Re-Gifting

Before you can give out your presents John the Baptist has something to say to you.

This sermon was preached on the Third Sunday of Advent. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Canticle 9

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

In only eight and a half days we will be kneeling down to peek into the makeshift crib to view the Christ child. As you came into church this morning—to pray, to sing, to hear God’s Word, to confess sins, to be forgiven, to eat and drink of the Sacramental Body and Blood of Christ, and to be sent back out into the world transformed—as you came here today perhaps you, like me, were distracted by thoughts of final Christmas preparations and purchases. But, now after hearing John’s challenging, caustic, and cajoling words, Christmas may be the last thing on your mind. How in the world are we going to get from the Jordan’s banks to Bethlehem’s manger after all of this fire and brimstone?

Today’s Gospel lesson almost feels like a prank by the brain trust that came up with our reading cycle, the Lectionary. Are there hidden cameras in here? John just called the crowds—and vicariously us—“a brood of vipers.” Then, he threatened that if we don’t bear good fruit we’ll be chopped down. That was before he told us that the coming Christ would soon be burning up any chaff in an unquenchable fire. And, Luke had the audacity to cap it all off by claiming that these exhortations are good news. What? This cannot possibly be good news can it? See, friends as strange as all of this sounds you aren’t in some sort of nightmare before Christmas.

Actually what John the Baptist preached in the wilderness long ago really was and is still good news. Hang with me for a little bit—don’t worry the Christmas to-do list will still be there when I finish. You might even look at it differently.

First off, let’s acknowledge a basic truth about us human beings. We don’t like it when we are told we are wrong. We don’t like being in trouble. As a kid, I avoided getting in trouble like the plague. Correction: I avoided being caught getting in trouble like the plague. And, there was one person that put the fear of God in me more than even John the Baptist could—someone whom I never wanted to catch me doing something wrong. That person was my maternal grandfather. His go-to phrase when I was misbehaving was, “Do we need to go have a chat in the locker room?” Whenever he said it, I knew I was in trouble and whatever I had been doing I would stop doing it. This was his own little call to repentance. Sort of like what was going on with John the Baptizer talking with the crowds down by the river side. So, the first thing about us humans is we don’t like being wrong.

Here’s a second thing about us human beings, we may not like to be told we are wrong, but sometimes we are. What is more sometimes we need desperately to hear difficult truths. When the crowds came to John they must have been in sore need of hearing truth—even if it was going to be tough. Whatever had been working in their lives was no longer cutting it. So, the crowds headed out to see this wild preacher draped in camel’s hair and a leather belt with bean pods (yep, that’s what locusts are) and honey on his breath. Amazingly in today’s Gospel lesson we see these crowds being told the truth and not hiding from it.

The crowds so needed to hear the truth that they even withstood John’s initial fiery address—the one about them being snakes—and kept listening. There’s no mention of people running off, crying in their milk, or saying John was wrong. Instead they stuck around to ask him, “Teacher, what then should we do?” This was a good question. They were seeking a deeper truth.

This close to Christmas—when we approach the Creator of the universe now in flesh appearing—might we have the same question? We do not like being wrong, sinful, or broken, but sometimes we are and sometimes we need to know, “What then should we do?” Perhaps this is the very reason we have such a challenging passage a week and a day before Christmas Eve. We’re getting closer to some Good News!

John the Baptizer tells this gathered crowd, “Bear fruit worthy of repentance.” In these words he challenges us to see that while the gift of turning to God and being forgiven is completely free, it will also cost us. God loves us so much that God would come dwell with us, teach us, be killed by us, and still love us. This way of Christ opens to us repentance and forgiveness forever. And yet, how do we show the fruit worthy of such a gift? Truly we cannot ever repay God, but that’s not the point. We simply cannot rest on such a gift. We can’t hide it away. What then should we do?

When the crowds, the tax collectors, and the soldiers asked John this question the Baptist responded with real-world advice. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” In other words, share with those who do not have. “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” A.K.A. do what is just. “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” Said simply, live within your means. As someone wiser than me wrote regarding this passage, “John’s advice to all of them is very practical and pointed. His answers reflect his knowledge of the vocations and values of those who ask the question, and his answers involve acts of mercy and justice…share, keep no more than you need, be fair, treat others with care, and be honest.”[1] Friends, I believe we have happened upon some Good News.

We as Twenty-First Century followers of Jesus have the same question as those First Century followers of Jesus’ Forerunner John. We want to know how we are to bear good fruit and what we are to do. So why don’t we walk out to that same wild baptizer who is still speaking eternal wisdom and ask him?

What might it look like if some modern professionals had their toes dipped in the Jordan listening to John? If a lawyer approached him and asked, “What then should I do?” John might reply, “Stop chasing ambulances! What’s with these ridiculous billboards? Do some cases pro bono. And, be okay with lawyer jokes.” If a wealthy CEO happened out to the River Jordan asked the same question, John might say, “Don’t take your bonus this year. Turn around. Give it to your employees. Maybe start a fund for underpaid teachers or single mothers. Live not within your means, but within one of your employee’s means.” If it were an Episcopal priest going out to see John, the Baptist could very well reply, “What’s with the outfit? And, stop talking about how busy you are. Slow down. Tend to your flock and your family.” What might John say to you when you are wrong? We could go on all morning, but by now I am sure you are back to thinking of your Christmas to-do list. So, let me close with the following.

We are weaving our way along this path of Advent on the way to Bethlehem. We are so close to the celebration of the Christ child’s birth, we are already awaiting Christ’s coming at the fullness of all things, and we are watching for Christ even coming here among us right now. And, as much as it may hurt us to know this, we are not going to get it all right before we meet Our Lord face-to-face. So, we wonder, “What then should we do?” Well, know this: God will always meet us with mercy, fairness, and love. As we turn or repent to receive this gift from God, we are exhorted (and yes that is good news) by Jesus and His Prophet to bear fruit worthy of this gift. What does that look like? Well, it looks just like the gifts we receive—mercy, fairness, and love. As you return to that Christmas list, don’t let anyone tell you that re-gifting is a bad idea, at least not when we are giving away the gifts that God gives to us.

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[1] Kathy Beach-Verhey, “Luke 3:7-18 Homiletical Perspective.” Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 1. Ed. by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 71.

Vipers, Axes, and Fire… Oh My!

What happened? The contrast between last week’s portrayal of John the Baptizer and this week’s could not be more opposed. Yesterday the Forerunner of Christ Jesus was embodying Isaiah’s “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but this coming Sunday he will be shouting, “You brood of vipers!” Last week it was baptism and forgiveness. This week it’s the axe already lying at the root of the tree and a winnowing fork ready to separate. Last week it was “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.” This week it’s the chaff burning in an unquenchable fire. Where did the cuddly, camel-hair-wearing John the Baptist go? Why is there such a difference between last week and this week?

Well, the truth is there is no difference. That’s right! You heard me! That one who cried of a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins is the same one who laid out what repentance looks like for the audience in this week’s Good News (and yes, it is Good News!). So why does it feel so different? How can we be so okay with John’s prophetic message last week, but so uncomfortable with it now? Before I try to answer that, let me ask you to think about something. I want you to remember a time when you were wrong. Ready, go!

Thinking…

Thinking…

Got it?

Well, let me clarify what I mean by a time when you were wrong. I’m not talking about a time when someone else thought you were wrong and you thought you were right, like a difference of opinions about something trivial. I mean a time when you were actually wrong—maybe even about something big. You knew you were wrong. That other person knew you were wrong. And, that other person called you out on it. You sweating a little just thinking about it? Yeah, me too.

That time when you were wrong, you knew you were wrong, someone else knew you were wrong, and that someone called you out about it—that situation is what happened in this week’s Gospel lesson. John was not saying that the religious leaders had a different opinion than his about God. This was not varying points of view. John had been around, he had grown up in the Temple culture, and he saw the injustices being carried out there against God’s People (specifically the poor, the widowed, the orphaned, and the otherwise disadvantaged). Thus, John called out those leaders. And, what is more, those religious leaders sat there and they took it, which provides further evidence that they were wrong and they knew they were wrong.

Now, let me have a moment for an aside. I am not saying that John claimed somehow that all of Judaism was wrong. John, himself raised in that Faith, was calling out the religious elite for failing to fulfill their calling as appointed shepherds to nourish God’s sheep. Furthermore, this was not an example of a Christian ideal supplanting a Jewish one, but rather it was an instance when God’s universal concept of justice was being mishandled by leaders—in much the same way that we see contemporary leaders across religions turn a blind eye to those who are suffering. So with this aside out of the way, let’s come back to specifically looking at how one might approach preaching this text on Sunday.

John speaks something that was hard for religious leaders, as well as tax collectors, soldiers, and the masses to hear, make no mistake about that. Still when they heard the (capital T) Truth, it halted them where they were. Such that they had to know what to do next, which is why they asked their questions, "Teacher, what should we do?" In the same, we cannot outrun the Truth, nor hide from it, nor make it disappear. What John the Baptist said to those at the Jordan long ago might not be exactly what Christ’s Prophet would say to us, but make no mistake God has words for us that will stop us indefinitely. Hearing the Truth that convict us, that halt us, that stop us might not be pleasant, but God’s movement in this world is not about comfort or convenience or pleasure. Even in our squirming though there is Good News.

The convicting words of God’s prophets are not meant to shame us into submission, but rather they challenge us to see where we have gone astray, provide us with a way of repentance, and lead us into transformation through the forgiveness of sins. In this coming Sunday’s Gospel lesson we are given this marvelous three-fold movement—conviction, repentance, and forgiveness. And, in Truth that is precisely how John the Baptizer was described in last week’s Gospel lesson too! The question is will we be bold enough to hear God's convicting words, walk the challenging path of repentance, and be transformed by forgiveness in the figurative (and sometimes literal) waters of baptism?

As we move through this journey of Advent, we have a great opportunity given to us in John’s words. During the time when we wait and watch for the coming of Christ, we have an invitation to contemplate where we have trespassed against God’s people and God's movement. Where have you been wrong? What is so convicting that you know you must turn around from it? Is there something for which you desire forgiveness? Take the time to be convicted, to repent, and to experience God’s forgiveness. For though God is infinitely near us when we have wronged, sinned, and gone astray without turning around, we block our own experience of God's love, grace, and forgiveness!

Just Three Sentences

Three sentences. That’s all we get in this coming Sunday’s Gospel lesson, but boy did Luke pack a lot into them! Here they are, plus a quick summation afterward:

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,

"The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
'Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.

Every valley shall be filled,

and every mountain and hill shall be made low, 

and the crooked shall be made straight,

and the rough ways made smooth; 

and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'" 

The first sentence lays out the leaders in place within the Roman Empire, some Middle Eastern territories, and the Temple power structure during the First Century. Strangely though, this list of names concludes with the word of God coming not to them, but to John instead. In the next sentence, we discover that this Son of Zechariah is going around the Jordan preaching about baptism and the forgiveness of sins. (By the way, Zechariah was a Temple priest himself, which made John a preacher's kid.) The second sentence even includes a bit from Isaiah, as proof that John is fitting something foretold by the prophet of old. In the end of that sentence and through the entire third sentence, we discover what the word of God looked like as it was revealed to and through John—low places made high, rough spots smoothed, and all flesh viewing God’s salvific work. That’s the quick and dirty of those three sentences.

Now, on some level these overly full sentences seem straightforward. However, as I step away from them I feel like I tried drinking a nice glass of lemonade, but was instead given a highly concentrated cup of a little water and a lot of Country Time mix—there is so much present here. So, what was Luke getting at with these overloaded statements about the forerunner of Jesus?

Three different vital themes emerge that appear worth noting and exploring for a sermon this Sunday. First, Luke portrays the word of God coming not to those who sit upon thrones or seats of honor, but rather to a mangy preacher’s kid (PK) who is camping out by the River Jordan. To contemporize this statement into our modern time and the Diocese of Alabama context, it would be like thinking that God’s message is flowing through our bishops and priests only to discover that God’s word is to be found with some PK slung out in her camping hammock at Camp McDowell. Where is God unexpectedly bursting into our lives or surprising us through contemporary prophets? Or perhaps a better question is through whom is God unpredictably speaking now? The first theme thus is God speaks through shocking media then and now.

Second, the appealing message that John proclaimed focused upon God’s forgiveness and our need to turn towards God. This message stood out as appealing because so many of the methods for making oneself right with God during that day and age centered around offering a sacrifice. While God does love our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, God does not wait to forgive or love us until we offer up something in return. Rather, once we receive the overwhelming grace that God freely gives, we find ourselves wanting to sacrifice something as a way of responding to God with gratitude. God’s grace calls us to turn toward God and fills us up when we see any and all sins washed away. So, this second theme emanates from John preaching a message of turning back to God and receiving God’s forgiveness outside the normal religious protocol of the day.

Finally, the words from Isaiah depict what we will do as we greet Our Lord and experience the transformation that is repentance and forgiveness. Some may look at the natural images in this passage literally; however, given that John ran outside the normal boundaries of society we might do well to look at some other layers to his words. Through Isaiah John was pointing to the raising up of the poor while the greedy got their comeuppance. And, as we experience God’s overwhelming love that calls us back home, we are called to make the Savior’s way straight to everyone by aiding in God’s salvific work. This is one way in which we see God's Salvation happening. This theme of responding to God’s powerful salvation by turning towards and taking part in God’s work in this world brings this reading to a close. It also calls us not just to see this as an ancient story.

As we continue through our Advent journey when we remember Christ’s coming in Jesus, observe Christ coming to us now, and look for Christ fulfilling of all things in the end, we are invited to be a part of God’s work of salvation now. We are called to know that God’s salvation brings us healing without having to appease any religious bureaucracy. We are called to know that no matter how strange the means God is speaking to us to come back home, so that we may live the fullest life right now. Wow, all that in just three sentences!

Prepare God's Way To You

A church not too different from St. John’s here in Decatur had some great acolytes not too different from our own. They were attentive during worship, deliberate with their actions during processions, and happy to share in fellowship with the rest of the congregation. While most—if not all—of what they did during the service followed the rubrics of our Book of Common Prayer–those rules that help to guide worship—there was one unique custom that stood out when visitors came to church for the first time.

As the acolytes began from the western part of the church —some would say the front of the church, while others call that the back—the crucifer after about ten steps would dip the cross low. Visitors and newcomers would look puzzled as the processional cross stooped down in procession. By the time these new folks became members though, the practice had become normal to them, until one day a newcomer wondered, “What in the world is the crucifer doing?”

This new member first asked the head of the acolyte guild why the crucifer did this. The acolyte master gave a puzzled look and replied, “Well, that’s how we have always done it—at least as long as I’ve been here.” Not satisfied with the answer the new member approached several other members of the church and asked the same question and got the same reply.

Finally, the newcomer asked the rector. The rector after hearing the question got red in the face. “You know,” the priest replied, “before the most recent renovations decades ago there was a light that the crucifer had to duck the cross under during the procession. And… I haven’t had the heart to tell the acolytes that they don’t have to swoop the cross now that the light is gone.” To quote the opening number from Fiddler on the Roof, “Tradition!!! Tradition!!!” (Good luck getting that song out of your head now.)

Like many things in the Episcopal Church after we do it once it becomes a long standing tradition, but I wonder about this. I love traditions so much—I grew up at a summer camp with many of them, I chose a college with peculiar practices, and I have been nourished in a church with them. However, like the crucifers who dipped the cross under a light that was no longer there, sometimes these traditions serve no purpose but to say that this is the way we have done it in the past. How often do we wonder if a certain tradition or practice brings us closer to God? Do we reflect on whether a tradition creates health? Have we stopped to think about those things that we tell ourselves we have to do because we have always done them?

I have been struck by an analogy as of late. Do you remember that wonderful—or terrible depending on who you ask—section of the SAT designated for analogies? Well, here’s one to bring up bad or good memories: traditions : groups :: ________ : individuals. Perhaps there are multiple ways to answer this, but I am tempted to respond with the word habit. Our communal habits are traditions.

Many experts will tell you that to form a new habit you have to do something for twenty-one days in a row. Whether it’s a good habit—like exercising, eating well, writing in a journal, saying your prayers—or a bad habit—like biting your fingernails, slouching, smoking cigarettes, compulsively shopping—one only needs a few weeks of doing something to have a lasting impact on one’s life. But, if habits are to individuals as traditions are to groups, then I wonder, do we ever think that just like there are healthy and unhealthy habits for individuals there might also be healthy and unhealthy habits—or traditions—for communities?

You have probably heard it said that Jesus did not come to found a religion, instead he came to start a movement. Sometimes I forget this about Jesus, but I almost always remember it when I hear about John the Baptizer. The religion of those in Judea and Jerusalem revolved around a priestly class obsessed with tradition—religious elites whom people gave the best seats at synagogue, greetings in the marketplaces, and special garments at all times. John the Baptist’s ministry flew directly in the face of all of this: no Temple or synagogue—just a river, no meandering through a marketplace—just the wilderness, and no fancy clothes—just camel’s hair. John was not trying to start a religion. John knew his place was as the forerunner, the middle-inning reliever, the one who was setting the table for the closer. He knew that he was starting a movement of repentance, which called into question all the traditions that were the givens of the day.

After Jesus ascended the movement he started only took a couple of centuries before it had forgotten that Jesus did not come to found a religion with special seats, special privileges, and special clothes for the clergy. We do something once in church and we think that it has been a tradition since Jesus himself walked the earth, but John continues to call us into some serious soul searching. Just because we have a tradition that does not have to be the way we always do things.

In the book we are using for our Wednesday night series Praying in Color by Sybil MacBeth, the author describes many barriers to doing something new and different, like praying in a different way. She writes, “Adopting a new way of praying may require a suspension of rigid belief. Most of us have a tendency to enshrine our narrow beliefs and spiritual practices. We assume that the way we learned to pray as a child, at one of our many conversions, or during a major epiphany about life is the only way there is.” But, this is not true. In fact, when we worship tradition instead of God we are committing a form of idolatry as put a tradition or practice in the place of God. This is always dangerous, but especially when our traditions do not embolden us to care for those on the margins, the vulnerable among us, or worse yet set up opportunities to prey upon the weak.

So what do we do? Traditions, just like habits are in and of themselves neutral, neither healthy nor unhealthy, but they can just as easily be the vehicle for exclusion as they are for inclusion. So again, what do we do? There are no easy solutions in discernment—especially in thinking of those things that we love and have done for a long time. However, when listening to which traditions and habits are healthy and which ones are unhealthy, we would do well not to just see John the Baptist as the plush and funny mascot for Advent.

What John came to illuminate was not that all things religious are bad, rather he came to call us into the wilderness to wonder how might I prepare the way for God, how might I make God’s way to me direct? God calls us out into the wilderness to see not from the perspective of the powerful, but from the position of the outsider, the newcomer, and those on the fringe. This is where John announced that Jesus was coming. Jesus is coming with a baptism of fire and the Holy Spirit, will we be ready to greet him? Or, will we miss him because we are too busied by making sure we are doing what we have always done. Even as we hold onto the wonderful practices of the past may we be emboldened by John to go into the wild to prepare the way of God who is coming to us!

The Forgotten Art of Giving Thanks

Have we forgotten how to give thanks?

This sermon is inspired by the readings for the Feast of Thanksgiving:

Deuteronomy 8:7-18Psalm 652 Corinthians 9:6-15Luke 17:11-19 (Particularly this one)

Recently I had some time to kill in a city with which I was not familiar. So, I walked down the main street of this old town, and I marveled at all the cute boutiques, specialty eateries, and upscale gift shops. To escape the brisk, fall day I ventured into a couple of stores. When I did I found myself rather disoriented and confused.

In every shop I entered, nearly everywhere I looked what I found was gifts, decorations, and cards celebrating the upcoming Christmas and Hanukah seasons. The tables overflowed with presents and featured signs above them like, “the perfect gift for her,” “that special gift for him,” “a gift to make their season bright.” There were ornaments for Christmas trees, decorations for the Festival of Lights, and row upon row of holiday notes. For a moment I had to stop and look down at the date on my phone to make sure I had not fallen asleep for a month and missed most of November. As I looked back up I saw one small table with a tiny placard on it distinguishing it from the rest. The sign read: “Thanksgiving clearance.” My heart sank.

We have found a way in our culture to all but overlook the celebration of Thanksgiving. Even earlier this week I heard radio hosts apologizing that their station had not started playing Christmas music yet. If you ventured into a local drugstore before the last day of October you might have been surprised that Halloween candy was already replaced with Christmas goodies. Our local shops had their Christmas open house in the second week of November. I wonder, “Have we forgotten the art, the practice of giving thanks?”

Somewhere lost in the shuffle at this time of year when we are captivated by football, politics, and buying the perfect gift is a day that we set aside to initially stop and give thanks. While the roots of agricultural festivals date back to antiquity, we trace our feast of Thanksgiving back to European colonists in Massachusetts and Virginia who thanks to Native Americans made it through their first harvest. Now with the bounty with which we have become so accustomed, we may even forget that tomorrow is about more than food, family, and football. Like the nine lepers who did not turn around to thank Jesus, we have become people who keep going on our merry way. Again, I wonder, “Have we forgotten the art, the practice of giving thanks?”

The one leper who initially stopped, turned around, praised God, prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet, and thanked him teaches us something about how we might recover the spiritual exercise of giving thanks—not just on the fourth Thursday of November, but every day. Let us look at the example laid out by this leper from long ago.

First off, we have to stop. We have to stop and not just tomorrow. Every Sunday here at church we participate in something profound. I’ll get to the deeper meaning of this service that we call the Eucharist in a moment, but for now think about the simple truth that when we are at church we stop doing what we would otherwise be doing. Sure, we can do this at other times in our lives. There’s a great gratitude campaign that some in our parish have been taking part in on Facebook. Even stopping to take a moment to thank God—especially first thing in the morning—has a profound impact on how we see the world. The lonely leper though did more than simply stop.

The second aspect that this Samaritan leper teaches us is turning around. We may recall that the fancy church term for turning around is repentance. When we repent, we figuratively—and often literally—turn our lives in a different direction. Namely, we shift our lives to focus upon following Jesus. In a few moments we will confess our sins and ask God to help us to transform our lives so that we might delight in God’s will and walk in his ways. Part of the leper’s thankfulness was in recognizing that he was lost and going in the wrong direction without the love of God, may we remember this as well.

Another helpful practice of giving thanks that this leper teaches us comes in how he praised God with a loud voice. I suspect most of us do not like to raise our voices—unless perhaps our team is losing. What happens though when we free ourselves from the elements of decorum? What happens when we truly experience profound healing or transformation from God? Don’t we want to shout and praise God? I can recall a time when after going to a priest to confess my sins in the rite of Reconciliation I was so happy I wanted to do cartwheels and so I did! If we are truly thankful we will feel the freedom to praise God without a care in the world—even with a loud voice.

The Samaritan’s act of laying himself at Jesus’ feet and thanking him stands out as the coup de grace, the pièce de résistance, the capstone in the overlooked art of giving thanks. Our entire liturgy that we are participating in right now focuses upon taking the time to figuratively and literally kneel before God to say thank you. Yes, we can do this daily in our lives in many other ways, but something even more powerful happens when we come together to celebrate the Eucharist. We call this very service the Great Thanksgiving. We celebrate together as we give our humble thanks to God. A simple summation of how this gratitude manifests may be found in the following words:

Celebrant: Let us bless the Lord.

People: Thanks be to God.

The very way that we bless God is chiefly with our thanksgiving. Of course, giving thanks takes under its wings all sorts of other giving—giving time, talent, treasure, energy, intellect, humor, and our entire lives. This service that we participate in is a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. We give over every bit of ourselves through gratitude and Christ Jesus in this feast returns to us our lives, only transformed by love.

As we focus tomorrow on the Feast of Thanksgiving may we allow the example of this lowly leper to challenge us to be grateful to God every day. May we stop, repent, praise God, and kneel before Jesus, as we offer our blessing of praise and thanksgiving. In recovering this lost art of giving thanks God will transform our lives!