Homily - The Green Hand of Hell

Luke 17:12-19; The Grateful Leper

I've included my notes, but I didn't follow them, choosing instead to offer a meditation on the "go show yourself to the priest" part of the Levitical command and noting how we do the same - and will all do the same one day at the Great Judgment.

Homily: Healing, Vision, and the Mercy of God

Onee of the things that sometimes gives people pause—especially when they encounter it for the first time—comes from the Book of Needs, in the prayers the priest offers for those who are sick.

If you have ever been present for these prayers, you may have been surprised by what you heard. We expect prayers like: "O Lord, raise up this servant from the bed of illness and restore them to health." And those prayers are certainly there.

But woven throughout are repeated petitions for the forgiveness of sins. And that can feel jarring.
"Why talk about sin?" we think.
"This person is sick—not sinful."

But the Church is very intentional here.

Imagine this: a person is lifted up from their bed of illness, restored to perfect physical health—yet still carries unrepented sin within them. Outwardly, they look alive. Inwardly, they are not. They are, in a real sense, a living corpse.

On the other hand—and this is harder for us to accept—someone may remain physically ill, yet live in Christ: healed in their soul, united to Him, walking in holiness and freedom despite bodily weakness. That person is truly alive.

Our Lord Himself tells us not to fear those things that can harm the body, but to attend to what shapes the soul.

We often joke that it might be easier if spiritual states were visible—if holiness and sin showed up like physical symptoms. Imagine walking through the world able to see, immediately, who was struggling, who was wounded, who needed gentleness or prayer.

But most sins are hidden. We become very good at concealing them.

Some sins, however, are easier to spot. A habitual drunkard, for example, eventually reveals himself. And there is one sin in particular—one we often excuse—that Scripture treats with great seriousness: the sin of speaking badly about others.

In the Old Testament, what we translate as leprosy was often not simply a medical condition but a visible sign—a manifestation of sin made public. Not every skin disease fell into this category, but some did. It was a way God taught His people: what you carry within eventually shows itself without.

Consider Miriam, the sister of Moses. She was a holy woman, faithful, devoted—yet when Moses acted in a way she did not expect, marrying a foreign woman, she spoke against him. She gave herself over to resentment and gossip.

And the consequence was immediate and unmistakable: she was struck with leprosy and sent outside the camp until she was healed.

The warning is clear.

How different would our lives be if sins like gossip and disparagement were marked visibly upon us?
If a sign hovered over our heads that said: "This person cannot speak about their neighbor with charity."
"Do not trust their words; they tear others down."

We would recoil at such exposure. Yet spiritually, those signs already exist.

And in our time, this sin has become not only habitual, but normalized—especially through social media. Even among Orthodox Christians, we see people eager to label one another heretics rather than first seeking understanding. The slow, patient work of charity has been replaced by accusation.

To those with noetic vision—spiritual sight—these sins are as visible as white blotches on the skin.

So how do we examine ourselves?

One test is how we respond to criticism.
Another is how we respond to praise—or its absence.

But another, deeply revealing test is this:
How do I speak and think about others—especially those who have wronged me?

Do I love my enemies?
Do my thoughts and words reflect what St. Paul describes as the natural fruit of love?
Or do I secretly rejoice when others fall?

Scripture gives us another powerful image in the story of Naaman the Syrian—a pagan general afflicted with leprosy. He obeys the prophet Elisha, washes in the Jordan, and is healed. More than that, he turns to the God of Israel with gratitude and humility. He even takes soil from the Holy Land so that he may always remember whom he serves.

But then we see the tragic contrast: Gehazi, Elisha's servant. Greed overtakes him. He lies. He exploits grace for gain. And the leprosy that left Naaman clings to him instead.

Grace rejected becomes judgment.

And finally, we see the greatest transformation of all: St. Paul.

Raised among God's people, zealous for the law, Paul persecutes Christ Himself. He bears the unmistakable mark of sin—not on his skin, but in his actions. Yet the Lord blinds him, then restores his sight.

And what does Paul do?

He does not presume upon grace.
He repents.
He gives thanks.
He becomes like the Samaritan leper in today's Gospel—the one who returns to glorify God.

This is the heart of the Gospel.

We live in a world filled with sin—not only in its dramatic forms, but in the everyday ways we break trust, speak carelessly, and nurture resentment. These are our leprosies.

And yet, the Lord sees us in our affliction.
He does not recoil.
He heals.

He restores us to His image.
He cleanses us.
He sets us free.

But healing is not the end. Gratitude must awaken into a new way of life.

God is not interested in transactional thanksgiving—"thank You so You'll give me more." That is manipulation, not love.

True thanksgiving becomes wonder.

To see a cup of water and marvel not only that it quenches thirst, but that water exists at all—that matter itself has been sanctified by Christ.

To see every person we meet—not first as a problem to be solved or a sinner to be exposed—but as an icon bearing divine potential.

Yes, we notice sin. But we see through it—to the good that can be nurtured.

That is how God treats us.

If we think we are proclaiming the Gospel by beating people down with their sins, we are mistaken. Repentance requires a vision of the good. People must know what they are called toward, not only what they must turn away from.

This is how we pastor one another.
We see the best.
We bring it out.
We pray.
We speak truth when the time is right and love is strong.

And when we do this, we stand with that Samaritan leper—foreigners ourselves to the Kingdom—yet welcomed, healed, and restored.

May the Lord open our eyes—our noetic vision—so that we may see the grace that permeates all things, the divine logoi present in creation, and the glory of God shining wherever we are able to bear it.

And may He grant us the strength to see more, day by day.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.