Jesus is on the way. That’s how today’s gospel begins. “On the way to Jerusalem, Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee.” That’s not just geography. That’s theology. Jesus is always on the way. On the way to the cross. On the way to suffering. On the way to resurrection. And on the way, Jesus meets ten lepers. Ten human beings caught in the in-between space — between clean and unclean, seen and unseen, alive and exiled. These are people we pass by on our way, if we see them at all. But Jesus doesn’t pass by. He never does.

The ten lepers cry out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” It’s a prayer we know well. We say it every Sunday: Kyrie eleison. Lord, have mercy. And Jesus hears. He doesn’t touch them. He doesn’t say they’re healed. He simply tells them to go—to go to the priests, to go to those who have the authority to declare them clean. They obey, and as they went, they were made clean.

That’s when the story turns. One of them — just one — sees that he is healed and turns back. He returns, praising God, and throws himself at Jesus’ feet. He gives thanks. And then Jesus says something unexpected: “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then, to the one at his feet, Jesus says, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

Ten were healed. One was made whole. That is the distinction that matters. The healing they received changed their condition. But for one of them, the healing became more than skin-deep. It moved from the surface, inward, downward, to the heart. Now those of you who have heard me before, you know I am not going to leave this story back there, and then, because my fellow lepers this is not just their story. It’s ours. Because leprosy, in the biblical sense, has never only been about disease. It’s always been about separation — about the ways we become disconnected from God, from one another, and from our truest self. We may not carry the marks of leprosy on our skin, but we know what it is to feel isolated, fragmented, unclean in ways we cannot name.

That is the leprosy of today. Today’s leprosy is not a medical condition or a legal status. It is a spiritual condition — a leprosy of the heart. Its symptoms have nothing to do with our skin. Instead, they show up in other ways, as perfectionism, gluttony, sadness, anger, pride, boredom, gossip, the need for control or approval, fear, being judgmental, restlessness, excessive busyness, grudges, prejudice, jealousy, condemnation, indifference, addiction. These are the patterns that deform the soul. They keep life on the surface. They distort how we see God, how we relate to the world, and how we understand ourselves. They are what the early Church mothers and fathers called the “passions” — disordered ways of loving, rooted in a deep and often unnamed discomfort. And as long as we try to deal with these things only at the level of appearances, as long as we are only seeking to feel better, or look better, or seem “clean” in the eyes of others, we can never be made well.

The nine settle for cleanness —s kin-deep healing. They get what they wanted: relief, restoration, a return to life as it was. But the one, the foreigner, the Samaritan sees something more. He turns back, he praises God, he gives thanks. He isn’t just healed. He is changed. Jesus says to him, “Your faith has made you well.” The word in Greek is σῴζω (sozo) — It’s a word that means salvation, deliverance, wholeness, rescue. It’s a word that encompasses healing, preservation, and protection from danger or destruction. Not just healed from something, but healed into something, something new. Healing gives you your old life back. Wholeness gives you a new life going forward.

There is, I think, a temptation in the church today to confuse those two — to settle for healing when Jesus is offering new life. To seek relief from our pain rather than transformation through it. To cry out for mercy, but never turn back in gratitude.Yes, Healing is always a good. But it is not the ultimate good. God is love — not just loving, not just capable of love — but essentially and necessarily love. And love is always relational. love never seeks to control, coerce or impose. It invites. It calls. It cooperates. God’s healing is therefore is also relational. It depends on our response. God always works in partnership with us. God acts, and we respond. We act, and God responds. It’s a divine-human synergy.

The same grace is offered to all ten lepers. But only one opens his heart wide enough to receive not just relief, but relationship — not just healing, but wholeness.The other nine are not ungrateful. They are just satisfied. Satisfied with clean skin. Satisfied to go back to normal. But the one — this foreigner, this Samaritan — wants more than his old life back. He wants Jesus. That is the beginning of salvation. And that’s what Jesus names in him: “Your faith has made you well.” Your capacity to see beneath the surface, to recognize the source, to trust the Giver more than the gift.

This gospel asks us to consider: Are we seeking healing, or new life? Are we crying for relief, or are we turning back in relationship? Are we content to be made clean, or are we ready to be made whole? Jesus always offers more than we ask for.

The question is not what Jesus offers. The question is what we are open to receiving. And perhaps this is why the gospel says the one who returns is a foreigner. Because sometimes the people on the margins are the ones who can see most clearly. Sometimes it takes being excluded to recognize the One who includes. Sometimes the ones who don’t belong in the temple are the ones who find themselves face down before the true Temple — Jesus himself.

Now, this might sound strange, especially today, as we prepare to celebrate thanksgiving here in Canada, expressing our gratitude of all the graces we have received. But, the real challenge of this gospel is not about gratitude, although that is a necessary step on the way. It’s not about saying thank you enough. It’s about re-turning. Turning back. Living in relationship. Choosing more than a clean exterior. Choosing a new interior. Healing changes our condition. Gratitude changes our direction. But faith changes our identity.

Jesus doesn’t just want to make us feel better. He wants to make us new. He doesn’t just restore the skin. He restores the soul. And he doesn’t just send us back to life as we knew it. He calls us forward into the unknown, into the kingdom, into the fullness of life with God.

So here’s the hard truth, and the beautiful one: You can be healed and still not be whole. You can be clean and still not be well. You can go to church, pray the rosary, say a litany of prayers, do the right things — and still not live in new life. But you can also be broken, rejected, uncertain — and fall at the feet of Jesus. And that is where new life begins.

So go. Get up and go on your way. But don’t just go back to life as it was. Go forward — into wholeness, into love, into the kind of faith that doesn’t just seek healing, but seeks the Healer. That’s what makes us well.