Ten men stood at a distance. Ten voices cried out in unison, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!” And ten bodies, ravaged by leprosy, waited for a miracle. It was a haunting chorus—desperate, raw, and strangely unified. These were not friends. They were not family. They were not even of the same faith. Nine were Jews. One was a Samaritan. And yet, here they were, bound together by a common affliction that had stripped them of everything—status, community, dignity.
Leprosy had done what centuries of religious division could not. It had dismantled the walls of hostility. Jews and Samaritans, who would not even share a cup of water, now shared the same dust, the same pain, the same hope. Sometimes, it takes suffering to reveal the truth: that the identities we build around ourselves—our caste, our creed, our purity—are fragile illusions. When the skin begins to rot, when the body begins to betray, we remember what we had forgotten: that we are all human. That we are all broken. That we are all in need of grace.
I remember the story of an Indian village in 2018, submerged in floodwaters. A high-caste woman, who had spent her life avoiding the touch of those deemed “untouchable,” found herself stranded. And it was the very men she had shunned who lifted her onto their shoulders and carried her to safety. In that moment, the flood became a baptism—not of water, but of truth. The truth that adversity washes away the lines we draw between ourselves. The truth that salvation often comes from the margins.
All of the ten were healed, but only one returned. And we risk reducing this gospel to a moral lesson on gratitude—as if Jesus were merely disappointed that nine forgot to say “thank you.” But the Gospel is not a lesson in etiquette. It is a revelation of how grace is received, how marginalization is dismantled, and how salvation is recognized. The gospel today is not a lesson in manners. It is a confrontation with our spiritual blindness. All ten persons with leprosy were healed. But only one returned. Only one worshipped. Only one was saved. The others received the miracle—but missed the Messiah.
And here is where the story turns sharp. The nine who did not return were Jews—men raised in the Scriptures, schooled in the rituals, trained to recognize the hand of God. And yet, they walked away. Healed, yes. But unchanged. The Samaritan, the outsider, the heretic, the one who had no theological credentials, saw what the others could not. He saw that Jesus was not just a healer. He was the Savior. He was the fulfillment of the prophets. He was the God who does not dwell in temples, but walks among the wounded.
There is a psychological tragedy here. The nine were so conditioned by their religion that they could not see beyond it. They did what they were taught—go to the priests, show yourself, fulfill the law. But they missed the moment. They missed the presence. They missed the Person. Religion, when reduced to ritual, can become a veil that hides God rather than reveals Him.
In Mark’s Gospel, we read that after healing a person with leprosy, Jesus could no longer enter the city. He had touched the untouchable. And in doing so, He became unclean. He chose exclusion. He chose marginalization. He chose to stand where the persons with leprosy stood. That is the scandal of grace: it does not flow from the center to the margins—it erupts from the margins toward the center.
And the Samaritan? He becomes the first theologian of the New Covenant. He sees what the scholars missed. He understands what the priests ignored. He intuits that God is not far from the persons with leprosy. He does not escape them. He embraces them. He touches them. He heals them. And in doing so, He condemns the religion that excludes, judges, and marginalizes in the name of purity.
This is the joy of the Gospel: that the impure, the heretics, the marginalized are not only closer to God—they often reach Him first. They do not come with entitlement. They come with need. And in that need, they find grace.
So let us ask: are we among the nine, or the one? Do we seek healing, or do we seek the Healer? Do we want miracles, or do we want relationship? Because not everyone who is healed is saved. The nine walked away with clean skin. The one walked away with a new heart.
May we, too, be touched. May we, too, be changed. May we, too, return. And may the Lord say of us, as He said of the Samaritan: “Your faith has saved you.”
May we, too, return. May we, too, see. May we, too, be saved.
五、圣人芳表：圣方济各沙雷氏（St. Francis de Sales） 这位温和的主教曾说： 「一个不懂得感恩的心灵，是干枯的。感谢天主的人，会越活越充实。」 他每天写感恩日记，记录他当天经历的恩典和感动；哪怕只是阳光、食物、一次问候。他告诉修女们： 「感谢天主，不是因为一切都好，而是因为天主永远是好的。」 他提醒我们：感恩不是一种情绪，而是信德的行为。
我們聽過宗徒們向耶穌的請求：增加我們的信心。對希臘原文的直譯是：增加我們的一點信仰，增加我們所擁有的那一點。這樣的話，我們就能理解，耶穌為什麼不回答他們的問題，因為這個問題，沒有意義；那能增加信德的，不是他，因為信仰是人們可以自由選擇接受，或自由拒絕耶穌對所有人提出的愛的建議。我們每天都在證明；有些人只是耶穌的崇拜者，有些人只是一點愛祂，一點點欽慕祂，有些人則是更多愛祂。聖徒們為福音而獻出生命。讓我們想想那些慈善的聖徒，比如：若望由天主者（John of God），嘉彌祿（Camillus de Lellis）科托倫戈（Cottolengo），薩爾沃·羅薩里奧·安東尼奧·達奎斯托（Salvo D’Acquisto），馬希連·國柏（Maximilian Kolbe），他們出於對基督的愛，使自己的生命置於危險之中。
我们听过宗徒们向耶稣的请求：增加我们的信心。对希腊原文的直译是：增加我们的一点信仰，增加我们所拥有的那一点。这样的话，我们就能理解，耶稣为什么不回答他们的问题，因为这个问题，没有意义；那能增加信德的，不是他，因为信仰是人们可以自由选择接受，或自由拒绝耶稣对所有人提出的爱的建议。我们每天都在证明；有些人只是耶稣的崇拜者，有些人只是一点爱祂，一点点钦慕祂，有些人则是更多爱祂。圣徒们为福音而献出生命。让我们想想那些慈善的圣徒，比如：若望由天主者（John of God），嘉弥禄（Camillus de Lellis）科托伦戈（Cottolengo），萨尔沃·罗萨里奥·安东尼奥·达奎斯托（Salvo D’Acquisto），马希连·国柏（Maximilian Kolbe），他们出于对基督的爱，使自己的生命置于危险之中。
全属于祢 
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