Sermon on Luke 17:11-19

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

It’s easy to turn our Gospel reading into a morality tale about being thankful. And that’s a valid reading: gratitude is important, and Jesus certainly deserved thanks.

But a detail stuck out at me this week: “On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee.”

The writer of the Gospel of Lukeis drawing our attention to Jesus’ location on purpose.

First, Jesus was “on the way to Jerusalem,” which means he was heading toward the cross, and he knew it. He was preparing his disciples to continue his mission into the years to come.And still, he made time to honor the request of this group of ten.

He was also “going through the region between Samaria and Galilee.” He was in between places. He wasn’t specifically in Samaria or Galilee, but in a “region between.” He was “on the way” to Jerusalem but not there yet. He was in a liminal space, a transitional space like a hallway or a threshold.

Naaman, too, was in a liminal space, a space of contradicting realities and unexpected boundary crossing. Naaman was powerful but had a skin disease that he was powerless against. He was a warrior but had to seek help in enemy land.

Instead of performing a work of great power or requiring a heroic task, the prophet simply told him to go bathe. But, he had to bathe in “their”water, not his “better” water. The border remained crossed. Naaman the powerful was required to humble himself by bathing in “their” river.

Liminal spaces and crossed boundaries are uncomfortable.

We humans like the solidity of categories, of being in one place or another, but not between. We want clean boundaries that aren’t crossed. It’s tidy to have a clear distinction between “us” and “them.” We want to know how things work and where things belong. We want to know who’s in charge and where we stand.

We’re uncomfortable with liminal spaces.

Airports and train stations, for instance, can be anxiety-producing. You’re not at home or your destination—you’re in between. It can be hard to relax in a doctor’s office waiting room for the same reason. The anticipation is unnerving.

Similarly, it can be challenging to meet new people, because the primitive part of our brains isn’t sure where they belong. Are they an “us” or a “them”?

We might be able to make an educated guess and more easily approach a stranger who’s similar to us in some way—age, gender presentation, language spoken, or other marker that makes us feel like it’s less risky to start a conversation.Our brains are more comfortable with that. But if we don’t register a similarity, we might be more hesitant to say hi.

This happens at church too. We want to welcome anyone who comes through those doors, but sometimes we fall victim to an “us” and “them” mentality unconsciously. I know some of you are very intentional about greeting everyone, and that’s beautiful and I so appreciate that.

For some of us, though, we don’t always put ourselves out there as much as we would like. We might say good morning to someone who obviously knows their way around a hymnal, who asks for a bulletin, who dares to sit in the front half of the sanctuary.

But we might be more nervous to approach someone who shyly sits in the back pew with their head down. Or someone with an obvious physical or cognitive disability that’s different from any we might have. Or someone wearing non-gender-conforming clothing. Or anyone our brainscan’t as easily put into the “us” category.

But it’s not just nice—it’s kind to greet everyone.First of all, it’s scary to walk into a sanctuary for the first time even if you’re a long-time Lutheran and in seminary—I know, because I visited a lot of congregations, Lutheran and otherwise, during my seminary years.Every congregation is different, and you never fully know what you’re going to find or what faux pas you’re going to commit. The visitor is probably way more nervous than you are.

And second of all, Jesus teaches us that there is no “them” category.

That’s what struck me about the Gospel story this week. Jesus was in a liminal space, and it was only a Samaritan who came back to thank him—a person who would have very easily been in Jesus’ “them” category.

Samaritans were considered by Jewish people in Jesus’ time to be an enemy.And yet, it was a Samaritan who returned and praised him, which is the appropriate response to a healing encounter with Jesus.

Maybe it was only in this liminal space between Samaria and Galilee that the Samaritan and the other nine would have dared ask Jesus for what they needed and only in this liminal space that a Samaritan would have dared approach Jesus a second time, even in praise. Our boundaries are powerful, but liminal spaces make otherwise impossible connections and healing between people possible.

Naaman was seeking healing, too, and it was necessary for him to wash in “their” river instead of his superior rivers, because we don’t get to choose where or how God shows up. God meets us in crossed boundaries and liminal spaces, where we have to get off our high horses and be open to mystery.

Liminal spaces are often where transformationoccurs. God isn’t very good about coloring within the lines. The Holy Spirit surprises us, challenges us, and moves us outside our boundaries and into liminal spaces. Jesus meets us in those liminal spaces, the margins we forget about or ignore, but where God’s healing and love are found.

God’s Beloved Community breaks down barriers and recognizes all people as children of God.

How can we question the “us” and “them” tendencies of our brains?

Who can we learn to appreciate more?

What relationships can we foster?

Where are liminal spaces in our lives? Are there other liminal spaces we can seek God in?

Whether you find yourself, like Naaman, resenting having to cross a boundary or, like the grateful Samaritan, find yourself placed on the wrong side of a boundary by society, you will find God in that liminal space.

When we cross boundaries, we find out surprising things about each other. Our assumptions get challenged, our stereotypes dissolve, our biases become clear and then dissipate.

One of my favorite things about working at the Orange County Conservation Corps before going to seminary was at our corpsmember holiday party.

One Friday morning, the corpsmembers would bring their families in for hot chocolate, tamales, and a visit from Santa, who would pass out donated toys to the kids.

It was so moving to see tall, muscular guys with tattoos and piercings holding their babies. Seeing them share their toddlers’ excitement about Santa reminded me that they were barely out of childhood themselves, though often they hadn’t had the peaceful, joyful childhood I would have wished for them. They were in the liminal space of barely being adults and having the very adult responsibility of being parents.

If I hadn’t known them, my brain probably would have categorized these young people as “them” and maybe even as “a threat” to me.

But in the Christmas season of God crossing the boundary between human and divine, between earth and heaven, God showed me the beauty and tenderness of these beloved children of God who kissed their infants and whose eyes lit up at their children’s squeals of joy.

God is like that too. God is in the liminal spaces, delighting in our healing, lighting up at our joy.

When we remember that, we can set aside our brains’ divisions of “us and them” and instead voice our gratitude for God’s love for us and all humanity.

That’s a form of healing we find in Jesus.

That’s worth turning around and thanking God for.