Your pastor has asked me to come and tell you my story, which is found in Luke 17. My name is Sam Lepper, at least that is my name now. I decided to change my name after that day, the day that changed my life forever. Before that day, my life didn’t matter, and hardly anyone knew my name except my nine roommates. The rest of the world didn’t care about my name at all, and I couldn’t blame them, because you see, I had leprosy. I was a very sick man; no relief was offered to me from this dreadful, highly contagious disease. Life was awful.

Society’s laws, actually Jewish law as found in Leviticus 13, dictated that we had to live in colonies away from everybody else. We were required to wear torn clothing; we couldn’t comb our hair, and when we saw people outside our group, we had to yell "Unclean. Unclean." I hated to utter those seven letters. It was a reminder that I had no hope, that I had a death sentence with no future.

Our colony was near the Samaritan/Galilean border, outside a small town. Border towns are hostile places. People on each side dislike the other; that is why there is a border between them. It’s much different from your Bristol, Tennessee and Bristol, Virginia or your Bluefield, Virginia and your Bluefield West Virginia. In my world, Samaritans and Jews mixed about as well as oil and water.

As the old saying goes, "Misery loves company." There were ten of us in my colony. Our commonality had removed any barriers between us. The most important characteristic in our world was our leprosy. Our nationality, race, nor economic standing mattered. All that mattered was that each of us shared this dreaded disease.

One day, while sitting around, a buddy of mine said, "Says here in the Galilean Gazette that Jesus is predicted to come through these parts tomorrow." Everyone knew about Jesus. He was always on the news. His stories of healings and miracles had become legendary; the stories almost took a life of their own. The paper said a showdown was brewing in the capitol city. Katie Couric on CBS regularly spoke of how he was helping the poor; she offered somewhat of a more liberal bent to Jesus’ lifestyle. Bill O’Reilly on FOX regularly reported about the content of Jesus’ teaching accentuating the difference between right and wrong; he offered somewhat of a more conservative bent on Jesus’ teaching. Everybody knew about Jesus.

Another buddy said, "Jesus may be our last hope. I saw on the news where he actually touched a leper outside Capernaum (Lk 5:12-16; Matt. 8:1-4; Mk 1:40-45)." So we devised a plan of how we might approach this great miracle-worker. One guy climbed a tree early that morning and watched in the distance until he saw a big crowd coming down the road. He then came and got us so we could be in position to yell for Jesus to hear us.

Although we were a considerable distance from the road, we screamed as if our lives depended on it, because that was the case.

"Jesus, Master. Have mercy on us. Jesus, Master. Have mercy on us. Jesus, Master. Have mercy on us." We knew we had to get his attention. The volume of ten voices was enough to be heard over the clamoring crowd. There was no known cure for leprosy; our lives were defined by it. Our only hope for healing was a divine act of mercy.

Placing all our hopes in one basket, we boldly called his name. Addressing a Jewish Rabbi was risky; we were forbidden from having contact with anyone, much less a holy man.

But hearing our voices, the crowd slowed down, and Jesus stopped. He turned his head and then he saw us; this was critical. Many people heard the words "unclean, unclean" and shuffled hurriedly in the opposite direction. But Jesus, after hearing our shouts, looked for us. Lots of people saw us but looked the other way. Frankly, we were not pleasant at all to view. Leprosy does awful things to flesh; we were unsightly, pathetic creatures. And honestly, who wanted to get close to us, given our contagiousness?

As Jesus saw us, he rubbed his chin, as if he was thinking of how to respond. Finally, with a gleam in his eye, a simple nod of his head, he gave us some bizarre instructions.

"Go, and show yourselves to the priest." As the words fell from his lips, his command seemed impossible: go to a person who won’t see us and then we’ll be whole? Are you kidding? We can’t be that close to anyone . . . especially not to holy, consecrated priests! They were at the Temple in Jerusalem. How could we enter the walled city, repeating the words "unclean, unclean?" Besides, leprosy, like other illnesses, was seen as God’s punishment. People already wondered what we had done wrong to deserve such a horrible fate.

His instruction made no sense. This was not what we expected. We hoped that he would touch us like he had done with the other leper; that would have been easy. We just looked at each other dumbfounded. Have you ever heard something so absurd that you just shake your head in disbelief? It would be like answering a knock at your door and hearing the person say, "I’m from the government, and I’m here to help you." Absurd. Jesus gave us that instruction and kept walking. He had quite a crowd with him. We knew, as did those in the throng, that he was on his way to Jerusalem. He didn’t stick around to find out what we did. He simply gave us his instruction and kept moving. That is what Jesus does. He allows people to make their own decisions of what to do. While he offers plenty of instruction, the bottom-line decision still rests with an individual. We were willing to do anything, try anything that he told us to do. We would be glad for Jesus to be our Master, doing anything he said, as long as we had a chance of being healed. So, we finally decided that we had nothing to lose.

Jesus was the one who had performed the unthinkable in other areas. Feeding more than 5,000 people with two pieces of fish and five barley loaves was the headline of every major newspaper around here. No one can do that! That was unthinkable; that was miraculous! Who would have ever thought that a little boy’s lunch could feed that many people? But it did. Countless eyewitness testimonies reported that it had happened. What could Jesus have planned for us by us going to the priests?

Once we decided to go, we started walking, and then our skin began to feel different. With each step, blotches dried up, skin gathered, and pigment changed. As we physically felt our skin changing, as we saw with our own eyes the difference on our own flesh, our excitement began to escalate, and then we began to run. The harder we ran, the faster the change on our skin!

My nine buddies, finding their skin being restored, took off in different directions, some to greet their families, some to celebrate their wholeness, some to show themselves to the priests to receive admission into society.

But deep inside me was a still, small voice of gratitude. The instruction of this Jewish Rabbi had brought me healing, and I simply had to thank him. I changed my direction, bolted back in the direction toward Jesus and began to shout, "Thank you, thank you Jesus. You have healed me, and you didn’t have to. You have changed me, and you didn’t have to. What you did for me was unheard of . . . miraculous . . . impossible . . . " My shouts caused the crowd to part. Those in that parade saw my torn clothing and remembered that I was one of the screaming lepers. While I no longer had the leprous spots, the parade still parted like the Red Sea as I approached Jesus, and when I finally reached him, I fell at his feet and thanked him, over and over and over again.

Jesus looked down at me, and then looked beyond me. He said, "I thought there were ten of you. Weren’t there ten of you in your group? What happened to the others? The other nine lepers were also healed; what happened to them? Are you the only one to come and offer your appreciation? And you’re not even a Jew; you’re a foreigner."

You see, I looked different from those in the crowd, because I am a Samaritan, and Jews hated Samaritans. Samaritans were of a mixed-race, and everyone walking with Jesus on his way to Jerusalem was Jewish. I had been the ultimate untouchable.

Jesus then told me to get up and go on my way. He told me so that the crowd could hear him, "It was your faith which made you well." The power of God was available but was not going to be extended to me if I had not believed it could happen. The power of God was available but was not going to be extended to me, if I had not actually acted on that belief.

You think you have a big problem? Trying being a Samaritan leper. You think your life is in the tank? Try being a Samaritan leper. You think you have no hope for your future? Try being a Samaritan leper.

But because I am here today, I can also say, "Try the impossible." If you have faith even the size of a mustard seed, which is the tiniest of seeds, the impossible could happen. With just a little bit of faith, with your belief that God can do the impossible, you will allow God to do the impossible.

It made no sense at all for the ten of us to go see a priest. Absolutely absurd. But when we chose to take that first step, when we followed Jesus’ instructions, as unbelievable as they were, we also took the first step toward the impossible becoming the possible. You see, it’s a "God-thing."

I don’t know what you as a church might be facing that may seem impossible. You may wonder how in the world you as a church can get over a tough hurdle or solve a seemingly insurmountable problem. The bottom line is this: be faithful. Follow God, even when it seems ridiculous to do so; believe in the impossible. Mere words are not enough. Had we stayed on the border saying we believed that God could heal us and then not taken that first step, we would have never been healed. Simply stating that we believe God can do the impossible, and then not doing anything ourselves to allow God to work is preposterous. God can and will use us to do the impossible if we allow God to work and then if we act on our faith. Faith is not passive; it is to be active. We are to have a functioning faith, one that works, one that we take seriously enough that we ask God to act.

So that is why I changed my name to Sam Lepper. When people see me, they will know that I no longer have leprosy. I want people to know that Jesus healed me, that nothing is impossible with God, and that all God asks of us is to have faith . . . and then to act on it.

Where in your life do you need to ask God to do the impossible and what prevents you from asking, believing, and then acting? I am living proof that with God, nothing is impossible.