is cold and my chair uncomfortable, it might wreck my night. I’ve actually seen this happen. What are they supposed to say “Ah, first world problem.” No, better to let go of these dualistic categories. All human beings in all parts of the world are all made of the same stuff. And one of the things we all share is we hard time being grateful for what we have. It’s not a first world problem. It’s a human problem. A gratitude problem. 

Today, we have this gospel passage from Luke in which Jesus comes into a village and this whole group of lepers comes out to meet him. They cry out to him “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.” Now we might hear “Have mercy on us.” invoking all this language of begging for pardon. Like there is punishment coming, please relent. But the word mercy is so much richer. The Latin word for mercy shares the same root as mercantile - the buying and selling of goods. Same root as merchandise. Have mercy on me, Jesus. Give me the goods, Jesus. Give me your healing, give me your love and compassion. Jesus, have mercy. 

Jesus hears this cry for the goods, and he responds. He says, “Go show yourselves to the priests.” Because if they are going to be fully healed they need not just physical healing, they need social healing. The pain of leprosy comes not just from rotting tissue, but much more profoundly the pain comes from the utter loneliness and separation. A priest would have had the credentials to can sign off that they are truly healed. 

And so they go off, and somewhere between leaving Jesus and arriving at the priest, they are healed. Incredible. We imagine the wonder and awe and tears of joy. But then the story invites us to imagine what happens next. We can imagine them saying, “This is great. But there is a lot to do! I have to get new clothes, I have to get a job, I have to make up for lost time. So many restaurants, so little time. The stew better not be cold!” Nine of them immediately move on to the next thing. But one of them, a Samaritan, does not just automatically move on to the next thing. He pauses. He turns back, gives praise to God in a loud voice and then goes to Jesus. He throws himself at Jesus feet and offers his thanks. Jesus puzzles over why he is the only one who returned, but then Jesus says, “Get up, and go, your faith has made you well.” 

Now there are so many layers here. First, I want to say right up front that this is a story in which a foreigner, a non-native, someone despised and mocked and thought less than; he models virtue. At a time when those of the non-dominant group and the non-native group are being painted as dangerous outsiders by Christians, we need to remember that our holy text, the Bible, is shot through with stories like this - the outsider is not just someone to be pitied and taken care of (although there are many stories like this). But the outsider is often the one to emulate. The Bible actually carries within it the radical message that the dominant group is not tainted by the outsider, the dominant group actually needs the outsider for its own righteousness. 

But another layer here - is this connection that Jesus makes between faith and gratitude. Did you catch that? The story ends with Jesus saying, “Your faith has made you well.” His faith? The man didn’t recite a creed, he didn’t talk about what he believed in his head. He paused, he turned back, and knelt down in front of Jesus and gave thanks. Gratitude for what we have in front of us can be an enormous act of faith. Gratitude is saying: Lord, I will trust that what I have around me today, this is enough. This trust goes directly against a consumer culture perpetually telling us to acquire more to be happy. It goes directly against the pace of our culture which is always pushing us to move on to the next thing - always shouting to us that the real goods are not right in front of us, the real goods are in the next thing. Hurry get there. 

Amidst the voices that tell you that you do not have enough, it is a courageous act of faith to simply be grateful. If you are looking for a spiritual practice this coming week, try to simply pause and savor what is in your life right now. And give thanks. With better awareness, the simplest, most ordinary things may cause us to praise God with a loud voice. A warm bowl of soup and bread on a cold day can bring us to our knees if we pay attention. 

Now it is one thing to cultivate gratitude for things around us, outside us. This is in of itself, takes enormous grace. It is a gift that we can open ourselves to with practice. But what is much more difficult for many of us, it to cultivate gratitude for what is in us. So many of us walk around with this constant internal chatter, “I have this defining deficiency. I am just too afraid or too anxious. I can’t seem to quite get control of this or that in my life.” Gratitude as a radical act of trust, radical act of faith in which we say, “I will be grateful for who I am in God today. Right now. Even in my imperfections, my blindnesses, my impulses and illness. I will be grateful for this human being who is so bad at being grateful, but who longs to open himself to grace and to be used in all my limitations and imperfections. 

The Buddhist monk and meditation teacher, Jack Kornfield, tells a famous story about a famous violinist Itzahk Perlman. Perlman was one of my fathers favorite artists of all time. I think he had every album on which Perlman ever played. 

As you may know, Perlman was stricken with polio as a child; he has braces on both his legs and walks with two crutches. In a typical performance, he crosses the stage slowly, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, lowers his crutches to the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor, and proceeds to play. 

But one time at a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City, something went wrong. In the middle of the concert, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap—it went off like a gunshot. There was no mistaking what that sound meant: he would not be able to play the piece as it was written on his violin. People who were there wondered whether he’d have to put on the braces and go back stage—to find another violin or another string. But he didn’t. Instead, he waited a moment, he paused, closed his eyes, and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and Perlman played on only three strings, modulating the piece in his head and adapting it to use the strings with passion, steadiness, and remarkable purity. 

When he finished, an awed silence filled the room. Then people stood and an applause rose from every corner of the auditorium, bravos and cheering. Perlman smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet the audience, and then he said—not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone—“You know, sometimes it is your task in life to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”1 

You can breathe and pause and be grateful for what you can play today. In what you have and who you are this very moment. Like the Samaritan, we can acknowledge that Jesus has the goods. That those mercies are new every morning and will never come to an end. All thanks and praise to him and the Father and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

1 Jack Kornfield, No time Like the Present, 2017. Pp 143-144