Ten Were Healed. One Was Saved.

In the Gospel today, we hear a story that is quite familiar to all of us. Jesus encounters ten lepers who cry out to Him: “Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!” We can imagine how desperate they were, how isolated, how unclean, how unworthy. Because of this condition, they were cut off from their families, ostracized from their communities. In some sense, they had no reason for living. Then Jesus shows up and, in His mercy, He heals them. Ten voices cried out. Ten lives had been restored. But, in the end, only one came back. Only one fell at the feet of Jesus and showed his immense gratitude.

We might think that this story is just about ten people who had their lives changed two thousand years ago. But that’s the wrong view to take. This story is about us! Every single one of us at Mass today are the ten lepers. At some point in our lives, we have stood at a distance from the Lord. We have felt too unworthy to approach Him. That may even be us currently. And yet, something deep within us recognizes who He is and forces us to call out to Him begging for healing, for forgiveness, for help when life feels broken. Every one of us knows what it’s like to need something that only the Lord can give. And the truth is, every one of us has received mercy…time and again.

But only one returned.

That’s what stings about this particular Gospel. The nine who walked away weren’t necessarily bad people. They weren’t necessarily ungrateful for the gift they had received. Some of them probably went home, celebrated with their families, and offered thanks to God in their own way. But the hard truth of this story is that they didn’t return to Jesus. They didn’t fall at His feet in worship. They didn’t recognize that the greatest gift wasn’t the healing…it was encountering the Healer, having their worth affirmed, having their identity strengthened and restored by the One who created them.

And I can’t help but wonder if that describes much of our world today. The other nine are still around. They still go to church. They are people who continue to pray daily, who try to live decent lives. But somewhere along the way, faith became more of a habit, it became something to accomplish. Grace and mercy became something we felt entitled to receive, almost taking advantage of God’s goodness. Maybe faith became something of an obligation, rather than being about an encounter. Gratitude became more about being polite and less about being transformative. The nine continue to show up, but they don’t turn back.

It’s very easy for us to do the same. Many of us pray when we’re in need, when we’re struggling, when we’re faced with a challenge…and then we move on once life is comfortable again. We come to receive the sacraments, even serve in ministry, but if we’re not truly returning to the feet of Jesus in love, then we’re just walking with the nine. The greatest danger of our time isn’t a rejection of the faith; it’s indifference within it.

The Samaritan did something different. He realized that what happened to him was less about receiving a physical healing; it was about becoming a new creation. And, by recognizing that, he knew that he couldn’t simply go on with life as if nothing had changed. Gratitude compelled him to return to the Lord, to fall at His feet in adoration, and to surrender His life in its fullness to God. That’s what real faith looks like. It doesn’t just take what God gives, it gives everything back to Him.

As Catholics, every time we come to Mass, Jesus heals us in some way. He cleanses our souls and He restores what sin and pride have broken. The moment that we receive Him in the Eucharist is the moment when we are invited to fall at His feet, not just to receive, but to worship. It shouldn’t be something transactional; it has to be transformative. If we leave Mass each week feeling the same way we did when we came in, we’re doing something wrong.

What happens when we walk out those doors? Do we live as people who have been changed? Do we recognize the gift we have received in Jesus? Do we see that we have encountered the Healer, the Savior of the World, and that He loves us so much that He desires to dwell within us? Do we allow gratitude to be made visible in the way that we live?

Jesus’ question still echoes: “Where are the other nine?” He’s not asking out of anger or disappointment; He’s asking out of longing. He wants hearts that come back to Him, not just bodies that show up. He wants disciples who live in thanksgiving, not entitlement.

Ten were healed. One was saved.

And the question is still before us: Which one are we?

Image: The Healing of Ten Lepers, James Tissot (1886-1894). In the Brooklyn Museum, European art collection. Used under public domain. Wikimedia Commons.