that appears in his book: Chappell, Clovis G. Chappell's Special Day Sermons. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1983. Print.
I included short editorial comments, such as giving chapter and verse of the Bible verses cited in Chappell's sermon, between square brackets [] I enclosed longer discursive comments, such as poem titles of verses Chappell quoted, between scissor snips ✂️---------------------------------------
XV
THAT
MAGNIFICENT MINORITY
(THANKSGIVING
DAY)
"And one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back,
and with a loud voice glorified God, and fell down on his face at his feet,
giving him thanks: and he was a Samaritan.”
LUKE
17:15-16
Here
is a man whose acquaintance we shall do well to make. True, he is a Samaritan, a creature of a
mongrel race [allegedly BIBLE DICTIONARY Jews and Gentiles – maybe that’s why
Jesus was sympathetic has similar lineage with Boaz Ruth and Jericho
prostitute]. But in spite of that fact he is tremendously worth knowing. I am sorry to tell you that I cannot call his
name. He forgot to leave us his
autograph. He belongs to that vast
company of anonymous helpers who live their beautiful lives and do their
worthful deeds without ever taking time to tell us who they are. But, though we do not know his name, we still
know enough about him to make us admire him, and even love him. His fine face looks upon us across the far
spaces of the years with gripping winsomeness. His personality, after all these centuries,
is as gracious and fragrant as the perfume of flowers.
But
when we first meet him there is nothing to distinguish him from his fellows. He is a part of a group of ten wretched men
that seem to be serving as a kind of reception committee to welcome Jesus to a
certain village. But in reality these
are not a reception committee at all. They are not brothers in a high and holy
service. The bond that binds them
together is rather that of a common tragedy.
They stagger under the weight of a common woe. SO far as we can see, there is nothing to
distinguish the heroic one from the commonplace nine. They present one monotonous ugliness.
I
Look
in how many respects they are alike.
1.
They are all lepers. They all suffer
from the same dread disease. They are
all facing the same ghastly death. They
are all being buried piecemeal by the same horrible gravedigger. They are lepers, and therefore, outcasts,
shut out from the consolations of church [or synagogue as the case may be], and
friends, and home. They are abandoned
bits of human wreckage, fit only to be flung prematurely into empty tombs. And the one, to all appearances, is just as
hopeless as the other.
2.
They are alike in their desperate determination to live. Though they seem hopelessly doomed, they
refuse to give up. They will not meet
death halfway. Faced by grim tragedy,
they will not take it lying down. They
gamely refuse to die till something actually kills them. I like that.
I believe God loves a brave fighter. These men are full of battle
because of their desperate determination to live.
3. They are all possessed of faith in
Jesus. This is evidenced by what they
do.
(1)
When they hear that Jesus is coming their way,
they all go out to meet him. Strange
rumors have been blowing about the country with regard to This Man. Some were saying that he cared for folks as
none other ever cared, that even outcasts were not cast beyond his
interest. There were those who were
daring to assert that he had even touched lepers into purity. These wild and unbelievable rumors have come
to these ten lepers. Of course they find it hard to believe them. But in spite of doubts, they do believe – the
whole ten of them. They believe so
firmly that they go in a body in search of this amazing Physician who has made
them to hope.
(2)
Their faith is also
indicated by the fact that they not only go in a body to meet Jesus, but, by
the further fact, that when they come as close to him as they dare, they appeal
to him for help. They are men of prayer,
every one of them. They know how to ask
in such a fashion as to win through to victory.
Then their prayer seems marked by a beautiful humility. They do not ask for mere justice, they do not
ask to be blessed in proportion to their deservings. In simple faith they plead, “Jesus, Master,
have mercy on us.”
(3)
Not only do these men pray,
but they also obey. This is, indeed, the
supreme proof of their faith. When they
succeed in winning the attention of Jesus, he does not at once touch them into
purity. He rather lays upon them a
somewhat bewildering command. He tells
them to go show themselves to the priests.
Now, that is what a leper was to do after he had been cured. But these are told to go while they are still
loathsome with their disease. How futile
and foolish it seems! Of course nothing
can come of it. But in spite of its
seeming futility, they obey. They cannot
believe that Jesus is merely mocking them by sending them on a fool’s
errand. They obey because they believe.
(4)
Finally, they are alike in
that they all find healing. How hopeless
they seem as they set out upon their journey! But they have not gone far before
something happens. The path of obedience
is forever the path of healing and the path of discovery. “It came to pass that, as they went, they
were cleansed.” That was true of the
Samaritan, it was also true of his companions.
All feel new life pulsating in their veins. Each looks with wide-eyed wonder into the
face of the other, seeing what he feels is too good to be true, yet knows is
true, both for himself and for his fellows.
Thus we see that they are alike in their need, alike in their eagerness
for help, alike in their faith, alike in their healing.
II
But
here their likeness ends. Here they come
to the parting of the ways. Having been
healed, what do they do?
They
conduct of the majority is vastly disappointing. They stand upon the highway just long enough,
I imagine, to realize the marvelous change that has come to them. Then with feet made nimble by joy, they
continue their journey. “I have not seen
my farm for a whole year,” says one, as he hurries away. “I have not been to my place of merchandise
for even longer,” says another, as he follows.
“It has been weary months since I felt the hug of my wife’s arms and the
kiss of my baby’s lips,” says yet another.
Then he, too, is off. By and by
all have gone, hot-footed, and the road is empty.
No,
that is not quite true. One man is
left. He is looking up the road where
his companions have just vanished. There is a tender joy in his face, not
unmixed with bewilderment. “I, too, have
a business that I have not seen for many months,” he murmurs to himself. “I, too, yearn to see again those I
love. But here is something even more pressing
than all this. I must first go back to
the Man who has cured me, who has given me back my life, and tell him of my
appreciation.” So he turns back, even
though he has to turn back alone. He
makes his way to Jesus, and in an abandon of gratitude falls down at his feet,
giving him thanks.
There
you have the picture – ten go to beg, only one returns to praise. A small minority, we have to confess, but
what a magnificent minority! Was I not right in saying that this man is worth
knowing? He is only a Samaritan, but he towers above his fellows as Pike’s Peak
above a molehill. But why is this the
case? What is wrong with these nine? Why
do they seem such pathetic dwarfs as we look at them? It is not because of any
unkind word they said to the One who healed them. It is rather because they simply said nothing
at all. They took their priceless gift
and went their way in silence. And why
do we honor this nameless Samaritan? It
is not because he was vastly rich or vastly clever. We honor him because he knew how to say that [those]
gracious and heartening word[s], “Thank you.”
III
But
why was the one grateful and the nine not?
It
was certainly not because of any difference in their circumstances. These were the same. If this one had been cured and the nine left
to die, we could have thus explained it.
But they were all healed. The
truth of the matter is that real gratitude is seldom born of
circumstances. If such were the case, we
could take the rich, the strong, the successful, and put them in one group, and
put the poor, the weak, the failures, in another and say, “These sons of good
fortune are thankful, while these unfortunates are not.” But we can make no such easy division. When we face the facts we find that many
peevish ingrates are whining on the sunny side of the street, while many of
their less fortunate fellows are giving thanks among the shadows.
Why
then, I repeat, the gratitude of the one and the ingratitude of the others?
1.
To take the most charitable
view: Maybe these nine were really grateful at the beginning, but were not so
demonstrative as the one, and, therefore, did not give expression of their
gratitude. I am mindful of the fact, of
course, that one may be grateful without saying so. We hear of such gratitude every day. “He knows I am grateful,” we say glibly. “She
knows how thankful I am.” Had you met these nine, and listened to their story
of the amazing mercy that had been shown them, and had asked, “Did you go back
and tell the Master how grateful you are?” what would they have said? “No,”
they would have answered. Then they
would have added these familiar words, “But he knows that we appreciate what he
has done.”
But
the trouble with the type of gratitude that we never express is twofold. First, it lifts no load, brings no joy, dries
no tears. For though we say of our
friends, “they know,” as a rule they do not.
Even when they do know they are greatly heartened by hearing us say
so. This is true even of our Lord. He knows, yet he says, “Let the redeemed of
the Lord say so.” [ Psalm 107:2]
Second, such gratitude is sure to be a sickly plant that will soon die for lack
of sunshine. For you might as well try
to grow lovely roses in the darkness of a dungeon as to grow gratitude in a
heart that never gives it expression. It
is likely, therefore, that the nine smothered their incipient gratitude under a
blanket of silence. By refusing to give
thanks, they soon brought it about that they had no thanks to give. But this wise Samaritan made his gratitude to
grow by giving it expression.
2.
Then, the nine may have
become so absorbed in the gift that they forgot the Giver. That often
happens. I remember a kindly gentleman
who was a frequent visitor in our home when I was a small boy. His coming was a great event for me because
he almost always brought a gift of candy.
But one time he failed. At once
my enthusiasm waned. I remember with
shame that I let him know that it was not himself in whom I was interested, but
in what he brought. So it may have been
with these nine. A little while ago they
were facing toward the night, now they are facing toward the morning. Possibly they have become so intent upon this
new life that is now theirs that they have forgotten all else, even him who
made that new life possible.
But
this Samaritan – did he not thrill over his gift with joy unspeakable, even as
his companions? Indeed he did. Not only so, but I am sure that his joy was
far greater than theirs. This was the
case because he rejoiced not only in the gift, but even more in the Giver. Instead of allowing the gist to become an
obscuring mist to hide the face of Jesus, he made of it a veritable sunrise to
give him a clearer vision of that face.
He could never think of his blessings without thinking of God, and he
could never think of God without giving him thanks. Indeed thanking ever follows thinking as
naturally as night follows day.
3.
Then it is possible that
these nine lost their gratitude in a fashion less worthy still. Instead of becoming so absorbed in the gift
that they forgot the Giver, they may have forgotten both the gift and Giver in
their contemplation of the cost of the terrible tragedy through which they had
passed. You see they have suffered in
body and mind. Their sickness has
doubtless also brought financial reverses.
Perhaps from places toward the front, they have fallen to the rear of
the procession. They have passed from
wealth to want. And though they are now
cured, they cannot forget this. They so
fix their minds upon their losses that they forget their gains. They are so obsessed by what they do not have
that they become unmindful of what is actually theirs. This is a blunder that is all too
common. It is also one that is ever a deadly foe to gratitude.
Now,
the attitude of this Samaritan was beautifully different. He, too, has suffered. He has passed through dull, gray days and
bitter black nights, even as his companions.
He has also experienced the same tragic losses. But now that he is cured, the bitterness of
his yesterdays is all forgotten, or remembered only to add to the sweetness of
today. His heart is so full of glory of
the gains that have come into his once empty hands that there is no room for a
single pang over his losses. He finds
the treasure that is actually his so satisfying that he has never a covetous
glance for that which belongs to another.
Thus, while the hearts of his companions are empty of gratitude his own
is so full that it overflows like a gushing spring.
4.
It is even possible that
these nine may have taken their healing as a matter of course. True it came about rather suddenly. True, also, it took place quite soon after
their interview with Jesus. Still, they
may have persuaded themselves that it was their time to recover, and that it
would have been all the same if the Master had never come their way. This would have been quite stupid of them, it
is true. But let him that is without
this same sin cast the first stone at them. [ paraphrase of John 8:7 ] For we receive
blessings just as signal as theirs every day.
“His mercies are new every morning.” [ Lamentations 3:23 ] But
because these blessings come to us through natural law or through human hands
we often take them for granted. We fail
to see on them any slightest finger marks of the good hand of God. Therefore, with this disappointing majority,
we miss the fine privilege of giving thanks.
But
what the nine took as a matter of course, the one took as a matter of God. This he did, not because he was more blind
and superstitious than his fellows, but because he was more clear-eyed and
sane. A man is not necessarily a genius
because he reads God out of his own universe.
To fancy that you have discovered a mirage where others have found a
fountain is not an infallible proof of great intellectuality. Some men of great ability have missed God,
but their vast ability was not the cause.
For every one who has lost God through too clear thinking, millions have
lost him through too muddy living. This
healed man had received something. So
have we. “What have you,” I ask in the
language of Paul, “that you have not received?” [1 Corinthians 4:7 ] The
only answer is, “naked nothing.” From
whom have all our blessings come? They have come from God. This is true though they have generally been
mediated to us through human hands or through natural law. Such was the faith of this wise
Samaritan. Therefore, when he saw that
he was healed, he turned back to fall on his face at the feet of Jesus in
humble thanksgiving.
5.
Possibly the supreme reason
that these nine were wanting in gratitude was their conceit. It would seem that they were all Jews. Since this was the case they felt themselves
far above the Samaritan with whom they had been compelled by their common misfortune
to associate. When they were cured they
may have taken it as no more than they deserved. They may have gone so far as to give all the
credit to themselves, each saying with a prideful swagger, “You can’t down me.” Millions have been just that silly. Take the Rich Fool, for instance. His fellow-workers had been loyal, sunshine
and rain had come in just the right proportions. Therefore, he thought within himself, “How thankful I ought to be!” No, he
was far too conceited for that. He only
sprained his arm patting himself on the back, saying, “I, I, I!” [Luke
12:13-21 ] Of course he was not grateful.
Conceit and gratitude seldom home in the same heart. But this Samaritan was humble-hearted. Therefore he made his boast in the Lord and
in him only.
IV
Now,
whether we have read aright the causes of the ingratitude of the nine, of this
at least we may be sure, that their ingratitude was very real and very
ugly. By it they robbed both themselves
and others. There is more than a hint of
tears in the Master’s question, “Were there not ten cleansed? But where are the
nine?” By their failure to give thanks
they grieved the tender Heart that gave them healing. They taught him “how sharper than a serpent’s
tooth it is to have a thankless child.” [ “King Lear” Act 1,
Scene 4] They grieved him yet more because their ingratitude made it impossible
for him to give them abundant blessing that he was eager to bestow.
But
how beautifully different is this Samaritan!
How he heartens us after all these centuries! How heartening he was to Jesus! For, if there is a touch of tears in the
Master’s voice as he misses the nine, there is surely an abounding joy as he
welcomes the one. Then, incidentally,
how vastly this grateful man enriches himself!
For, by thus returning to give thanks, he adds to the joy of his healing
the joy of a growing gratitude. He also
adds to the joy of a growing gratitude the joy of an abiding service. Thus also
he makes it possible for the Master to give to him a spiritual wholeness to
which he must otherwise have remained a stranger. Truly it is good to give thanks unto the
Lord. Therefore may we today find our
places beside this wise Samaritan and join him in his high service of praise.
I couldn't find any illuminated manuscripts of either Psalm 107 or of lepers, but here are some psalms that seem to fit into the spirit of Thanksgiving:
📚📖📕🔖
From Meiss, Millard, and Edith W. Kirsch. The Visconti Hours: National Library, Florence. New York: George Braziller, 1972. Print.
BR 76v. Psalm LXXX
(MATINS, FRIDAY)
Again the miniature illustrates the opening verses of the Psalm:
Rejoice to God our helper: sing aloud to the God of Jacob.Take a psalm, and bring hither the timbrel: the pleasant psaltery with the harp.Blow up the trumpet on the new moon, on the noted day of your solemnity.
Seated on a draped throne and wearing gold-embroidered clothing, David leads a group of musicians in praising the Lord. The king closely resembles his counterpart on BR 3; even the white pegs of his psaltery are painted with the delicate precision of the earlier miniature. The harp mentioned in the Psalm does not appear; instead one of the participants plays a viol. Family pennants are suspended from the trumpets. Even the doves in the Visconti suns around the initial join in the music, their beaks open wide in song.
As on BR 36, the border decoration is primarily calligraphic. Large gold-leaf letters spelling the motto a buon droyt are filled with blue and red on which gold simulated script appears. Between the letters of the motto, pseudo-script and floral motifs are combined in forms which suggest radiating suns. Between the a and b, however, a buon droyt is repeated, and it appears still once more in the initial E (Exultate).
BR 90v. Psalm XCVII
(MATINS, SATURDAY)
The Psalm invites the worshiper to praise God:
Sing ye to the Lord a new canticle: because he hath done wonderful things...Make a joyful noise before the Lord our king: let the sea be moved and the fulness thereof: the world and they that dwell therein.The rivers shall clap their hands, the mountains shall rejoice together...
A group of fashionably dressed courtier sing from a scroll held by the man in the center. This scroll contains not only musical notation but also the letters dom, probably the beginning of the word dominus. The water and the mountains named in the Psalm appear also in the miniature. In addition, the painter has included other "wonderful things" made by the Lord: a crescent moon at the juncture of the upper and lower halves of the C (Cantate) and, opposite it, the sun's rays penetrating pink clouds above an angel who holds a Visconti shield.
With characteristic sensitivity to the decorative unity of the page, the artist provides in the borders a pattern which harmonizes with the scroll and waves in the miniature. Each convolution of the arabesque in the margins terminates in a glazed foliate from resembling a burst of fireworks. Everything in the borders is alive with motion: the leaves, the flowers, and the rippling green stems which attach some of them to the scroll. Even the small lines between the four petals of the gold emulsion flowers, rigid on the reverse of this page, are active here.
Despite staining and loss of glaze, the enamel-like delicacy of the patterns behind the initial survives. Within a value grid marked by gold at the corners, small white lozenges are set off by a red glazed background.
I'm more familiar singing Psalm 96 in church:
BR 136. Psalm CXLVIII
The miniature introduces the last three Psalms, all of them invitations to praise God. They are rubricated on BR 135v for recitation at Lauds. The Visconti miniature follows the convention of depicting creations of the Lord, which are exhorted to glorify Him:
Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise ye him in the high places.Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts.Praise ye him, O sun and moon: praise him, all ye stars and light.Praise him, ye heavens of heavens: and let all the waters that are above the heavens praise the name of the Lord.For he spoke, and they were made: he commanded, and they were created.He hath established them forever, and for ages of ages:he hath made a decree, and it shall not pass away.Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons, and all ye deeps:Fire, hail, snow, ice, stormy winds, which fulfil his word:Mountains and all hills, fruitful trees and all cedars:Beasts and all cattle: serpents and feathered fowls:Kings of the earth and all people: princes and all judges of the earth:Young men and maidens: let the old with they younger, praise the name of the Lord: for his name alone is exalted.The praise of him is above heaven and earth: and he hath exalted the horn of his people.A hymn to all his saints: to the children of Israel, a people approaching to him. Alleluia.
Angels, sun, moon, stars, and light; heavens, waters, hills, and trees; beasts, serpents, and feathered fowls; kings of the earth and princes; young and old--all are represented in the miniature. So, too, are snow and stormy winds, the latter ingeniously indicated by whirling leaves.
One of the most inventive initials in the manuscript, the L (Laudate) consists of two serpents (or one twin-headed monster) and a lion who holds a Visconti pennant and looks with justified foreboding in the direction of his tail. A blossom set off by Visconti rays separates the reptile heads. Behind the initial, a diaper pattern of gold and green is enlivened by minute white crowns.
Like others in the latter part of the Psalter (see, for example, BR 117v, 132, 147v) the design of the borders is comparatively heavy. Visconti suns, acanthus, and viper shields in the margins reinforce the motifs and colors of the miniature.
I didn't realize there were dragons in the Bible #ccot #BibleQuote Psalm 148:7 🔥🐲🐉https://t.co/AdtM3kpngF— 🎼AdagioForStrings🎻 (@adagioforstring) November 15, 2018
"Praise the LORD from the earth, ye dragons, and all deeps:" pic.twitter.com/Ksa7aaVeZj
If you wish to make an origami Thanksgiving basket to figuratively hold all the blessings enumerated in Psalm 148, you can find the directions in Smolinski, Jill. Holiday Origami. Los Angeles: Lowell House, 1995. Print.
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