My grandfather was an avid outdoorsman, putting wild meat on his table regularly during the hard depression years. Then the “outdoor gene” skipped a generation, for I have been an outdoorsman all my life. Though my father was not a partner in the field, he did not discourage me in my pursuits. Of the things that he did that encouraged and supported me, one of the most precious was transportation. Driving age is 18 in Ecuador, and my mother didn’t drive, so I relied on public transportation—or Dad. I remember well when he took time, sometimes even hours, out of his day, to drive me to a favorite hunting spot or pick me up at the end of the day. These were pure and simple gifts of time, all the more precious because, not sharing in my interests, he did it only for my sake. I am still incredibly grateful to my father.

In today’s Gospel lesson a foreigner gives Jesus the gift of time. Lepers were outcasts in society, often gathering in colonies at a distance from town. Levitical law required them to shout to passers-by, “unclean, unclean,” so that they might not come within contagious reach of them. Their common plight was such that in these colonies normal class distinctions disappeared. They were all galvanized toward that one impossible hope of someday being pronounced clean and being able to reintegrate into their “real” families. This dream drove nine Jews and one despised Samaritan together.

And it is not surprising that Jesus finds them in a borderland, between Galilee and Samaria. These were already marginalized places, so a leper colony would have fit right in. (Indeed, it is between identities that we suffer the most illness, is it not?) They had not been so separated from the masses not to have heard of Jesus’ reputation, so when they recognize Him walking down the road they call out to Him. Jesus sends them on a mission of obedience to Leviticus 13, where one healed of leprosy had to submit to exam by the priests and offer a sacrifice. On the way they are healed—their obedience is evidence of faith and they are restored. One, however, instead of rushing off to celebrate his life redeemed and restored, takes the time to return to Jesus to offer thanks. Of 10 he is a tithe, and a despised foreigner. Both of these characteristics are significant:

This man is one of 10: In a play by Lisa Davidson Hines Scene One opens in a restaurant. The waiter says to a client as he hands him his ticket, “You can take care of this whenever you are ready.” The man responds, “Excuse me, waiter, this bill can’t be right. It is way too low.” The waiter replies, “Yes, sir, this is correct. We are asking our patrons to only pay ten percent of the bill now.” “Well, I feel like I’m stealing. That was such a wonderful meal.” “Our pleasure, sir.” Scene Two shows a man at the Electric Company: “Excuse me, but there seems to be a problem with my electric bill. You are only charging me $30. I don’t want to get charged double next month when you catch your mistake.” The clerk responds, “Oh, sir, there is no mistake.” “But how can my bill be only $30?” “We are only expecting you to pay ten percent of your bill now.” “Only ten percent? Well, I feel like I’m cheating the electric company, but here’s my $30.” The final scene is at church: The priest says, “And I hope that when you fill out your pledge cards this year you will sincerely consider tithing, for it is written: “The people responded immediately and generously with the first of their crops and grain, new wine, olive oil, money and everything else—a tithe of all they owned.” II Chronicles 31:5. A parishioner responds, “Ten percent? He’s got to be kidding. I can’t afford to give ten percent. That’s highway robbery!” 10% of anything seems so small until we try to give it away it suddenly grows too great to bear, as it did to 9 of these 10 lepers.

This man is a foreigner: The words “tithe of our time” is foreign to us. We may think of the Jehovah’s Witnesses on our doorsteps, pushing their heterodox views of Christ’s nature, or even our Mormon friends who require two years on mission of their youth. Perhaps the Pentecostal tradition of worship most every night of the week that goes on for hours might come to mind, but all of that is too much for our Episcopal sensibilities. Being the most highly educated Christian denomination in the country, we know better. Perhaps word “tithe” conjures up heavy duties imposed by exaggerated religiosity. But the key is given in today’s Gospel. The foreigner’s gift of time was used to give thanks. When it comes to gratitude normal divisions cease—the tithe is an easy thing to give.

Think, then, about the time that God puts into you: Here are excerpts from Psalm 139:

“O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD. You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me… For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well….your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with you.”

If that is how often He thinks about us, what kind of time do we return to Him? What does a tithe of time mean? (One of our own will now share.)

We all have the same amount of time: Each one gets just 168 hours in a week. We should spend 8 hours a night sleeping which leaves 112. Let’s give ourselves an average 50 hour work week, which leaves 62. Give yourselves 3 hours a day for meals and home maintenance, you’re still left with 41 hours. A tithe of your net would be 4 hours. Two hours at church on Sunday, Bible study doesn’t count—God already knows the Bible. It’s not your gift to God, it’s God’s gift to you. Personal prayer doesn’t count—prayer is God’s way of changing you so that you can change the world. It’s not your gift to God, it’s God’s gift to you. What do you do with the other two hours? How can you offer another two hours a week to God in gratitude for the 24/7 attention He pays you? Let me give you a hint: your parish needs you.

Fr. Paul Moore+