Where Are the Nine?

Luke’s gospel tells us the Lord Jesus healed ten lepers in a village between Samaria and Galilee on the way to Jerusalem. At the word of the Lord, these all found themselves remotely cleansed of their disease on the way to show themselves to the priests. That must have been quite a moment.

Nine of the ten were Jews. Perhaps they continued to the priests as instructed, though Luke doesn’t tell us. Their tale ends at the miraculous healing. The tenth turned back, praising God. He fell at the feet of Jesus, giving him thanks. Luke says he was a Samaritan.

He also records the reaction Jesus had to the man’s return: “Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” In doing so, the Lord drew attention to the contrast between the ingratitude of his fellow Jews and the outpouring of praise and thanks from a man whose background made him a “foreigner” to Jesus. The word there means alien, or literally “other kindred”. He was the last guy you would expect to get down on his knees in public at the feet of a Jewish rabbi. Samaritans were competitive. They had their own place of worship and their own religious beliefs.

The Ties That Bind

The first prime minister of Singapore, Lee Kuan Yew, once observed that in multiracial societies, people don’t vote in accordance with their economic interests and social interests, they vote in accordance with race and religion. He was onto something there: blood and culture are stronger bonds than even the most pragmatic daily considerations. That formula has proved generally true over the centuries. Culture and kindred are a kind of glue that gives conniptions to kings and governments trying to manage societies comprised of multiple ethnicities efficiently and with minimal conflict.

Certainly, factionalism was a problem for Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon. The need to forge bonds between the various ethnic blocs in his empire was probably what inspired the image of gold he constructed in Daniel 3 and his edict that everyone in Babylon must fall down and worship it. What could be more conducive to the unity of his kingdom and the security of his throne? In modern times, governments have tried to solve the same problem with ideology: secularism, liberalism, the global village and the myth of the brotherhood of man. As can be seen in London, Minneapolis and numerous other cities these days, it doesn’t work. Factions based around blood and culture divide men.

First century Judea was one of several Roman provinces in the Middle East. The Roman Empire was about as multi-ethic a project as you will ever encounter, spanning the entire Mediterranean basin and much of Europe, western Asia and North Africa. Dozens of cultures and ethnicities. Despite all incentives to become a sort of melting pot, most of those identifiable factions remained intact over the centuries under Rome. Certainly, this was the case in Judea.

Stronger Than Blood and Culture

One of the notable sub-themes of the Gospels is the ethnic hostility between Jews and foreigners, especially Samaritans, half-breeds who dated back to the Assyrian captivity of the northern kingdom of Israel, and whom Jews generally despised. We can get a good sense of the intensity of racial prejudice in first century Judean society when we read throwaway lines like “Let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector” or “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” The parable of the “good Samaritan” derives its exemplary force from its sheer unexpectedness: the “genetically inferior” foreigner turns out to be kinder and more neighborly to a Jew in need than his own religious upper crust. The Lord did not condone racial pride, but he very much acknowledged its reality.

In that context, I find it interesting that Jesus encounters this group of ten lepers traveling and perhaps even dwelling together notwithstanding the fact that one of them is a despised Samaritan. That would never happen in normal Jewish society, even within the multicultural Roman Empire. There are few bonds stronger than blood and culture. Nevertheless, there are a few. One of them is common suffering.

What’s at the Root?

I was in a hospital waiting room in a major city recently with a friend whose retina had detached. Around us were people of all ages speaking every language you could imagine, yet everyone was interacting companionably because all had something in common: a serious medical condition. Nobody, but nobody wants to lose his vision. Everyone was more concerned about just getting well than about skin color. So we talked and we listened. Maybe the guy next to you knew something you didn’t. That little bit of critical information might be worth struggling with his incomprehensible accent or overcoming awkward social barriers.

Likewise, leprosy had become a bigger factor in the lives of those ten men than either race or religion. Common suffering and their status as social outcasts defined them. Everything else was secondary.

When Christians make a big deal out of ethnicity, the problem is often that we have forgotten where we came from. In our eyes, we are no longer patients sitting together in the waiting room of the Great Physician in need of urgent spiritual care. We have been healed now, and like the nine Jewish former-lepers, we can go our own way. We can get back to enjoying our quality of life and the other factors that define us in our own minds. At the root of this is plain old ingratitude.

Jesus asked, “Where are the nine?” It’s a very good question.