By The Rev’d Ivica Gregurec
Season: Ordinary 28, Year C (2025)
Readings: 2 Kings 5:1-3,7-15c, 2 Timothy 2:8-15, Luke 17:11-19

Dear friends,
I am often a little afraid to speak about healing. It is not because I do not
believe that healing can happen. I truly admire the wonderful work of
scientists, and I am grateful to God for the gift of wisdom, knowledge, and
science that allows us to discover medicines – not only for everyday
illnesses that once were deadly for earlier generations, but also for more
complex diseases. Medicine has greatly raised the quality of human life.
Every now and then, we hear of new breakthroughs, especially in cancer
research.

These days, everyone has been talking about the Nobel Prizes. Mary
Brunkow, Fred Ramsdell, and Shimon Sakaguchi were awarded the Nobel
Prize in Medicine 2025 for their discoveries about immune tolerance – how
the body prevents the immune system from attacking itself. Their work has
opened a new field of research and inspired new treatments for cancer and
autoimmune diseases.

I also believe that sometimes, in ways we cannot explain, people do receive
healing through prayer. Sometimes, it is peace of mind that comes from
knowing that others are praying for us. Sometimes, it is the acceptance of
what we cannot change. And sometimes, yes, there are people who
experience what they truly believe is a miraculous cure. What I am trying to
say is: God’s healing comes to us in many different ways; secondly,
miraculous physical healings are not the only ones that determine one’s
faith.

Last week, Rev. Jacky spoke about St Francis and the stigmata. Even today,
in the Catholic Church, for someone to be canonised as a saint, two miracles
(for martyrs, one) must be verified by an independent medical panel –
miracles that cannot be explained by modern medical science.
When I speak about faith, healing, and cure, I am always aware of two
extremes. One extreme is constantly praying for miraculous healing,
expecting a miracle every time, and blaming a lack of healing on a lack of
faith. Many so-called healers, even those Christian-likes, have built careers
on the despair of people who are suffering. The other extreme is to give up
on faith and prayer completely, disappointed when prayers do not bring
the results we expect. When we set our expectations too high or too
narrowly, we risk losing faith when things do not go as we wish.
For a year, I lived in the beautiful central-European country of Slovenia, on
the slopes of the southern Alps, famous for its vineyards and wine. At
harvest time, if the yield was good, people would say, “It’s a great harvest –
we did well this year.” But if the harvest was poor, they would say, “It’s not
good – God didn’t bless us this year.” Often, people remember God most in
times of need, but when things go well, they forget. For some, God and
other people are only a kind of “assistance” for difficult times. But that is
not the ideal of Christian faith. Faith is rooted in love – love for God, love for
life, and love for one another. Our faith is not only because we are weak or
in need, but because we are made in the image and likeness of God. Faith
helps us live with creativity, hope, and divine values.

Today we hear two stories of healing – one from the Hebrew Scriptures and
one from the Gospel. Both speak of mercy, humility, and thanksgiving.
In the first reading, we meet Naaman, a powerful commander from Aram.
He had wealth, status, and success – but he suffered from leprosy. None of
his power could heal him. A young servant girl, a captive from Israel, spoke
a simple word of hope: “If only my master would go to the prophet in
Samaria, he would be healed.” This small voice – the voice of someone
unseen and enslaved – became the voice of God’s grace.

Naaman expected something dramatic from the prophet Elisha. But Elisha
told him to go and wash in the Jordan River – a small, muddy stream.
Naaman almost refused. Yet when he humbled himself and obeyed, he was
healed and made whole. Healing often comes not through greatness but
through listening, humility, and trust. God’s grace is found in small places –
in rivers, in servants, in quiet acts of faith. To many people today, humility
sounds like a weak or unpleasant word, yet it is something many practice
every day, often without noticing.

In the Gospel, ten people with leprosy call out to Jesus: “Jesus, Master, have
mercy on us!” He sends them to the priests, and as they go, they are healed.
But only one returns to give thanks – and that one is a Samaritan, a
foreigner, a heretic!

Both stories show God working through unexpected people and
unexpected ways: a servant girl becomes a messenger of healing; a foreign
commander is made clean; a Samaritan outcast shows the deepest faith and
gratitude. In both stories, God’s mercy crosses human boundaries –
between nations, between faiths, between those considered clean and
unclean.

These stories speak deeply to our life today in Aotearoa New Zealand. We
are still learning to hear the voices often overlooked – Māori voices calling
for justice under Te Tiriti o Waitangi, migrant voices seeking belonging,
rainbow voices longing for safety and love, and the voice of the earth itself
crying out for healing.

Like Naaman, we must learn humility – to listen and to be willing to change.
Like the Samaritan, we are invited to turn back and give thanks for mercy
already given. The healing of our whenua – our land, our people, our rivers,
our relationships – will not come from power or pride, but from humble
hearts and grateful spirits.

A few weeks ago, I quoted the 20th-century German theologian Dorothee
Sölle. I have been enjoying her writings very much, so I will quote her
again. She said: “Gratitude is the beginning of resistance, because it opens
our eyes to the abundance already given.”

When we give thanks, we resist fear and greed. We see that God’s grace is
already among us – in this land, in creation, and in all who keep hope alive.
Long ago, St Macrina the Younger, teacher of her brothers St Basil and St
Gregory, said that a faithful heart learns to see the light of God in all things.
“When we see with thankful eyes,” she taught, “every moment becomes a
place of encounter with the Holy One.”

Naaman saw that light in the muddy Jordan; the Samaritan saw it in the
face of Jesus; we are invited to see it in one another.

At the heart of our worship is the Eucharist – the meal of thanksgiving. Each
time we gather at the altar, we are like the Samaritan who returned. We
come to Christ, kneel at the table of mercy, and give thanks for healing and
new life. Then we are sent out again – to live eucharistically, to live
thankfully; to give thanks for the beauty of this land and sea, for the stories
of every culture, for the gifts of friendship, faith, and love. Gratitude leads to
justice. Thanksgiving leads to compassion. Healing becomes real when we
share it with others.

I do not dare to say exactly what God is asking of us, but perhaps we can try
this week to listen to the small and faithful voices that carry healing – as
Naaman did; to practice gratitude, like the Samaritan; and to live with
humility and thanksgiving in a world that often prefers pride and fear. Let
us work for reconciliation and healing in Aotearoa – between peoples, with
the earth, and with God.

Jesus said to the Samaritan, “Your faith has made you well.”
May our faith – humble, grateful, and open – make us whole as well.
Amen.