Faith comes from revealed presence

http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/111517.cfm
Wisdom 6:1-11
Luke 17:11-19

There’s a serious human problem afoot in today’s readings from both Wisdom and Luke. God can be disappointed with us. Frustrated, even. This is a human problem, because God is not only disappointed in how trees give fruit, and how some of his angels have abused his friendship. He is clearly vexed by the overwhelming numbers of us who choose to dismiss who God is, and how he is involved. And, the bulk of us do this in the face of incredible revelations.

God is keenly aware (of course he is — he is God) that so few of us give him credit for his interventionary superhero capabilities and awesome status as the unselfish wingman, the unlimited resource, and the true loving wizard behind the curtain. We should be worried about this. What steers us away from him?

The human problem for the vast majority of us is a refusal to recognize God’s presence. We can’t accept that God will blow our minds with revelation. “I’m here. Let’s talk.” Uhm, I don't think so.

No matter what God does to shine a light on his goodness and presence, a very large number of us consider his divine, restorative light as a coincidental fortune cookie. “Sure, everything turned out OK, but do you really believe that fortune cookie had anything to do with that?” God’s revelations mount up like crosses on a garbage pile.

Our manipulation of God’s help, even when we have asked for it, should be explained beforehand. We need to tell God that his help works like the witness protection system. “Help us get this done, and we’ll hide you away, change your name, and make sure nobody can find you.” In the fine print we’ve asked God not to contact us in the future. We’ll be just fine from here on out.

Or, worse, and more disturbing, we whine and cry, get superhero help, then shrug and move on. We don’t even pretend to be unaware. “Everything’s OK now. That wasn’t such a big deal.”

The miraculous repairs that take place at God’s hands are purposeful salvific events. He does nothing with a cavalier hand, or a mistaken notion of our undying grateful homage. More is at stake. God intervenes because he wants us. Many would say that God loves us, instead of God wants us. To say that God loves us is fine, but only like magical tasting blueberry pancakes and maple syrup are fine to a chef. The real purpose of a chef’s pancakes is to blow your mind so you come back for breakfast often and tell other people about him. The chef wants you, not just to feed you. When God makes his pancakes (miraculous interventions) he wants you to recognize him as unparalleled and intimate and open for business. There’s love involved, but his love is of the deep intimacy type. “Let me live in you, and you will live in me; and I’ll introduce you to others who’ve joined up, and we’ll do this for an eternity.”

God’s apparent motivation must be to reveal himself to us, otherwise he would hide all his intervention behind seasonal rains, windy fresh air, and tasty mushrooms. That’s how some of us think of God. A good background creator, with a penchant for furry animals and attractive butterflies. For some of us God is a premium, oversized Hallmark card, pre-printed and more expensive for those special occasions when we need to make an impression. 

The miracle of the ten lepers eradicates the scenic and smarmy God who cautiously intervenes. God didn’t just heal one pathetic and deserving man, he concurrently healed ten lepers. Ten deposed, despondent, and disposed men. He didn’t go through a complicated liturgical process and technological marvel to heal them either. He pre-arranged for his disciples to stop at an unnamed village, between two large cities. As the troupe wandered by, they heard the distant and miserable cries of ten scabbed and decaying men. They'd been informed of Jesus’ healing powers. Jesus responded to them by shouting for them to go see the Jewish priests. The priests are charged with confirming a healing of leprosy. Ten guys showing up at the temple was going to be a hoot.

The lepers probably figured out that they should go on their own. Maybe Jesus had told the priests to heal them, one of them must’ve said. In any case, they began to head out as Jesus said, and they were immediately all healed. Wham, kazzammm, and shiny new bodies.

When has this sort of thing ever happened in history? One leper, yes. Naaman was healed — recorded in 2 Kings, Chapter 5. Jesus had probably healed many lepers by the time they’d hit this village. But, a group of three or five? No, nothing had yet been reported on that. How about ten? That’s just ridiculous. All at one time, while they are tramping away? That’s not only over the top, it’s freaking epic.

Miracles — God shows us by this incredible, yet almost side show like report in Luke — are designed to turn us away from everyone and everything else in our lives in order for us to see God in action. Important to point out, God heals when we ask for it. He restored those lepers and changed their lives because they cried out to him and his power. Jesus changed the lives of those in the village who saw this. The Father watched his plan unfold as the promised Messiah changed the lives of the disciples who watched it all transpire. And the Holy Spirit, who whispers Jesus’ name in our ears and grabs us by the eyeballs from the inside, changes our lives by scriptural and communal osmosis. A line ticking off 2,000 years (so far) of listeners gathered to hear the scripture, partake in the Eucharist, and pray and heal in Jesus’ name have morphed into saints.

In Wisdom, God is emphatic about our attention to him. Read the scriptures, he insists.

For those who keep the holy precepts hallowed shall be found holy,
and those learned in them will have ready a response.
Desire therefore my words;
long for them and you shall be instructed. (Wisdom 6:10-11)

“Help me!” we cry. “Oh, Lord!” we appeal. Then, when we get help and God shows up, often in stunning specificity to our requests, do we immediately drop to our knees? If God is to be believed in scripture, ninety percent of us do something else. We may shout out our good fortune, but mostly in a measure of a life balanced in good and bad luck. If we study the situation that we were in, we shift from God intervening to something more realistic to the framework of the world we know. We escaped misfortune, we conclude, because the “ball bounced in our direction.” The sun shined on us. Opportunity knocked, and we grabbed on tight. 

As time goes by, many of us imagine the fix to our problems has to do with our being in the right place at the right time. So, we become more careful and systematic about our surroundings, our friends, and we adjust our steps in order to prevent a recurrence of bad stuff. Eventually, as we check off a steady run of our newly interpreted good fortune, we see a pattern. We are finally acting in tune with the universe. A personal, intimate God has all but disappeared. Sadly, we pat ourselves on the back for being the clever and persistent author of our own fortunes! Our goodness is shown in heady reward laden accomplishments. Elitism best describes our new state, because our concentrated efforts lift us above the rest of the fray of people in disarray.

Do we lead people to God with this? No. We might write a book about what happened to us, imagining we can help other folks. We list the formulas for careful, discreet, and steady progress in participation of the good fortune available from the universe. (Plus, the extra money from our book and speaking engagements go a long way toward funding continued discoveries about the protections and precautionary formulae we have unearthed.)

The “meh” attitude of the rest of us, not driven to grasp revelation and market ourselves, has surprised and disappointed God just as bad as the elitist who considers himself something of a universe aware god. How dangerous both of these approaches must be to our eternal life. At what point will our egregious behavior reach a wall? When will our carefully contracted good fortune run out? When will our dismissive betrayal of God sink us into oblivion?  

For the Lord of all shows no partiality,
nor does he fear greatness,
Because he himself made the great as well as the small,
and he provides for all alike;
but for those in power a rigorous scrutiny impends. (Wisdom 6:7-8)

After Jesus cleansed the ten lepers in that small nondescript village, Luke reported that Jesus said the following.

"Ten were cleansed, were they not?
Where are the other nine? 
Has none but this foreigner returned to give thanks to God?" 
Then he said to him, "Stand up and go;
your faith has saved you." (Luke 17:17-19)

Our hearing may miss the point behind Jesus’ response that only the Samaritan leper returned and gave thanks to God. “Your faith has saved you,” Jesus says. What is the faith he is talking about? The miracle that cured the lepers provides the answer. 

We often hear of faith as a mysterious acceptance, an acquiescence to the “idea” of God. Faith comes to those who decide to believe, even we Christians have concluded. Do we believe that we acknowledge the concept that an almighty being is in charge, or do we believe because God has revealed himself to us?

Jesus didn’t describe the Samaritan’s faith as a blind fealty or even an intellectual high five. The Samaritan didn’t come to a discovery of logic and reason. The unbelievable and coincidental repair of ten lepers, hosting an incurable disease that is recognized even today as most difficult to cure, convinced the “faithful” leper. The Samaritan had proof. He had certifiable evidence that his leprosy had left him and that Jesus was responsible. Jesus must be God, because who else could do this?

That’s how Jesus speaks to us. He knows that our ability to be filled with faith results from evidence. God shows us who he is. We may have been told about him, or even given a liturgical formula to follow, but faith is a consequential awareness that we are subject to the creator because we have come to know him. Faith follows a physical revelation, a spiritual awakening accomplished by God. Amazingly, God comes at our request. (Mostly because he's already there, but he ratchets up his presence when we call for him.)

In fact, requesting that God show us that he loves us, cares for us, and is present in our lives is not formulaic at all. It puts both us and God on the line. God won’t dismiss us, or twist our story into a pablum, a phony nutrient substitute. We’re the ones who may falter.

It may look crazy to drop to our knees at God’s great interventions, but it is appropriate. When we recognize that God wants us so much that he’ll blow our mind, how can we not?